What did you do to my car? (Skuffle in the Date Grove)
“Fucking assholes,” you say, taking your foot off the gas and shutting off the ignition.
“What?” asks Sam. “What is it?”
With the engine quiet you can hear them laughing. You open the door and step out, only the ground is not where you expect it to be and you stumble and nearly fall trying to regain your footing. “Motherfuckers,” you growl. “What did you do to my car?”
Outside, your vision is much better, and things quickly take shape out of the dark. Just as you suspected, the rear wheel of your car has been lifted off the ground with a scissor jack. Rudy is lying in the dirt next to it with his arms wrapped around his stomach, laughing so hard he can barely catch his breath.
“You better not have scratched my car, fucker.”
“Relax, man,” he wheezes, rolling up onto his knees. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Well, take it down,” you snap.
“Okay, okay.”
Eric and Gus, still laughing, step out of the palm trees.
“Yeah, yeah. Good one,” you say, shaking with adrenalin and anger. “Real fucking funny.” You turn and lean your head into the car to find Sam staring wide-eyed back at you. Maybe it’s the look on your face, or maybe just a release of tension, but she immediately smiles and then starts to laugh. You can’t help but do the same.
“Matt,” you hear Gus say. “For the record, it wasn’t my idea.”
“Okay,” Rudy says, “Watch your head, she’s coming down.”
You pull your head back and wait for the car to settle.
“Hey,” says Eric, coming up behind you. “That’s what you get for ditching us.”
“Oh, hi,” you hear Rudy say, and you turn to find that Sam has opened her door and is standing on the running board looking over the top of the car at the four of you.
“And now we forgive you,” Eric says.
“Going to introduce me to your friends, Matt?”
“Hey,” Gus starts to say, “That’s not—”
“Uh, guys.” You sweep your hand upward in her direction. “This is Sam. Sam, this is Gus, Eric, and Rudy.”
She smiles back at them.
“Nice to meet you, Sam,” says Gus.
You look at Eric. “You follow us?”
“Yeah,” he says. “We were waiting, as promised, and then we see you come out with, uh, Sam here, and drive away.”
“Where did you park?”
Eric points past you into the grove. “We found a way in on the other side, then walked.”
You look in that direction but all you can see are the evenly spaced trunks of date palm trees disappearing into the darkness. “Bring it.”
“Okay, but we’re leaving Gus with you as a hostage. C’mon, dude,” he says to Rudy.
Rudy looks offended. “Why can’t I be a hostage?”
“Fuck that, the jack was your idea. I’m not carrying it.”
“It was, wasn’t it,” Rudy says, following Eric into the dark. “And an awesome one, too.”
Sam comes around the side of the car to stand next to you.
“Sorry, if we scared you, Sam,” says Gus.
“You did,” she says. “But I gotta admit, that was good. I’m actually kind of impressed.”
“Really? See Matt,” he says, reaching out and soft punching your shoulder, “you have impressive friends.”
“That’s not exactly what she said.”
“Hey, Gus,” says Sam. “Do you wanna beer? There’s some in the front seat.”
His eyes go wide. “Uh, yes,” he says, already moving in that direction.
You look at her. “You okay?”
She nods, smiles back at you.
Gus reappears with three beers and the bag of Doritos. He sets the bag on the hood of the Volkswagen. “My lady,” he says, pulling the tab on one and handing it to Sam.
Her face lights up. “Why, thank you, kind sir.”
He opens another and gives it to you. “Matthew.”
“Gus.” You put the can to your lips and take a sip. He and Sam do the same.
There is a moist, earthy smell in the date grove and the night air feels cool and refreshing on your face. You have the urge to hold Sam’s hand again but both of hers are wrapped around her beer, so you shove your free hand into the front pocket of your jeans and take another, longer drink. Gus sets his beer on the hood of the Volkswagen, opens the bag of chips, and offers it first to Sam and then you before taking some himself.
“So, what have you guys been doing?” you ask around a mouthful of Doritos.
“Mmm.” Gus swallows. “You know, just driving around, mostly, and following you.” He smiles at Sam and puts another chip in his mouth.
There is a flash of light from deep within the grove and soon you are squinting into the glare of Eric’s headlights as he comes rolling to a stop about a car’s length behind yours and shuts off his engine. Suddenly everything is pitch black except for the afterglow of the car’s headlights hovering in your vision. Sam moves closer and her hand slips into yours.
