I met the Hostage Taker Sunday night for dinner at a restaurant I chose in my small town. He was wearing black dress slacks, a maroon button up dress shirt and fashionable black shoes with squared off tips. He wasn’t extremely good looking, but wasn’t bad looking either. He bubbled over with confidence and conversation. But there was something about him that rubbed me ever so gently the wrong way. I couldn’t put my finger on it – perhaps the way he seemed so interested in his own dialogue, perhaps I just wasn’t feeling that sometimes elusive “spark.” But I wanted to keep an open mind. It was a first date after all.
As our meal winded down, he suggested we see a movie. There are a couple small theaters in my town and larger theaters within a half hour drive. He debated in favor of a theater nearly an hour away. I admitted it was a good theater, but a long drive in the snow, and surely we’d be late. He argued that he would happily drive us both there and back, which would give us more time to talk, and that we’d have plenty of time to get there. What could I say to that? However, I hesitated inwardly. I hardly knew this guy. My mind darted to an image of him pulling off the main road onto some suspicious looking back road, the storm waging around us as I helplessly sit in the passenger seat wondering what doom awaits me.
We arrived at the theater without incident, but 15 minutes late, after not only missing all the previews (the best part, right??) but the film’s opening. During the drive he had asked me to sing to him, which was odd (no, I’m neither an open nor closet singer), and seemed very disappointed when I shyly but firmly said no.
It had been an extraordinarily long week and by 9 p.m. I was already beginning to yawn. It was a great movie, but by halfway through I was ready to have it end so I could go home and climb into bed. An hour later the credits rolled and we returned the car … where we sat for several minutes while he searched on his phone for somewhere to buy windshield wipers. Uhhh what? I’m going to need to go with this guy to buy windshield wipers?? Was he going to ask me if I wanted to go on this little side trip?
Nope.
I politely mentioned that I was beginning to fade fast, to which he retorted that he “better get Cinderella home.” That was snarky. Well, at least we’ll head back now, I thought. It’s another hour to home … and my comfy bed. But then he didn’t pull onto the freeway, instead heading toward the center of town. In time, Walmart loomed before us. He asked if I wanted to come in with him. Well gee, how thoughtful – the other alternative being sitting in the car. I was tempted toward that option, but I tried to smile cheerfully: sure!
A slow hand-in-hand stroll through Walmart, followed by an even slower just-before-Christmas line to pay, and we were finally outside. I slipped back into the passenger seat while he installed the wipers.
Then, finally, we were on our way.
I thought.
As we approached a Del Taco he asked if I wanted anything to eat. Puzzled, as we had already had dinner, I said I was good. He pulled in anyway, explaining that he had the munchies. He pulled through the drive-through, ordered, then parked the car. Parked!
I not-so-patiently and so very tiredly waited while he ate a burrito and chatted continuously. He finally finished, only to pull out another burrito out of the bag, then ate and chatted some more. Oh hell, I’ll never get home.
Finally, he finished and pulled back onto the road, then leisurely made his way in the direction of my town, using the back way, naturally.
While winding through the canyon, he tried to set up a second date. I gently turned him down.
The Single Narrative 