Reinventing Mike Lake (13 page)

              Dinner wasn’t much better.  We went to a Shoney’s, one of the few chain restaurants near our school, which is combined with one of the few hotels near our school.  While I was relieved to be getting out of the house, I realized on the short drive that this meal wasn’t going to be much better.  I had only been this ridiculously nervous one time in my life, and that was before a high school homecoming dance with Abby.  I had saved up every dollar for half a year wanting to impress my date with a fancy dinner.  I remember hoping the ambiance of the restaurant impressed her, but I had no idea about the food personally.  I didn’t eat a bite. 

              The ambience at Shoney’s didn’t meet that of the restaurant with Abby, but I made sure I did my part by eating next to nothing.  Between half-hearted attempts at three of the four of us starting conversation, I realized that her parents were most likely paying for the meal and I didn’t want to appear rude by not eating anything.  I was drinking a ton of water because my sweats had followed me inside the restaurant, but I didn’t think drinking gallons of tap water would make up for the price of my sirloin and potatoes.  I played with my food a little, attempting to take a bite of steak here or there, but with my throat as dry as it was I might as well have been trying to eat a bag of sand. 

              The only time her mom spoke to me the entire course of the evening is when she asked me if I was going to get a doggy bag, letting me know without saying it that she wasn’t happy I wasn’t eating.  I smiled forcefully, the theme of the evening, and told her, “But of course.”

              Gratefully, my wife, who was always blessed with a good sense of timing, told her parents that she had a test to study for so she should head back to her place and study before going to bed.  She knew they would respond to her saying she had to study.  She all but winked at me when telling her parents this.  She was saving me from losing another ten pounds of water weight, among other things.

When we got back to her place, her parents made sure to wait around to make sure I was leaving before they left.  I finally got the hint, and realized the sooner they left the sooner I could come back.  I exchanged a sweaty palm handshake with her father and a nod to her mom, and basically ran out the door so I could run to my car and blast the air conditioning.  Ten minutes later she called me to say her parents had mercifully left.  After driving around the parking lot for another ten minutes just to make sure they weren’t sticking around to see if I was coming back, I finally parked.  When I walked back into the house, my doggy bag in hand, the air was blissfully cooler and no longer thick.  I took out my steak and started eating it on the spot as my wife watched me and laughed.  I was starving. 

20

              By our senior year of college, my relationship with my wife’s parents was becoming better.  After three years of awkward visits her parents realized at the very least I wasn’t going anywhere and at best realized their daughter was happy and doing well in school.  In fact, she made the Dean’s List all but one semester after an algebra class her sophomore year caused a “C.”  I’m sure her parents blamed this on our early relationship when their daughter broke the news of the C, but the fact was we were both bad at math.

              Another defining moment in our relationship came when we found out that she would have to be heading even farther south to North Carolina to go to graduate school because New River was cancelling its veterinary program.  This school, Hickory College, was even smaller than New River, but offered a great vet program that included an entire farm on its campus.  I never understood why horses were so instrumental in becoming a vet, because after completing her Master’s degree I don’t think she ever touched another horse again.

              When my wife to be got accepted into Hickory a few months into our senior year at New River, she decided to wait until her parents came to visit to tell them.  To me and her, it was so clear that I would be heading to Hickory with her that the topic never even came up between us.  It was just fact.  However, her parents didn’t share the same thoughts. 

              “Well, you certainly have an exciting time in your life coming up, and this will be a good opportunity for both of you to meet new people.  I’m sure you’ll miss each other, but you’ll be so busy with your new lives…” her dad said, suggesting this would be the end of our relationship.

              Without missing a beat my future wife said, “No, he’s coming too.  He already found a job and an apartment close to campus.”

              While I smiled, her parents seemed to be at a loss for words.  Her mom simply said, “That’s nice.”

              At first thought it wouldn’t seem that this exchange would be so important in our history, but to me it was everything.  It was one of the first times that she had ever professed her need and desire to be around me in front of her parents.  If I considered our first kiss on the slide the moment we became boyfriend and girlfriend, I considered this moment as the one we became something even deeper.  I realized I wanted us to be forever. 

              That was all well and good, but as I was quickly learning, a woman liked something a little more official than an exchange of words.  The teen I had known that was so against labels was now looking for the ultimate label – married.  I figured she initiated our relationship with a phone number on a book store receipt; the least I could do was solidify our relationship with a diamond ring.

              In order to do that, one has to have money.  Much to my wife’s surprise I decided to get a paying job our final semester, instead of the editing I had been doing at the school’s paper,
The New River Times
.  I had already trained the next guy in line on how to do the job, and if I stuck around for the final semester it would be as little more than a figurehead.  Not being a figurehead for
The New River Times
wasn’t going to break my heart, so I began my next job as a pizza delivery driver.  It was for a local joint that I suspected could have had an owner with a much higher investment in another illegal business, though I could never confirm this.  All he needed to tell me was that the pay was under the table and I would bring home cold hard cash every night.

              I suspected that most of the deliveries would be between the store and the five dorms on campus.  For the most part this was true, but not as much as I suspected.  It turned out that we delivered up to 15 miles away.  The majority of people who lived this far away were Amish.  I learned that Amish folk tipped better than any other group of people that I had the privilege of delivering to those during those three or four months.  I always suspected that having very little access to the outside world was the main cause of this, as they most likely didn’t know what was standard.  Luckily, for me at least, they had heard of tipping. 

