My fiancee is an avid gardener and people will stop by and compliment her on its appearance. We say she has a green thumb, but she works very hard at maintaining all the plants. I should add that that her yard work often takes her past dusk,and she will even use a cap with lights on the brim so she can keep going.
When she just wants to finish something, she’ll suggest I get a shower (messy from helping her) and make dinner. And then it’s up to me to try to get her in. So I’ll step out on the porch, or go out in search of her (“just one more thing” often turns into four more things) and let her know dinner is ready.
But every time I go to call her, I have a flashback to my college years that prevents me from shouting, “Joyce, come on, let’s go!” The memory references a young woman I briefly dated and her mother’s exhortation to her.
Some background: someone I directed in a show brought T. to a performance one night, with the intention of fixing us up. We met, talked a bit, and then I charmed her by kissing her hand. We decided to go on a date sometime. She lived up Route 83 closer to Harrisburg, and so she arranged to come down in her car and we’d go out to a movie.
When she brought me home, we parked on the street to talk for a few moments before parting. Somehow I got the signal that we should kiss, and I leaned over. She leaned over. And then we were making out. And then she grabbed my wrist and placed my hand on her breast. This was getting pretty exciting!
Things may have gotten more exciting if it hadn’t been for the type of car she drove. It was a Renault LeCar, not the typical vehicle for a woman in her early 20s. With its bucket seats and center stickshift, it was not the ideal love machine, and the small backseat prohibited any thought of relocating back there. So after some passionate kissing, we said goodnight.
Our next date had me driving up to get her for an evening out—a movie, I’m assuming. We then returned to her home, a trailer where she lived with her mother. We both wanted to revisit that make-out session, but sitting on the couch with her mother in the same room watching TV, it wasn’t prudent. After a while of sitting close, I decided to leave, and she walked me to my car. A goodnight kiss started to get more involved after a few seconds, but was interrupted by her mother opening the trailer door and calling, “Tammy, come on, let’s go.” I don’t know if her mother didn’t like me, or didn’t want her making out with random guys, or what.
That was our last date. She didn’t like the idea of driving down to see me, and the distance and her mother proved to be two difficult obstacles.
For now, I don’t want to be that irate parent who calls out, “Joyce, come on, let’s go!”
MUSOFYR 
Thanks for sharing. An avid gardener myself, I can identify with Joyce’s need to keep tending to her garden past dark. In fact, I was just outside on the fire escape watching the breathtaking beauty of the rising blue supermoon. On the way inside, I checked to see if any new cucumbers were growing; if the squirrel had bothered my spinach, lettuce, and Swiss chard seedlings; if the tendril near a watermelon was dried-up indicating the fruit was ready to pick; and noticing that the lavender gomphrena looks pink in the near dark. Although there is no one to call me in after dark, I often get called to dinner while it’s hot. Yet, when I get to the dining room to eat, the food is cool, because I stopped to tend to three other plant issues before coming inside to eat. I got you Joyce!
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A Renault Lecar looks like the perfect love machine these days.
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