I must have walked 2 hours under the desert sun that day when you pulled up in your enormous white pick-up. Sweat and dust had plastered my hair to my face and neck, and I could feel the sun scorching my nose and shoulders. It couldn’t have taken me more than 20 seconds to decide that air conditioning and a ride back to town was worth risking the danger a large, intense-looking boy could have presented.
Blown radiator. You said, “I’ll take care of you.”
I thought about your eyes that night, as I tried to get comfortable on your grandma’s purple love seat. How nervous you made me. I was convinced you could read my thoughts. At dinner, I had nearly swooned in my chair as I watched you slide your fork from between your angel lips. You winked at me!
On the way to town the next day to buy a new radiator, you told me about your parents. How they had died. My heart broke for you. You turned that old Elton John song all the way up and sang even louder. I decided, as I watched the brown sage and joshua fly past to avoid your eyes, that your smile was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
I’ll never know how you did it, but within hours, I was on the road, again. You took care of me. The drive home was a blur. Your number tucked safely in the front pocket of my shorts, I couldn’t wait to get home and find an excuse to call you.
Is it even possible that a person could be as magnificent as you are in my memories? How do you remember it? I only wish you could tell me.