Ever hear a song that ignites a memory? Perhaps a social media post that involves the game “Never Have I Ever” has your mind rifling through its database of experiences. Well, if you thought the title to my post was confusing, the post itself will be absolutely befuddling!
The question that’ll hang in your head from now on will be, “what happened to Christine”?
Ashley McBryde’s, One Night Standards, played on the radio the other day. As usual, my mind drifted off to relive yet another It’s-Only-Believable-Because-it’s-A-Los story …
Ten years ago, one inconspicuous night in 2012, I was kickin’ it with a bro on a Monday. In fact, if memory serves me, it was his idea for me to post up with him at the grand opening of The RAM Restaurant in Federal Way [established July 23, 2012]
Considering it was a Monday with football invariably on the TVs, I rolled south from my Issaquah apartment to him at the new RAM.
As expected, the place was crackin’! Two bar stools remained open at the end of the bar area, so my bro and I posted up. After ordering beers, and grub, we surveyed the landscape and introduced ourselves to the folks seated near us.
Within a few minutes, my gaze fell upon the opposite side of the ginormous bar area. A fella was seated in-between a blonde and a brunette. According to the noise and banter between them and the bartender, he was sponsoring the drinking.
The blonde caught my gaze to which I just ruefully raised my eyebrow. She bellowed, “Buy me a drink!”
I quipped loud enough to carry across the bar, “Seems like that guy is taking care of that for you!”
She fired back with a casual one-fingered salute, and I retorted with a smile and the same salute.
My bro leaned in, and asks, “Do you need a wingman for this?”
I brush it off, “Nah, not right now.”
We continued to watch football, nosh on bar grub and guzzled beer. Once we finish, pay and start to exit, I went rouge and zoomed over to the blonde.
I approach her, “What’s your name?”
She replies, “Christine. Yours?”
I said, “Carlos. Gonna stay here all night?”
“No,” she said flatly. “I’ll be at the Hitching Post around 9:30 pm. See you there.”
My bro and I scaled back to his crash pad. He and I started to watch a recorded football game on his DVR. When 9:30 pm rolled around, he asked, “Are you gonna post up at that bar?”
I mused, “Not yet. I’m gonna wait a grip longer.” Indeed, I waited until 10pm before bouncing with the words, “Aiight. Here’s the play. If I crash and burn, I’ll circle back to crash on your couch. If I’m good-to-go, then I’ll call or text so you can lock up and crash for the night. I’ll give ya the deets later.”
The Hitchin’ Post Saloon
I pull into the gravel parking lot. A red Chevy Monte Carlo has the passenger door opened with a leg propping it from the seat. As soon as I parked, and shut my door, Christine emerged from that car.
I casually strolled over to her, and she approached me. Once she was about 5-6 feet away, she leapt at me! I caught her as she wrapped her legs around my waist, and her arms around around my neck.
“Hey there!” she yelled.
“WHOA,” I reacted. “Hey there, yourself,” as I placed down on her own feet.
“I’m gonna finish charging my phone, I’ll meet you inside,” she commanded.
I went inside the saloon’s bathroom. I texted my bro, “It’s on like Donkey Kong! Lock up, I’ll text in the morning.”
Christine and I grabbed a table, drinks and some conversation. There was karaoke that was blaring across the speakers which made it difficult to hear. She had a stream of conscious thinking and dialogue once we sat down.
“I’m a yoga instructor, Carlos,” she told me without me asking. “A 50 year old divorcee after 25 years of marriage and 3 kids. What’s your story?”
“Office job that I don’t enjoy. Divorced as well, no kids, though,” I answered. “I’m gonna sing some karaoke, wanna join me?”
She shook her head ‘no’. If memory serves me still, I performed Rebel Yell by Billy Idol. We finished our round of drinks. I asked, “Should I get more drinks? Or we going back to your place? It must be nearby.”
Her eyebrows furrowed, “How did you know I live nearby?”
I smiled, “C’mon. Monday night, a grand opening of a new joint. You were curious then when that curiosity was satisfied you reverted back to your familiar bar.”
“You’re good,” she acknowledged. “My place, follow me.”
Literally, 5 minutes later we were parked at her house. As she fished her house keys out, she warned me, “My 26 year old sister is sleeping. Don’t leave me for her because she’s younger and more beautiful.”
I thought, “What have I gotten myself into this time?”
She led me through the house to the sliding back door. Once she strolled to the patio of her pool, she started stripping down naked. Without hesitation, she slipped into the pool. Mind you, it’s the dead of night. And if you know anything about sound and water, you know that all sound carries further over water …
“C’mon, Carlos, join me,” she invited.
OH. MY. GOD. I’M ACTING OUT THE SCENE IN NATIONAL LAMPOON’S VACATION!!
I mentally checked out, “Fuck it. You only live once, right?” I get naked, and slipped into the shallow end of the pool. DEAR GOD, IT’S NOT A HEATED POOL! I mentally giggled, This is crazy, this is crazy!
She tried to swim off to the deep end, and I pulled her in. We embraced, we kissed. The entire time, I stood on the tips of my toes to ensure my twig and giggle berries do not touch the cold water.
I guided her to the edge of the pool. I bent her over the edge so we can get this done. For some reason, she grabbed the chaise lounge chair legs near her.
IMAGINE THIS SCENE, or more like hear it … two strangers, hooking up in a pool, around midnight. The rhythmic sound of a pool water splashing against the wall in conjunction of metal screeching against the concrete patio.
EEEEEERRRCH! Thump, thump, thump. I AM DIED LAUGHING INSIDE.
Thankfully this didn’t last long. Or rather … it didn’t take us long to get what we wanted. She got out of the pool, and got dressed. “I’m hungry. Wanna grab some food?”
I casually answered, “Sure. It’s midnight so let’s hit a 24-hour place.”
“No,” she fired back. “I know of a Mexican restaurant that’s open.” I thought, “What restaurant is gonna be open at midnight on a Monday in Fed Way?”
With her car keys in hand, “Follow me. Try to keep up.”
We jumped into our respective rides, and she led us outta the neighborhood. Once we were on arterial roads, she really picked up speed. My speedometer was approaching 50 mph.
Then it happened.
Christine drove through a red light, and I stopped. I watched her take a fast right turn down a residential street thus disappearing into the night from which she came from.
The light turned green. For a several second pause, I idled. I put the Sapphire Sled into 1st gear, turned left for a U-turn as a Cheshire, shit-eating-grin slowly appeared on my face as I point my car homeward.
We didn’t even exchange phone numbers. That’s my one one-nightstand, Spaceship Earth.