Behind the Glow of the Instruments

My knuckles are ghost white about the steering wheel as my eyes flick nervously from the stubborn red light, to the instruments, to Madeline, and back again. I’ve got the air conditioner set rigidly in Arctic territory to avoid the Angel Falls of sweat that would otherwise be thundering down my person. Admittedly, I’m resolutely trying not to look at Madeline, but there is little doubt within my mind that she’s as nervous as I am…perhaps even more. Making another attempt at conversation while simultaneously avoiding a panic attack would, at this moment, be impossible.

I’m still at a loss as to how we even made it this far. Some sort of metaphysical sway must have been present today for my severe girl-shyness to take a lunch break so I could pop the question. Once the chips had fallen properly, my “condition” returned with such ferocity that I would later chug a cup of Krakatoa-hot Starbucks coffee in about sixteen seconds. I don’t think neither my tongue nor my girl-shyness will ever look at me the same way again. But damn, have I ever felt so good.

Regardless of my disquietude, upon the coming of this evening, Madeline found my white Saturn Aura waiting outside her house at precisely the time I’d prescribed. Like everyone else who has never seen one before, she was thunderstruck when she saw the Saturn emblem in the centre of the steering wheel; score one for contemporary GM. We went to see some movie, the precise details or name of which has abruptly been lost to me. During the course of the date, it seemed our conversation was becoming more and more tentative, until the point we are now-barely being able to look at each other without having a bucketful of butterflies dumped into our stomachs. I strongly wanted to just come out and tell her how I felt, but my vocal chords were twisted in a knot the shape of the Oldsmobile logo and refused to move a micrometer. The reticence of the base V6 about a foot and a half ahead was not helping things much. In a valiant attempt to break the awkward silence and to calm myself, I loaded up some Led Zeppelin.

The upbeat nature of the first track fulfilled its intended effect, though not for me. Madeline spoke up.

“I-I…I really liked the…movie.”

The butterflies all received a substantial dose of LSD before the bucket was carelessly upturned into my belly. I gasped silently-a carbon copy of what I’d do if I walked onto the surface of the sun-and my face turned Victory Red. Eventually, I managed a nod and a repressed smile.

I directed the car into her neighbourhood about the same time the second track of the CD began. Almost on cue, Madeline removed my right hand from the steering wheel and clutched it stiffly within hers. My heart skipped five beats, then quadrupled its tempo. Even with the song playing on quarter volume, the silence within the car intensified, amplifying all other senses tenfold. I noticed things that I had never cared to notice before. The still-present-at-5750-miles tang of fresh seat cloth and dashboard plastics, sparkled magnificently with Madeline’s perfume, grew into an almost inexorable redolence. Soon, the rhythm of the six cylinders and the rapping of my heart were indistinguishable. All moisture was proceeding with an exodus from my mouth. Despite the air conditioner’s best efforts, sweat was starting to bead along my spine.

The headlights swept over her yard, her house, and the two cars in the driveway as I joined them. She only allowed my hand to replace the shifter to Park before taking it in another death grip the moment the car was immobile. For a vast moment, we simply looked into each other’s eyes, both knowing what was on our collective minds.

My girl-shyness got the bell signaling break, and my voice finally fought free.

“I love you.”

The next moments seemed like a plagiarism from a short story. The song hit its climax, and, with barely any cheesy slow-motion advances at all, our lips met, locked, and there, behind the amber glow of the instruments, we kissed for what I desperately wanted to be an eternity.

Ending the kiss was a very repulsive task, and we were unable to remove our hands from the other’s shoulders. I swallowed the massive lump that had formed in my throat during the kiss. A brief buildup of silence, then Madeline laughed quickly, awkwardly, then buried herself tightly into my chest, and I enclosed her within the span of my arms. We swayed there, for what I again wanted to be forever, then we parted reluctantly and held each other at arm’s length.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Madeline said, kissing me briskly on the lips. A pause, then: “Love you!”

Those two words retied the knot in my vocal chords, leaving me unable to verbally reply. She smiled at me as she exited the car, and I would watch her while she made progress for her home, taking an aside to brush her finger across the lines of the hood of my car. I honked after her, and waved when she caught my eye. With great effort, I put the car in reverse, then drive, then headed off.

That Starbucks had better be bloody open.