Chapter 33: A Simple Date

Sunday, September 19, 1982

In what certainly felt like terrible timing, but might have been a stroke of luck, our first round of exams lined up with Homecoming week. Luck, because the teachers were as distracted as the rest of us and perhaps would go easy.

We didn’t count on that. Everyone in our study group was very focused. Jasmine seemed a bit more nervous, which increased my concerns about her self-image, but her grasp on the material itself seemed fine.

I’d keep watching and see if I could get any more of a feeling for things.

Monday, September 20, 1982

I’d paid virtually no attention to the campaigns for Homecoming King and Queen the previous two years. They always went to seniors, and I knew few seniors. The ones I knew would never win an election for those roles.

That was mostly still true. Mikayla wouldn’t win. Janet wouldn’t win. Lizzie definitely wouldn’t win. And those were the most likely, among the girls.

Guys? It was slightly different there. Both Tony and Troy had a legitimate shot at it. I figured most likely Brett Stone, our quarterback, would win, but who knows?

Certainly I must not have known, because it turned out Brett wasn’t even running. Why? I had a guess, but it was just a guess. Tony didn’t run, but Troy did, and I voted for him. After all, Troy’s a pretty cool guy, all things considered.

For Queen — well, Jessica would’ve won in a landslide but, again, only seniors win, since only seniors run. My guess was that Cheryl Hall would win. I voted for her, too, even though I barely knew her, having only talked to her a few times. Everything I knew about her sounded good, and Jessica was a supporter. Enough said.

We’d find out Friday at the pep rally.

When we got to Drama, we found that Steffie had posted the cast list for ‘Harvey’. I would indeed get to play Wilson, and my other casting for the guys was spot-on. Danny was taking the part of Judge Gaffney.

On the girls’ side, both Jasmine and Angie got their preferred roles.

Performances were in November on the twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth. This wouldn’t be anywhere near the level of work that ‘Brigadoon’ had been, but it was still work. That timing wasn’t great — it was the week after Emory, which might be tiring — but, between Thanksgiving, another tournament, and finals week, December would’ve been worse.

Paige hugged me before Drama. A big, warm, full-body hug.

“Soooooo where are we going?”

“Not telling.”

“Hrmph!” she said, then grinned. “Fine. I think I actually like that. This time.”

“Good, because my lips are sealed.”

She gave me a kiss that would definitely have gotten me a warning and maybe a trip to the office, were any teacher looking. Well, except Steffie, who just rolled her eyes. Meg would’ve ignored it, too. And Tom ... Okay, most teachers.

“No they’re not. See? Definitely not sealed.”

“You ... have a point.”

She wiggled her chest. “Two. Very nice ones.”

“Very nice, indeed.”

Then she wiggled her butt. “You have a point, too. Also very nice.”

“Advantage, Paige.”

She grinned. “Girls always win. You’re one of the few boys that really gets that. And why it’s true.”

“I’m not going to argue.”

“Because you know it’s true!”

I made a zipping gesture over my lips.

“Still not sealed. I can prove it if necessary!”

Mikayla tapped my shoulder as I was heading out of Drama.

“Got a minute?”

“For you? Of course.”

She grinned and waited the others to leave. Then she said, “I meant to tell you earlier. I was backing off before when ... you know. And I know that’s better, but now ... I’ve got to knock this semester out of the park. I mean, I don’t — my grades are fine for nearly everywhere — but I can’t slack off.”

“I get it. I mean, I really do.”

“Just wanted to say ... it’s not that I’m not interested. I’m interested! But ... maybe in the spring? I can have some senioritis then. I just need to graduate. I’ll be in wherever I’m going.”

“What’s your top pick right now?”

She shrugged. “Maybe U. Penn, maybe Michigan. Maybe Northwestern. The others on my list are still there, too. U. Chicago, Boston College. UT is still my safety school. I’d take any of the top three if I only got into one. If I get into more than one, then ... decisions, decisions. How about you?”

I shrugged. “For me, it’s...”

“Complicated. I get that. That’s why I want no big attachments. I mean, I’m super-happy for you and Jasmine, but you’ve had almost a year together already and will have another year by time you’re deciding colleges. That’s a lot different.”

“It is.”

She hugged me quickly. “Rain check for spring?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks!”

She scooted off, and so did I. Debate was just next door, but no sense annoying Meg.

Wednesday, September 22, 1982

Jasmine and I ran to the florist after school, with Angie and Gene in tow, to pick up flowers. They opted for a traditional ‘mum’ (chrysanthemum, for those not from Texas) decorated with ribbons and glitter. The 1982 version was far less elaborate than they’d be thirty years later, but still fairly ornate. Gene had a simple red rose boutonnière.

We, however ... were us. So, we had to be different. We’d discussed this and, while waiting for senior year had some appeal, we had quite a few dances, and we could certainly repeat for prom, if not before.

Jasmine’s corsage was a fairly elaborate jasmine-based arrangement (what else?) with green flowers and white ribbons and no glitter. My boutonnière was a red orchid. It’d taken the florist a bit of doing to get us a red orchid that would work, but it was well worth the expense.

