Within Close Range: The Double Date

Home from college,

my dance card empty,

Jean has ignored me

and arranged a double date. 

Making my way toward the kitchen

to re-hydrate my bone-dry jitters,

I pass Dad in the den. 

He’s sitting in the swivel chair, 

with his back to the windows, 

pretending he’s reading. 

He’s also pretending not to see me. 

Isn’t happy about this evening.

With boys ever at the heels of Mia and Chris, 

he takes frequent comfort in my constant datelessness. 

But really, is the The Garden Journal so utterly absorbing

that my noisy, high-heeled entrance, he’s utterly ignoring?

Not Dad.

(Can’t suppress eye roll.)

And what about Mom? 

Still hovering in the kitchen, 

without a purpose in sight. 

Both acting as this was my very first date. 

Not exactly soothing.

Just need to keep moving.

A difficult task in absurdly high heels

which already feel like burning coals.

Through my water glass, 

I watch Dad rotate right

to face the new, oncoming lights 

bouncing off the dimly lit walls.

A swivel slowly left, 

he’s watching Jean and our dates.

The doorbell’s ringing, 

but Dad’s not budging.

Instead, he’s whirled right back around 

that book might as well be upside down.

(Can’t suppress eye roll.)

I take a deep breath and open the door.

Jean’s smile is enormous. 

I look to the floor –

I know she’s trying.

But there’s something she’s hiding –

like my date being just about as happy as I am.

Reaching out a limp, wet hand

What’s this poor guy’s name again?

I hear swiveling. 

Dad’s up and coming.

Then… passing,

without so much as a greeting.

(Eye roll mentally happening.)

And why is he stopping,

pretending to search for something?

Empty-handed, he’s returning.

I can almost hear the growling.

Keeping his fixed glare –

swiveling like the chair –

on both the boys,

until he quietly disappears.

I push my companions out the door,

hoping the night will hide my humiliation 

and breath new life into this double date situation.

But I’m not counting on it,

and neither is Dad,

who’s peeking through the curtains, 

shaking his head 

as he calls to the kitchen,

“She won’t be marrying THAT one.”

(Can’t suppress eye roll.)