Before the Storm

Finally it was the lurid rich aroma of the all-pervading honeysuckle that compelled me to pull on my clothes and climb out through the open window. The moon was to blame too, creeping through the blinds, spilling across the floor, even prying its way under the pink linen sheet of my childhood that I attempted to draw up over my head. It showed no embarrassment at its successful intrusion, but paved a sliver sidewalk across the wet grass where my feet could find safe purchase amid the shadows. I felt a brief yearning for one of the many dogs that always followed at my heels in years past, but they had been banished by my mother when we made our move to a more elegant part of town. All of them had been boon companions, big practical working dogs, attuned to my moods, and trailing silently along beside me for the reward of an head scratch or perhaps a bit of leftover dinner. Tonight they would not have understood my journey, and would have howled at being left behind as I got into the car, put it into neutral, and rolled silently out of the driveway.

I turned the engine over, cringing at the noise, and pulled slowly away from the house and my sleeping parents. I turned on the headlights when the car was finally past their bedroom window and tuned the radio to the Chicago station that only came in after all decent people were asleep. If my parents had known about it, they would have forbidden me to listen to the cutting edge music of the day. I don’t remember what was playing that particular night, but I was singing alone, windows down, watching for danger in the form of one of the two police cars that might be patrolling the county. I made it undetected for the mile it took to get to the drive in restaurant where everyone hung out. I scanned the line of cars backed into spaces behind the neon lit burger joint, looking for his aqua and white 57 Chevy. He was sitting there on the front fender, smoking a cigg, surrounded by a crew of other surly teenage rebels. I drove past, pretending not to notice him, and parked my car at the end of the row. I didn’t have to wait long before he opened my door and pulled me out for a kiss. He tasted like tobacco, a singularly masculine flavor to me, and the taste mixed with his aroma, a smell like terry cloth towels just pulled from the clothesline on a hot summer day.

Hand in hand we stroll back to his car, walking the gauntlet of jealous boys whose girlfriends didn’t have the reckless abandon to climb out windows on summer nights. I was proud to be with him for some unknown reason. He is my first real boyfriend, tall and blond, with a body that was all lean muscle from working long hours on the family farm. I had no sense of my own beauty or value, so I believe him when he implies I am lucky to be with him. The exhaust of his engine blends with the other cruisers as we pull out onto the highway in his car. He is driving with one hand, the other around my shoulders, our thighs touching, and my hand resting casually on his leg. We have nothing of any importance to talk about. He dropped out of high school after 9th grade and he knows I am college bound, but he is cunning, clever in the ways of courting innocence, and knows that I am drawn to the danger.

We parked behind the farmer’s co-op store, under the big tipple where giant trucks came to dump the bounty of corn, soybeans, and wheat that grows in the flat fields of black earth that stretched for hundreds of miles in every direction. The engine stops and we are in our usual clinch, his mouth hard and demanding on my own soft lips, his hands already pushing an assault past the last bit of ground he had gained under my clothing on previous dates. We don’t say a word, just kiss while I struggle against the Calvary charge of his demanding hands. The war was not going well for him, and it was time to pull out all stops. He backed away to his side of the car, angry and sullen, and says he is taking me back. I am puzzled and ask what I have done to displease him. He turns in amazement that he has to spell it out for me, the girl who had defied her parents and all social convention to meet him on the sly, but one look at my guileless face and he realized he has underestimated my naivety, and he knows what to say.

“If you really loved me you wouldn’t stop me.” There it was, the oldest line in the annals of male female relationships, but definitely new to me, and he thought I’d fall for it. I knew the right answer though, and it surprised him.

“If you really loved me, you wouldn’t ask when I’m not ready.” We both held our positions on opposite sides of the car, sulking in earnest. He finally gave in, kissed me a little brotherly peck and started the engine. We had been gone long enough for him to brag to his friends, and he is astute enough to know I won’t hold out forever.

The cloying honeysuckle smell seemed to mock me when I slip back into my window, unnoticed by man or beast. Mom should have waited until I went away to college to get rid of those dogs. My dreams that night were not of my boyfriend’s cold grey eyes, but of running through the woods with the big old black and tan hound that had been so loved by my father. I am ten instead of sixteen, and the air is hot, sticky, and smells like rain. I nearly trip over the dog’s enormous feet as he dashes back and forth in front of me, ears flapping, his tongue hanging out in a laughing way. I race to make it back to the shelter of the warm safe barn before the summer storm. I see the sky light up with the flash of lightning, and then I wake with a start at the sudden boom of thunder. It’s only Mom in the kitchen sitting the cast iron skillet on the burner. I am still in my clothes under the covers and have to hurry to change into pajamas and head to the kitchen to help Mom with breakfast. I am setting the table when Dad comes in with a warm good morning, and a kiss on the back of the neck for his busy wife. She pretends not to like it, and twists away, but I suddenly realize she is putting on a farce for my sake. Lightning flashes again in my head as I look at the two of them for the first time.