Despite the unusual flowers, we were going very traditional for clothing: suit and tie for me, red and white dress for her. I’d even be wearing a white shirt. Boring, most of the time. We were planning traditional-wear for winter formal, as well. Our outfits for the Valentine’s dance might well be amazing, though. We’d see.

The Sunday after Homecoming we would need to get to planning Halloween. A month was just barely enough.

Thursday, September 23, 1982

Thankfully, my exams wrapped up today. No teacher wanted to put a major exam on game day. Perfect for my date with Paige — no tests hanging over my head, or hers either.

Paige met me at the Debate room just after class. Angie was taking Jasmine home. I think dinner was involved. I’m fairly certain ‘dessert’ was on the menu, too. Angie still felt like she couldn’t truly fall for any girl but Carrie, but she still very much enjoyed getting some time alone with Jasmine, or Lexi, or ... well, I’m pretty sure there were a few more.

I gave Angie a hug, and Jasmine a hug and a kiss, and then took Paige’s hand.

Jasmine grinned. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Paige giggled. “As if that was a thing!”

“Girls! No cat-fighting!” I said, grinning.

“You’d want to watch that,” Paige said.

“Nah. Pillow-fighting, yes. Especially if I pick the outfits. Actual claws, no.”

“Ooh! Pillow-fight!” Jasmine said, giggling.

“I’m in!” Paige grinned.

“Me, too!” Angie said. “Except probably not with big brother watching ‘cuz ... you know.”

“We know,” Jasmine said. I doubted Paige knew everything Jasmine did. But, then, who knows?

“See you later tonight,” I said to Angie.

“See you, big bro. Have fun!”

“He will,” Paige grinned. “I’m a fun date.”

“Is that what they call it?” Jasmine asked.

“Okay, kitties, break it up,” I said, giving Paige’s hand a squeeze. We headed down the stairs and out towards the parking lot.

“I didn’t come on too strong?” Paige said, looking very uncharacteristically shy.

“Nah. Not at all. Jasmine can take it. And Angie, too.”

“Good. I do. I mean, I know I come on too much sometimes. I’m trying to back off a little, but ... yeah.”

“Seriously, if I thought it was too much, I’d say it, date or not. That’s past ‘little white lie’ and into ‘harmful,’ since you asked about it and are worried about it.”

I helped her into my car, then got in, and we headed off campus.

“So, what’s for dinner?” Paige said, grinning.

“I figured it can be a surprise for a bit longer.”

“I ... can go with that, I think. So ... how’s life treating you?”

“Pretty well,” I said, grinning to her. “Which you know, since we see each other fairly often, and since I also know Jasmine keeps you up to date.”

She giggled, nodding her head. “Okay, fine. I did know that.” She hesitated. “I don’t know. I feel ... awkward. Which is weird, for me.”

“I’m guessing you don’t know why.”

“I ... hrm. I think it’s because stuff got messed up between you and Jasmine. I know it’s fixed, but ... first date after ... you know, all that. I don’t want to mess anything up.”

“Thanks, I...”

“No. I need to be clearer,” she said. Then she sighed a bit. “I mean that I’ve done it before. To Jasmine. Oh, that relationship was never going to last, so I suppose I haven’t, but I doomed it, anyway. She was pissed, but she got over it. I mean, obviously she got over it, or this wouldn’t be happening, and I wouldn’t be close friends with her.”

I nodded. Then shrugged. “I can put this a couple of ways. As a fairly romantic sort of guy, I believe that Jasmine and I are stronger than ever. Of course, if you’d asked me two months ago, I’d have said the same thing. But ... I’d have been right, I think, because that’s why we’re fine now. Anyway, there’s that, and then there’s my practical-guy side, which says, if we’re going to get messed up because you and I go on a date, when both Jasmine and I think that’s fine, there’s likely a real problem and maybe we should know about it now.”

She grinned a bit at that. “That’s what makes you so appealing, maybe. You’ve got that real romantic side, but also that practical side, and it comes off as balanced, not forced. I think most guys our age, it’s ... well, practical, but more, you know, in the ‘how do I get her panties off’ sense. Not the ‘how do I build a relationship?’”

I shrugged. “I’m not in a rush, so much as, if I find a good thing, why not see what’s there?”

“Yeah. I get that. And I want to be that. Especially since my ‘good thing’ will be more like what you and Jasmine have, I’m sure. I’m just not a one-guy girl. Or a one-girl girl, either. The whole thing seems silly. It’s like picking a book, or maybe an author. Or an actor. Or one food. Or ... one anything. Sure, having a partner sounds like a great thing. Is a great thing. But saying ‘You can only be my partner if you don’t fuck any other person’? I don’t get it.”

“Jealousy is sneaky, though. You may find emotions pop up that you never expected.”

“I ... can see that. But those are my emotions to work through. My being a bitch might run someone off, but it’s not a reason for them to just cater to me.”

