A First Date for the Ages

Brooklyn College. I loved Brooklyn College. The time of my life, until I met my wife. I’ll set the scene further...

The Year is 1982. I was 18, and living with my parents. I was painfully shy in high school, did not attend my prom, and had no friends. I received great report cards, made Honor Roll every semester, but I was not a social kind of guy. I neither watched nor played any sports. I spent my well-earned leisure time reading monster magazines and comic books, and watching old movies.

In other words, I was a party.

My first date referenced above was my very first date proper.

***

I attended Brooklyn College as a freshman with no idea as to a major. I knew I wanted to write for a living, but I realized early on that my success would be based more on who I knew, or met along the way, than what I knew. Making it as a writer would be an entrepreneurial effort. Knowledge without the contacts wouldn’t work.

I knew I wanted to major in a “fall back” profession for security purposes; what exactly, I hadn’t a clue.

Brooklyn College in 1982 had instituted their Core Curriculum. My first year in; lucky me. Their Core Curriculum—which I look back upon with appreciation—was meant to give all of us students a well-rounded education. In addition to the usual degree pre-requisites, every student who attended was required to take courses such as the literary Classics of Western Civilization, Philosophy, Chemistry, and so on. I found the homework intense, and the coursework excruciatingly boring.

However, it was during a Psychology core where I met Jen (name changed to protect the guilty). An hour later, as I transferred to my People, Power, and Politics class, Jen took the seat alongside me.

“You look familiar,” she said.

“You, too.” That was it. I was as verbose as I was exciting.

And it happened a third time. We transferred to Introduction to Art... and she spoke to me again. Like a human. That’s never happened before, much less twice in a day.

“Here we are again,” she said. Human, to me.

***

Jen majored in Special Education. She worked, she told me, with “troubled kids.” I was fascinated. I did some more research, and found my fallback. I’d major in the same. She was dating someone at the time, but we became fast confidantes. They had problems. My hormones were raging, especially around her. I had nothing to lose. We went to SUBO—the Student Union Building—and she told me she was breaking up with him.

“There’s something between us,” she said. “Tell me you feel it too.”

I felt it. Boy, did I feel it. I boldly told her she needed to break up with the other guy first, before we explored this sudden fortune.

The following night, she saw Cats, on Broadway, with her boyfriend. At the conclusion of Betty Buckley’s version of Memory, she turned to him and said, according to her account, “I met someone.”

And that was that. Jen and I made out in the BC quad, on the grass, for about four hours the next morning.

I asked her out. I figured we were in safe territory by then. She surprised me, though.

“Mind if I bring my girlfriend?”

“Really?” This was getting more exciting by the moment.

“She’s single. You once told me about your cousin.”

“Oh...”

“Let’s double.”

***

Date night.

Cuz and Sarah (name changed, same reason) hit it off famously. We went to eat, and then we went to Coney Island.

An amusement park may not have been the best idea that night...

The frivolities began. I got nauseous following a ride—the stress of my very first date, in general, combined with the spinning of the ride and the trauma of trying to look good in front of Jen outside of the safe school setting, caused me to throw up on the side of my car. Jen was worried, but she was also kind. She understood that the ride may have been a little much for me, and swore she wouldn’t hold it against me.

Following that gut-spilling episode, we set to re-enter my vehicle and keep with our original plans: dessert. Thing is, my keys were stuck in the car. Further... Cuz noticed the rear back tire was flat.

There were no cellphones back in 1982. Bully for us.

A cop came and thankfully helped us with both.

We managed to get to Jan’s, our local ice cream shop. Jen and I shared a banana split. She was way too into that banana split, and the jokes came fast and furious. Cuz and Sarah shared a sundae, to the best of my recollection.

It must have been three in the morning when we dropped off Cuz first, then Sarah. She liked him, she said. Just didn’t know if he was “boyfriend material.” I pulled to the curb, and waited until she entered her house. She waved. We waved back. Jen and I were alone at last. We drove to her house, where I had planned to drop her off.

I walked her to the driveway.

“You vomited,” she said, “locked the keys in the car, and got a flat tire.”

“Yeah,” was all I could mutter, embarrassed that my first date proper, with a girl I really was beginning to care about, didn’t go as planned. I turned to go.

“What? You’re not coming in?”

***

I came in. "Her parents weren’t home," she told me.

I lost my virginity that night, and all I remember hearing from her was, “Don’t worry. We’ll get to it. Promise.” She kept her promise.

About twenty seconds later, Bar Mitzvah aside, I became a man.

It didn’t end there, though. Jen went to the bathroom. It was now about 5 AM, and I thought my parents must be freaking out. That, or my dad was celebrating, privately giving kudos to his boy. Mom wanted me to be a “gentleman.” I think I met the hopes of both.

But I digress.

I thought I had heard the door downstairs, but then reconsidered, figuring I was just overwhelmed. Jen’s parents were out of the state, and her brother was away. Who could possibly—

I heard her voice. I had met her once before, at school. Jen’s grandmother was walking up the stairs, fast approaching the bedroom.

1. I was present. 2. I was totally naked. 3. Jen had brought my clothes into the next bedroom so she could iron them later. I had told her my parents would figure it all out, but she insisted.

I became an Olympic-level sprinter that night. Not unlike a bad sitcom, I jumped from the bed, hid in Jen’s closet, and hoped against hope for the best.

I heard Jen say, thankfully, “In the bathroom, Gram. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Grandma headed back downstairs. I left the closet, and stayed in Jen’s room for another thirty minutes. She had returned the clothes.

Her grandmother left. Jen and I kissed... and I went home.

***

I opened the door at 6:45-ish AM. My father shook my hand. My mom asked, “So, how was your first date?”

“It was okay,” I said, before excusing myself and returning to my comic books. I locked my door, and must have fallen asleep five minutes later.

Post-Script:

Jen and I dated for two years. Things changed. She became distant. I broke up with her, as I didn’t want her to break up with me first. She then returned to her ex-boyfriend, with whom she married and had three children.

Cuz and Debbie married and had two children. They are no longer together.

Today, I write and produce TV for a living. I happily celebrate being with my beautiful wife, Lorie, for 18 years. I met her on my birthday...