The Love in a Filet-O-Fish

“… and I want it that way,” the last beautiful note ended the 1999 song by, only the best boy band ever, the Backstreet Boys.

         Giggling, Shannon turned down the stereo of my brand new, jet black, Chevy Silverado. We were getting close to our halfway point to Seward, Nebraska.

         Shannon and I have been visiting our Dad’s family in Nebraska every summer for seven years. This was the first time that we had driven down by ourselves. It hadn’t been as exciting as I was expecting it to be. It was beautiful, but kind of monotonous.

         “When do you want to stop and get something to eat?” I sighed, calming down from practically screaming the song. I glanced at the neon green numbers of time on the dash board before admiring the striking landscape, 9:30 a.m., rolling hills of a cornfield on the left and flat plains of peas growing on the right. The bright sun was still lingering in the East and the deep blue, early June, sky was pure and beautiful.

         “Well, soon.” Shannon flustered, I could tell she rolled her eyes playfully. “I am so hungry my stomach will soon explode!”

         Shannon, thirteen at the time, had a slender figure along with blond hair and green eyes. She was almost as tall as me by then, but she would always be my little sister. A rowdy demeanor was her personality, but she wasn’t necessarily a tomboy. Persuasive and demanding, she was the enforcer of the family.

         “I guess we will just stop in Des Moines like we usually do.” I decided.

         The green sign on the side of the road informed me that there were five miles until we reached breakfast. My stomach growled; hunger rolled throughout me. One eye closed as I yawned. I shook the sleep out of my head and reached for my $2.79 bottle of apple juice with the head of Princess Belle, from Beauty and the Beast, on the top.

         I was seventeen on this trip. I had curves, unlike Shannon; my hair had a streak of candy apple red behind my ear. The rest of the thick mass on my head was a warm chocolate brown; today it was loosely curled and a white-ribbon-bow held back one side. I decided to put my contacts in this morning, nearly killing my eyes. I added some onyx black eyeliner to the top lid and matching mascara to make my green eyes pop. For a semi-casual-comfortable look, I wore a white beater tee and a long, flowing, rusty red skirt, accented with my black gladiators. I would have called my look ‘vintage hippy’.

         Shannon flipped, mesmerized, through the songs on my iPod. All I could hear was bits of this and that. The medley sounded like August Rush’s Rhapsody mixed with All American Rejects, not the most comforting thing to listen to.

         “Either pick one song or stop touching the dang iPod!” I gave her my ultimatum. She stopped on a song from “Mamma Mia,” “I Have a Dream.” A grin appeared on my face; she rolled her eyes and I started singing the wonderful tune. 

         Just as the song came to an end, Des Moines was before us. I saw a sign with the McDonald’s golden arches on it and exited, cutting in front of a couple of people on my way.

         “Should we go in and eat or just take the drive through?” I asked, expecting a one word response: in or out.

         “Well, do you want to get out?” she replied. Here she goes again, I hate these questions.

         “I don’t care, in or out, pick now!” I yelled.

         “I have to use the ladies room, let’s go in,” she concluded, pointing at a parking spot way too close to other vehicles. I drove to the end of the lot, finding a place with only one other car near it. As I perfectly rolled the car into the open space, Shannon mumbled something about me being a baby. My snicker ended when she punched my already bruised arm, but my laughter didn’t end until she reached the bathroom, never separating her thighs in a sort of tribal pee-dance.

         I stood in the back of the fast food restaurant, and tried to figure out what to eat. The place smelled of greasy potatoes and sweaty people. The blond cashier stood behind the counter tapping her fake nails and popping her gum in an annoying rhythm.

“Can’t figure out what you want either?” I turned to see one of the most handsome strangers I had ever seen in my seventeen years of living. Either seventeen or eighteen, he had dark brown, clean-cut, short, curly hair; almond-shaped eyes the color of the sky on a beautiful summer day; and teeth that were perfectly white and straight. He was little taller than me, maybe 5’10”. A tan that was glorifying effortlessly flowed over his skin, it wasn’t too brown, but wasn’t too orange either. He wore a red and black checkerboard button-up shirt that might be seen on a farm. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and it was unbuttoned showing the white v-neck that revealed, but didn’t show off the abs that made my heart skip a beat. The perfect fitting jeans, that he wore, weren’t like skinny jeans, but also weren’t hanging onto his ankles. Navy blue, low-top, Converses complimented his eyes very well; completing his clean grunge appearance.

         “Uh, yeah,” I stuttered. “I have that one filet-o-fish commercial stuck in my head. Ya know, the one that goes ‘Give me that filet-o-fish, give me that fish.’” I chanted, pumping my arms in a raise the roof sort of jig. Why was it suddenly so hot in here? My face was burning.  “So I think I might smell like a filet-o-fish.” Oh boy, “I-I-I- mean get a filet-o-fish, not smell. I hope I don’t smell like one either, but it does smell bad in here.” He looked around and then smelled under his arms. “Oh gosh, it isn’t you. I mean, you smell great actually.” Oh my gosh, I was just digging myself a grave.

         Shannon returned from the bathroom with a big grin on her face. Relieved that someone was here to rescue me from this misery, “Feel better?” I asked, pretending like nothing happened.

         “Yeah, are you ready to order?”  She asked stepping up to the counter. Embarrassed, I smiled politely at the gorgeous stranger and clumsily wished him good luck ordering.

         “We would like to have a number thirteen and a number eleven, for here. Wait! I mean to go.” I spat out, suddenly in a hurry to get out of here. The cashier punched in the order.

         “Is that all?” She asked for what sounded to be the fiftieth time that day.

         “Ye-,” I started.

         “No,” the beautiful stranger stepped up close behind me. I felt him barely touch the small of my back before stepping in front and whipping out his wallet. “I’ll also have a number thirteen, for here, that’s all.” He turned just far enough for me to see his wink. The cashier pulled out three cups and I grabbed them before the mystery guy had a chance.

         “Brisk or Mello Yello?” I asked swiftly.

         “Brisk, how did you know that those are my two favorite drinks?” he asked, chuckling at my new found confidence.

         “Lucky guess?” I winked back, “I’ll find a table,” and turned to get the drinks.

         We sat in a forest green booth in the back corner, Shannon and I on one side and Skyler, I learned was his name, on the other. We sat and talked for at least an hour. We found out that we were both heading for Seward; we both disliked our churches, but considered ourselves religious; we both liked to dip fries into our ice-cream cones; and we both loved the filet-o-fish commercial.

When I realized what time is was, we exchanged numbers and promised to keep in contact.



“Your face looked like a tomato,” Skyler laughed, holding my hand as we walked to Seward’s movie theater, where tickets were still four dollars and popcorn and a pop was only two dollars.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I must have looked really cute.”

“You were, are, and always will be beautiful to me, happy two year anniversary sweetheart.” I smelled the snow white daisies in my other hand.

“Happy anniversary babe.”