“Leave the running lights on,” you hear Rudy say, and a moment later a dim, orange glow illuminates the immediate darkness between the two vehicles.
Eric gets out with a case of beer cradled in one arm and sets it on the hood of his mother’s car. “Help yourselves,” he announces.
“Chips?” offers Gus.
Eric is already reaching into the bag. “Fuck yeah.”
Suddenly, Rudy is standing in front of you. “Dude,” he says, holding out a cassette tape. “Put this on.”
“What is it?”
He shakes his head. “Trust me, you’ll love it.”
Sam releases your hand and reaches for your beer. You take the cassette and return to your car. You can just read the label in the dash light, Dance Craze: The Best of British Ska Live. You insert the cassette, raise the volume, and roll down both windows. Organ, horns, and a snappy, pulsing beat follow you back to Sam and your friends.
“Yeah, Mr. Miller’s class,” Rudy is saying, “last year, sixth period. I thought you looked familiar.”
Sam is smiling and nodding in time with the music. “That class was totally out of control.”
“So, who bought the beer?” you ask.
“Gus,” says Rudy. “He’s got his brother’s expired license.”
You look over at Gus. “And they didn’t notice?”
He shrugs and takes a drink. The white oxford shirt he is wearing is new, you think, or maybe that too is his brother’s.
Rudy laughs. “They didn’t even card him.”
“Dude already looks older than my dad,” says Eric.
“Fuck you, Eric,” says Gus. “Maybe I am your dad.”
You laugh and nearly shoot beer from your nose.
Eric drops his chin in an openmouthed gape. “Uh, duh, maybe I am your dad, Eric,” he says in the dim-witted voice of the which-way-did-he-go-George character in the Bugs Bunny cartoons.
Gus mumbles something under his breath and takes another drink.
“Gus,” says Sam, “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you look a day over sixteen.”
His face brightens. “And for that,” he says, extending the open Doritos bag toward her, “you get to have some of your own chips.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” she says, taking a handful.
The song ends and then the words, “One, step, beyond!” echo loudly from the stereo. A blaring saxophone cuts through the reverb like a chain saw as the bass and guitar come bouncing in and the song takes off.
“Hey,” Sam says, “I know this one.”
“Madness,” says Rudy.
Arms bent and still holding her beer, she starts to swing her elbows and hop-skip in place to the rhythm.
“Yes!” says Rudy, and suddenly he’s dancing next to her with a similar rhythmic jerking of his knees and elbows.
Now Gus is at it too, only it looks like both of his feet are stuck to the ground and he’s bending his knees, twisting his hips and flailing his arms in an attempt to break them free.
“Come on, Matt,” says Sam moving into the open space between the two cars where she continues to skip and bounce. All the while, she is holding onto her beer like the hand of an invisible dance partner.
You quickly swallow down the last of yours and toss the can over your shoulder into the dark. Now all four of you are dancing in the orange glow between the cars. You imitate what Sam is doing, but try to get your knees as high as possible. Drunk aerobics, you think, which makes you laugh out loud. Sam swipes the hair from her face and flashes you a smile. Eric, now sitting on the hood of the Datsun, is the only one not dancing.
“Dude!” shouts Rudy over the frantic saxophone. “Get in here!”
Eric smiles and shakes his head. “I’m good.”
The song ends and is immediately replaced with another of equal energy. “Are you ready?” croons the singer. This one builds to a sudden stop and then picks up again like a game of red-light green-light. Sam pauses long enough to toss her empty beer can and then she’s back at it.
Two songs later, you and Gus are sitting next to Eric on the hood of the car as Rudy and Sam continue to dance in an only slightly slower version of what they were doing before. A woman is singing now about missing words.
“So,” Eric says to you. “Did we interrupt anything?”
It takes a moment to catch his meaning. “Shit,” you say. “You know you did.”
He looks sideways at you. “Yeah, right. I have a feeling we saved your ass.”
You take a sip of beer. “Think whatever you want.”
“Yeah, I know you dude. You don’t even have one, do you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“A rubber, man. I told you, always be prepared.”
“Dude, stop.” You try to speak without moving your mouth. “She’s going to hear you.”