              However, they were also some of the nicest people I have ever encountered, often times inviting me into their house for a minute or so if it was cold.  If it was raining they would hand me a towel to dry off and apologize for having me stand in the rain, though most times it was usually for only a few seconds.  After all, I’m pretty sure it was pretty easy to tell when their pizza was coming as I was generally the only car for miles when I was in that part of town.  I loved making these deliveries because the tips were almost always great and the drive would sometimes take upwards of an hour because of the slower speed limit back towards their communities. 

              I didn’t have a date in mind when I wanted to get engaged, instead waiting for my bank account to determine the date.  By the time we left New River, I hadn’t made enough yet because we had spent a sizable portion of my earnings on the move and getting a new apartment.  When we moved to Hickory, with my new degree in hand, I landed a job as an assistant editor at the local paper.  In reality I think my pizza job paid better, but working for the
Hickory Herald
would surely make for better resume filler in the future, I reasoned.  After a few months of editing stories on small town politicians and local business owners I had enough to buy an engagement ring that I felt appropriate. 

              I knew very little about wedding rings, so I went with what I knew about my wife to be at that time.  She was a big fan of princess movies growing up, like most little girls, so when I heard the jeweler mention princess cut, I agreed.  I also knew she liked white gold based on her other pieces of jewelry, so that was a must.  Finally, I was pretty sure she liked diamonds, like 99.9 percent of her kind on the planet, so naturally that was the final, but most important, requirement. 

              The town of Hickory had exactly one jewelry store, and being too impatient to wait to buy a ring in a bigger city, I chose Dominique’s Diamonds smack dab in the middle of Hickory’s Main Street, not unlike that of New River’s Main Street.  When I walked in, an immaculately dressed old man, who I was guessing was not Dominique, paid me little attention. When he found out I had $3,000 in my left jeans pocket, he took me a little more seriously.

21

              Keeping a secret has never been one of my strong qualities.  For example, a few weeks before my sister’s 16th birthday my parents told my sister some fib about what they were doing and went out car shopping for her.  Because my sister had some plans, she was unable to babysit me, so I went along with my parents.  Multiple times on the drive to the car dealership they told me I couldn’t tell my sister a word about the car, because, of course, it was a surprise for her birthday.  I told them I wouldn’t. 

              After my parents picked out a nice, used, reliable automobile – a Ford four door of some sort that was about eight years old – they stored it in their friend’s garage a few miles from our house.  From the short ride from that garage to our house, I remember thinking I was going to burst if I didn’t tell her the secret.  At the age of 12 I hadn’t yet comprehended that I could possibly be ruining a big surprise for her.  I just wanted to tell her she was getting a car.  I think I thought this would mean we would get along better.  I knew she thought of me as the bratty little brother that I was, but I always looked up to her as kids and by telling her the secret I felt we would grow closer, even though in hindsight we we’re pretty close already.

              I briefly considered locking myself in my bedroom until her birthday surprise was delivered, but with three weeks to go until her birthday, I figured I’d get hungry.  Plus, more importantly, the only television with cable was in the family room.  When she came home that evening I nearly burst through my door and down the stairs to greet her. 

              When my parents told us to run upstairs and get ready for dinner I followed her like white on rice, nearly tripping her up the stairs.  Of course, this annoyed her, but when I slid into the room just narrowly missing the door she was attempting to slam in my face, she knew something was up.

              “I got a secret,” holding out the first “e” for about three seconds.

              “That’s great, what could you possibly know that I would care about,” she answered in the way teenagers spoke at that time.

              “But this one’s good.  I promise”

              “Okay, spill it.”

              Wanting to really tell her, but enjoying the brief upper hand in our game of “I know something you don’t know,” I answered, “What’s in it for me?”

              She replied, “Nevermind then.  I don’t care,” and began heading for the door.

              “Okay.  Wait.  Mom and Dad got you a car for your birthday, but you can’t tell I told.”

              Trying to suppress her excitement from turning into a roar and alerting our parents, she asked details about the car, but all I could tell her at the time was the color.  Before we went back down for dinner I asked her three more times in about 12 seconds to not tell our parents. 

              Little did I know that the main topic at dinner that night would be my sister’s report card.  Specifically, how bad it was.  I was only halfway paying attention, planning in my head my evening activity, which was either watch TV or play with my Ninja Turtle action figures, when the conversation got a bit louder.  Still, I never expected this next exchange.

              “If you keep talking to us like that young lady we will seriously reconsider you having your birthday party here.”

              Then in the ultimate act of brother-sister back stabbing my sister replied, “I already know you got me a car, so don’t even try it.”

              Stunned, I dropped my fork onto the plate as I watched three pairs of eyes fall on me.  Thanks, sis.

              She still got the car and birthday party, and I don’t recall anything happening to me punishment wise, but it was the last time I remembered anyone telling me a secret.  About 10 years after attempting to keep a secret from my sister, I now had my future wife’s engagement ring in my pocket.  With age, I hadn’t gotten any better with secrets.

              Despite how much I wanted to blurt out to my future wife what I had purchased and propose I held out for something I figured was a little romantic.  Plus, from our talks I knew that the proper thing in her family was for me to ask her father for permission before I popped the question.  If my homecoming dance and meeting her parents were number one and two on my all-time list of nerve producing things I had done, this came in a close third.

              The day after I bought the ring, she had gone to class, leaving me alone in our apartment with my cell phone and a very important phone call on my mind.  I waited until I thought her dad would surely be at work because I didn’t want her mother to not only be there, but listen in.  Talking to just her dad would be nerve-wracking enough.  Through the few years my wife and I had been dating my relationship with her father had gotten better.  It turned out we had some things in common, including a love for reading anything we could get our hands on.  That usually provided us enough to talk about during those increasingly less awkward meetings with her parents.