My mother often told me to marry a man who drinks milk shakes. At the time, I was a shy, young girl when she offered this advice. It felt weird to hear, since I wouldn’t go on my first date until age sixteen. It would be with a guy in his early twenties who wore a black leather jacket and large boots with shiny silver buckles. We’d met by chance at the bus stop. He showed up there when his motorcycle landed in the shop for minor repairs. He mentioned that he hated riding the bus, though, had no choice. I told him that I rode the bus home after school most days. Once we boarded, he sat in the seat beside me. We hit it off when he put on his motorcycle helmet and made funny faces to amuse me. When the older passengers stared, he didn’t
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So, I felt safe with my hands wrapped around his thin waist as we hit the road. His body smelled of dirt, sweat and cigarettes. I inhaled wanting the funky whiff to linger. The roar of his motorcycle’s engine made it impossible to talk. Still occasionally, he turned and grinned back at me. I hugged him tight, and felt the hot air of the rear wheels brush against my legs and the spring breeze slither across my face. I closed my eyes. The speed of the bike made it feel as if we were flying to a distant horizon where birds sang and the scent of pine trees smothered my senses. When I opened them, the world whizzed by at a lightning speed – similar to a 35mm nitrate film …show more content…
I desperately wanted to be with him. This time we’d ride to Gloucester along the back roads through Beverly Farms and Manchester-by-the-Sea, where blue bloods had summer homes with the ocean as their backyard. However, I told him, “My parents think you’re too old for me,” a bold-faced lie. Since, they had no clue of his age or anything else. The truth is I put the brakes on our budding romance. The reason was simple. I felt scared. The days following our first date, my stomach became riddled with anxiety. I had sweaty palms and sleepless nights. I drank sips of beer from an open bottle my father had left in the refrigerator in an effort to ward off panic. Even at that young age, I’d seen the worst in men. In my brief life, I’d been in the trenches too long. I’d witnessed and been a recipient of alcoholic rage, unchecked violence and had heard screaming matches between my parents too often. I swear I had PTSD by the time I turned
So, I felt safe with my hands wrapped around his thin waist as we hit the road. His body smelled of dirt, sweat and cigarettes. I inhaled wanting the funky whiff to linger. The roar of his motorcycle’s engine made it impossible to talk. Still occasionally, he turned and grinned back at me. I hugged him tight, and felt the hot air of the rear wheels brush against my legs and the spring breeze slither across my face. I closed my eyes. The speed of the bike made it feel as if we were flying to a distant horizon where birds sang and the scent of pine trees smothered my senses. When I opened them, the world whizzed by at a lightning speed – similar to a 35mm nitrate film …show more content…
I desperately wanted to be with him. This time we’d ride to Gloucester along the back roads through Beverly Farms and Manchester-by-the-Sea, where blue bloods had summer homes with the ocean as their backyard. However, I told him, “My parents think you’re too old for me,” a bold-faced lie. Since, they had no clue of his age or anything else. The truth is I put the brakes on our budding romance. The reason was simple. I felt scared. The days following our first date, my stomach became riddled with anxiety. I had sweaty palms and sleepless nights. I drank sips of beer from an open bottle my father had left in the refrigerator in an effort to ward off panic. Even at that young age, I’d seen the worst in men. In my brief life, I’d been in the trenches too long. I’d witnessed and been a recipient of alcoholic rage, unchecked violence and had heard screaming matches between my parents too often. I swear I had PTSD by the time I turned