The car speeds along the freeway. Chuck’s Coupe DeVille is modern, comfortable and clean. Mom would approve. Heck, she did approve. Least I think she did.
The look of horror on Chuck’s face when he pulled up this morning, Mom waiting silently right there with me. She walked to the car to meet him but he was up and out before she reached the kerb, offering his hand and smiling gently, warmly down at her. Mom blushed, I never would have believed it if I hadn’t been there myself.
To her credit she recovered quickly, re-fixed her stern face, checked him out slowly from the brylcremed hairs on his perfect head to his highly polished shoes. And then, to my embarrassment, she gave the DeVille a slow walk-round. She kicked a tire I tell you, and even leant inside for a peek. Then she turned on her heel and headed for the front door . . “Back by eight or there’ll be trouble”, delivered over her shoulder – to me? No, more likely to Chuck.
To his credit Chuck had lost the grin the moment Mom disengaged from him and he hadn’t dropped character ‘til we were out of sight of the house, laughing so uncontrollably I had to steady the wheel myself and calm him down by lighting a Strike for him.
The warm summer air is a delight, and to be in a DeVille with the roof down, wind in my hair, and him, Chuck Ledger, captain of the baseball team for Pete’s sake! Chuck Ledger by my side. I want this night to last forever.