And ... that sent my brain off on a very predictable track. Of course when my wife was a bitch, that’s exactly what happened. I catered to her. Over and over. She threw a fit over something nonsensical and I tried to do something to make her happy. Since I couldn’t do anything about the nonsense, it’d be cleaning or cooking or whatever might make her happy.

Sometimes it didn’t. I doubt I’m the only guy who’s been yelled at about how messy something is and then yelled at again three hours later for cleaning it (instead of being in bed — even though she’d thrown me out of the bedroom), but I’ve certainly been there, done that, and had multiple t-shirts, and scars.

I wouldn’t repeat that pattern with Jasmine. Or with anyone. Making up, yes. There would be conflict, of course. Jasmine would be a bitch. I’d be a jerk. People do that. But neither of us could get into a place where our response was to knee-jerk cater to the other’s crazy.

“Earth to Steve!”

I blinked. “Huh? Did I zone out?”

“You did. Where’d you go?”

I shrugged, then shook my head. “You mentioned someone catering to you, and it reminded me of a story about a guy who always catered to his somewhat crazy wife.”

“Ahh. Yeah. Don’t cater to crazy! I mean ... well, fuck. I don’t know what I mean. It’s so easy at sixteen to go, ‘Fuck it, I’ll go date someone else.’ It’s not that easy when you’ve been dating for years. Or are married. Or have a kid. I think I was playing the know-it-all brat teenager there. ‘Just fuck ‘em and find someone better.’”

“There are reasons to split up, and reasons to stay even if it’s not perfect, I think. My parents are just about perfect and I know they disagree. They don’t let us see it, but I know they do.”

“And I know Jasmine’s folks have had some knock-down drag-out fights, but they’re also just about perfect,” she said. “They’re kinda my role models.”

“Mine, too. I’d say mine are, too, and they are, but not in the open-relationship thing. They could never do that.”

She nodded. “It feels right to me, and I don’t really get why other people don’t see that, but I know they don’t.”

“Like I said, jealousy is powerful stuff. Probably biology. If a woman is unfaithful, the guy is — from a purely biological view — doing a whole lot of work to support someone else’s offspring. Biologically, that’s bad. Genes of guys who do that maybe don’t get passed on. And, flipped around, if a guy is unfaithful, maybe he leaves the woman. Now she’s got to support herself and her offspring. So, the women who smack their guy and make them give up other women probably tend to do better. Now, for the guy, having as many offspring from as many women as possible is also success, biologically, so in theory that means women should want to be faithful and men should want to be unfaithful, which matches how a lot of people see the world, I suppose. But if women insist on faithfulness, guys who can’t be faithful wind up big losers, so what seems suboptimal might really be optimal.”

“That’s ... complicated. And cool. Biology class would’ve been more interesting if they’d said stuff like that.”

“Or the teacher would’ve been fired for putting weird thoughts in our heads,” I said, chuckling a bit.

“Too true!” She grinned, then bit her lip. “So, we’re like ... mutants?”

“Eh. We’re unusual. A lot of traits that are common aren’t great for survival. Bad eyesight, asthma, whatever.”

“Works for me.”

I pulled up to our destination. I’d purposefully chosen a weird route for exactly the reaction that I got.

“Wait ... you are not taking me to McDonald’s!”

“Nope,” I said, skirting it and pulling up to a hole-in-the-wall taco place that was behind it. Mind you, in 1982 this was very different from the same description in 2020, at least in this part of Houston. A ‘hole-in-the-wall taco place’ in 2020 might well be a highly rated hangout with great reviews. In 1982, in this area, they were automatically ‘sketchy,’ ‘edgy,’ maybe even ‘dangerous.’

“Looks ... interesting.”

“You’ll love it. Promise.”

“I trust you. Perhaps despite my better judgment.”

We headed in. Paige perused the menu, which was a bit more full of Spanish than she was prepared for. “Hey, I took French. I’m not sure what some of this is.” She pointed to ‘Carnitas.’

“So, that’s a fairly mild shredded pork.”

She pointed to ‘Pastor.’

“That’s also pork, but spicier. You’d probably like it.”

Her finger traveled down the list.

“Beef tongue. Guessing that’s a no. Beef intestine — I recommend no.”

She made a face at that. “Definitely no! Intestine? Really?”

“It’s not that uncommon, really.”

“No thanks. How about that?”

“Goat. Can be really good. Somewhat like gamier lamb, usually.”

“I ... could try it.”

She picked three tacos — chicken al carbon, carnitas, and cabrito (the aforementioned ‘goat’). That was going to be too much food, I was sure, but she could take it home. I matched hers with carnitas, pastor, and beef al carbon. I’d normally have gone with the chicken, but I figured I could share. The carnitas was too good to pass up, though.

I paid — this was a real date, after all — and we took one of their three somewhat battered tables. The other two were empty. I’d figured a lot of their business was take-out, given the size of the restaurant, and in fact we did see a steady stream of people picking up orders while we were there. The place itself was clean, but aside from a Mexican flag, a bit of colorful streamers, and a slightly battered velvet matador painting, it was pretty bare.