I set out of my house at close to four-thirty, braving all the rush hour traffic Washington had to offer. By the time I reached the Baltimore-Washington Parkway, the consistency of traffic had changed from cookie dough to slurpee.
I arrived a little after six and trotted up to her porch. I was suddenly embarrassed by my lack of flowers, but I knocked on her door anyway. Several knuckle raps of varying intensities produced no response. Judging from the low rumble of Jack Bruce, I deduced that she was grooving out to an old Cream record in her living room.
I called her cell phone and told her I was standing on her porch. Seconds later, the door flew open with a smile. Arms wrapped, smiles exchanged, small talk ensued.
We sat in her room for a couple of hours, trading teasing kisses and hugs. I was starving, but for more then just food and every kiss seemed to cause her nails to dig in frustration.
We were alone, but we didn�t know how long that would last, so there would be no adventures this afternoon.
She showed me pictures from her photo albums after carefully editing out every shot she disliked. The resulting pile was noticeably small when compared to the rejects. Every other picture was met with either a �no� or an �Oh god, no�.
Eventually we finished the run of acceptable photos. She changed her skirt and we tried to decide what to do for dinner.
If the fate of the world ever hinges on Gretchen making a decision, then we�re all doomed. I couldn�t even pull a list of local restaurants out of her, much less narrow down a genre of food. Eventually she mentioned something about once eating at a Bertucci�s, so I suggested we go there.
After some minor hijinks, we found the restaurant and sat down soon after. Picking the pizza seemed to be far easier then deciding on a restaurant, and it wasn�t long before we were chowing down on a large with ricotta and olives.
My roommate called to solidify plans for our return trip the following morning. She said something about two guests coming along for the ride, but I couldn�t really understand everything she was saying under the static. We agreed to meet at the frat house at seven, which would give us just enough time for me to get to work by 12:30.
Gretchen and I finished our dinner and headed back to her car to try and decide what to do with the rest of the night. We were supposed to hang out with her best friend after she got of work, but her life went awry for a day and she didn�t seem to be in the mood.
We settled on a raincheck.
But, there seemed to be a lot of night left with no plans to fill it. Offhandedly, I suggested we get a hotel room and before you could blink, we were at her house getting an away-bag together.
Rather then tell her father she was going to a hotel room, she said that she was going to stay over at my house for the night. After some thought, I decided that was actually a better plan anyway, so we set off down the Parkway to my home.
We got there about forty minutes later and watched television in my basement for a few hours, occasionally peppering our hugs with kisses. Her stomach was grumbling, so I fixed her an omelet, and eventually we retired to my bedroom.
Knowing that my mother would be barging into the room to wake me up at five-thirty in the morning, I carefully prepared a sign informing her of my guest and taped it to the door.
For various enjoyable reasons, we didn�t fall asleep until almost four-thirty, providing one solid hour of sleep before my mother barged in the door promptly at five-thirty. She urged me to get up several times before reading the notice I taped to the door.
Slightly embarrassed, she excused herself and allowed me to wake on my own terms. About a half-hour later, we emerged, packed and dressed, and I introduced my mother to my newest love.
There were smiles, it seemed warm and welcoming. I was pleased.
I quickly checked mapquest and grabbed an iced coffee before saying my goodbyes and hustling us into the car.
I gave the directions to Gretchen, hoping that they might calm her nerves while we navigated the streets of Washington. Her eyes were holding back an ocean of tears, and I was trying my hardest to help her to be brave. As usual, the directions from mapquest were fatally flawed, but we eventually arrived at the frathouse and called the roommate.
She fumbled outside shortly after with a companion for the ride back. A tiny, yet-unnamed puppy she was bent on rescuing from a drab frat-house existence. It seemed that the other guest she mentioned would not be coming along, but it wasn�t until weeks later that I fully understood the details, but that�s another story entirely.
Gretchen was instantly in love.
The fratboys were calling him Dexter, but my roommate decided that it wasn�t a good name for him. He was a baby Dachshund, a sausage dog, with black fur and copper highlights, orphaned by a failed relationship.
A couple purchased him for $600, then promptly broke up. The dog, now a living reminder of a failed relationship, was relegated to a shit-filled room where he feasted on a mix of dog food, old pizza, and cigarette butts.
My roommate assumed, rightfully so, that someone out there would want him, now that his owner did not.
He was tiny with ears as big as his head. He shook with fear, but he fit perfectly into Gretchen�s lap.
I think little Dexter helped her tremendously, as her anxiety seemed to ease in his presence. Gretchen�s dog Andy died a year ago, and it broke her heart into a million pieces. I tried to take several pictures of her holding the dog, but Gretchen hates to be photographed and it�s hard to operate a camera and drive at the same time. None of the photos turned out.
All the way up the turnpike, we tried to think up new names for the little guy.
Tom Brown, Rodney, Squiggles. Nothing seemed to stick really.
Eventually we reached Gretchen�s house, and I went in with her so that we could say our goodbyes alone. Almost instantly, she started tearing up, which caused me to tear up. We stood there together in the kitchen, holding each other while sniffing back tears.
Without any more helpful words, I promised that I would see her again soon, and kissed her several more times before leaving.
When I got back in the car, I was visibly shaken. The roommate asked if I was okay, and I mustered up the strength to speak through a trembling voice.
