I got up some hours later and began the disrobing process. In my house, this includes emptying your pockets, because god help you if my grandmother found something in your pockets while she was trying to do laundry….it’s a cardinal sin, and you will never live it down. All the usual items came out of my pockets….change, a pop tab, lint, and this random piece of apple pie box….what in the world? I opened it up, and in child-like writing, in big black marker, was Donald's name and number. I didn’t even really remember him giving it to me….damn I felt bad….okay, one quick phone call, it can’t hurt, right? Two hours later, I finally hung up the phone. He had a nice voice, very easy to listen to, and the kind of personality that you just wanted to pour your problems out to. Where those two hours went I still don’t know. We made a date for later in the week, and we talked every night on the phone for no less than two hours at a stretch.

On September 24, 2004, Donald and I were to have our “date”. My grandparents drove me to the local bowling alley. The plan was to bowl, shoot some pool, and just get to know each other better. I showed up five minutes late, looking fabulous but casual. Didn’t want him to think I was too interested, you know. I had on dark blue jeans brushed with golden brown velvet. They hugged my powerful legs in a sensual but foreboding way. I wore a brown and gold tiger striped velvet turtle neck t-shirt, which was tight enough to show my flat stomach, and bared my cut arms for all to see. Of course, I had to wear my ever present combat boots, freshly polished to a shine high enough that I could see my reflection in the toes of my boots. My long hair, still naturally highlighted from my summer in the Marine Corps, hung half way down my back, thick and shiny and wavy.

As we pulled in, I searched the lot for his beat up old blue Lincoln...but I didn’t see it anywhere.  I got a little nervous.  Had I really been stood up by such an ugly, bumbling, old clout?  I convinced myself that that was impossible and I entered the bowling alley, my grandparents insisting on walking me in.  I combed the building for him, to no avail.  We sat there for ten minutes.  My grandparents first chastised me for being late, saying that surely it was my fault, that he had been there and left because of my tardiness.  Then, they switched tactics, saying how rude it was of him to keep me waiting.  Then, they began questioning whether or not he was even going to show and blah, blah, blah.  I offered half hearted objections when absolutely necessary.  Finally, irritated, and with a VERY wounded ego, I was standing up to leave, when I saw him come trotting up the steps.  I looked at my grandfather, stuck my chest out and my chin up, “HA!  Told you he would show!  Never had a doubt,” I lied.  The necessary introductions were made, handshakes exchanged, and my grandparents were gone. 

We were going to bowl, but the prices were obscene, so we decided to shoot some pool instead. I desperately wanted a pack of cigarettes, so Donald went across the street to get them for me, while I posted up in the billiards room, waiting on a table. He came back, and we talked for hours waiting on a table as we both chain smoked and sipped our mountain dew. A troupe of men walked in, most of them black, a few faces I recognized from the McDonalds night crew. Donald got up to greet them, standing a few feet away. They were all curiously looking around him, staring at me. I hate being stared at. I heard one of them say, “Hey, man, is that you?” gesturing to me. He was asking if I was Donald’s girlfriend. I feigned interest in the pool game directly in front of me, calling out possible shots, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw Donald look over his shoulder adoringly at me, then kind of shyly laughing, saying to his friend, “Yeah man, I hope so.” Oh, really…how interesting. They closed the distance between us, and Donald introduced them all to me. I cooly stayed seated, letting each of them come to me to shake my hand. I acknowledged each with a slight nod and a twist of my lip which qualified as a cold smile. How rude they all were, talking about me behind my back in front of my face. How rude of them to try to plan my life and my future. How rude of them to stare. How rude.

They stayed the rest of the night, and I came to discover that my initial judgments of them had been inaccurate and perhaps a bit harsh.  They were actually really cool guys, some of them really cute, too, and they were just interested in having a good time.  I could respect that.  That was all I was really after.  Our little group stayed till closing.  A few of them sat with Donald and I as we waited for my grandparents to show up to pick me up.  I saw them pull in and I hugged Donald and James (another night cook that I was fairly familiar with) before bouncing down the steps and into my grandma’s minivan.

Over the next few months, Donald and I talked more, going to some of the local festivals and events together.  I met more of his friends, and some of his family, and I learned that his middle name was Corey, which was the name his friends and family called him by.  Logically, I began calling him by it too.