Gus looks over. “Stop what?”
Eric shakes his head and chuckles to himself. “I’m telling you, man. I got one in my wallet.”
“You got what in your wallet?” asks Gus.
Eric reaches around to touch the square bulge in the back pocket of his brown cords. “You want it?”
You take another sip of your beer. Rudy is saying something to Sam. She is smiling and shaking her head. “Maybe,” you say.
When the song ends, she is suddenly standing in front of you, breathing heavily. “Oh shit,” she says, taking the beer out of your hands. “That was fun.” She tilts her head back for a drink while you stare at the elongated curve of her neck. The can is almost empty when she returns it. “I left you some,” she says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Dude,” says Rudy, reaching behind you into the box. “Let me have one of those.”
“What time is it?” asks Sam, her hand on your knee.
You extend your wrist, trying to make out the little hand from the big hand in the dim of the running lights, “Ten-forty, ten-forty-five, somewhere around there.”
“Ten thirty-eight,” says Gus from the glow of his digital watch.
Sam pushes out her lower lip. “I gotta be home by eleven.”
“Really?” you ask. “When my dad says eleven, it really means twelve.”
She squeezes your knee. “When my dad says eleven, it really means eleven.”
“Oh.” You set your beer down next to you, reach for her hand, and slide off the hood. “Okay then.”
“Going already?” asks Gus.
“Sorry,” Sam says. “But I gotta get home. It was nice to meet all of you.”
Eric nods and raises his beer like a toast. “Later,” he says. “Be safe.”
Gus stands and offers Sam his hand. “The pleasure was all ours.”
She smiles and shakes it. “Oh,” she says, looking over at Rudy. “Thanks for the music.”
“Of course.”
“Oh, dude,” you say. “Your tape.”
“Bring it to school on Monday,” he says with a wave of his hand. “Make a copy if you want.”
“Cool. Thanks.”
“Matt,” says Eric, standing and reaching into his back pocket. “I owe you.”
“You do, for what?”
He peels back the Velcro on his wallet and takes something out. “You remember,” he says, pushing what you hope looks like folded dollar bills into your palm.
You quickly shove it into your front pocket without looking in Sam’s direction. “Oh, right. Thanks, man.”
You open Sam’s door for her and then hurry around to your side.
“That was fun,” she says, as soon as you are out of the grove and back on the street. “I like your friends.”
“I’m pretty sure they like you too.”
“You could always go back,” she says, looking over her shoulder in the direction of the grove.
“Go back?”
“You know, after you take me home.”
For some reason, the thought depresses you. “Yeah, sure.”
“Mind if I change the tape?”
“No, go ahead.”
She finds the Bowie again, but turns the volume so low you can barely make out the refrain to “Modern Love” over the steady sputter of the Volkswagen’s engine. You appreciate it though, as the effects of those last few beers suddenly seem to be catching up with you and you need as much of your attention as possible focused on the road. Neither one of you says anything for a while, and it’s only after you’ve passed the high school and are halfway into town that you remember to ask her where you’re going.
“Do you know where the Foster Freeze is?”
“Sure.”
“Well, not far from there. I’ll show you.”
A few minutes later you roll to a stop in front of her house, which, aside from the large shade tree in the front yard, looks a lot like yours with the same covered driveway and two large windows, one on each side of the front door.
“That’s actually my house, there,” she says, pointing to the next lot with a neatly trimmed hedge along the front and a chain link fence across the driveway. “I don’t want to, you know,” she looks over at you, “have to explain … anything.”
“That’s okay, I—”
“Matt,” she turns in her seat to face you, hands tucked between her knees. “Wait for me?”
You suddenly remember the package in your front pocket. “Of course, I … wait, you mean wait, like wait … here?”
“Twenty minutes, half an hour at the most.”
Your gaze shifts from her to the front of her house and on up the sidewalk at the various cars sitting in driveways and parked along the curb of this quiet, dimly lit street. You don’t want this night to end either, but this isn’t your neighborhood. You don’t belong here, definitely not this late at night and definitely not by yourself. What do you do?
CHOOSE:
(A) Wait for her. She knows what she’s doing.
(B) No. Say good night. This probably isn’t a good idea, for either of you.
THE MISADVENTURES OF MATTHEW VAN DER BOOT is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental … no matter how many times you ask.