Steven Strange

Writing Assignment for 19 Feb 2007
Prompt: A First Time [for anything]


As I was returning the telephone receiver to its cradle, my mother asked, “So, who is this boy?” “His name is Steven Strange and I think he is a senior.”

Steven had asked me to go to the movie playing at the Regent Square, the local movie house. I was fifteen and it was my first date.

On the eve of the date, my father paced the forty feet stretching between the fireplace in the living room and the bookcases in the music room.

Carved into the dark oak of the fireplace mantel in the living room were the words, “Old Wood to Burn, Old Books to Read, Old Friends to Trust”. In the music room, large bronze busts of composers perched atop built-in bookcases and gazed protectively over the two baby grand pianos.

My mothered fluttered about, trying to look nonchalant. I hovered and tried to look nonchalant, too. My four siblings – all of whom were younger – hung over the walnut banister perpendicular to the front door. We were waiting for the doorbell to chime its familiar tune. When it would, my family would watch me open the door and they would all stare at Steven - the guy with the funny last name.

I knew they would be under whelmed. Steven was the smartest kid in school. In spite of that, I took solace in the fact that he was a senior. And because he said he would be “picking me up”, of course he had a car. I didn’t really care what it looked like – it was superficial to care about things like that and so not me. Still, I hoped his car was decent.

Where was Steven? It was 7:34 by the big clock in the front hall. “He said he would pick me up at 7:30. Maybe something is wrong with his car.” My father clenched his jaw and paced faster. At 7:35, the doorbell rang. Steven had arrived – breathless, in all of his thinness, gawkiness, and really bad acne. Standing in the foyer next to my father and under the scrutiny of my entire family, Steven looked very small.

My siblings, whose visible presence was predicated on their agreement to be silent, giggled very quietly in the background. My parents told us to have fun. And Steven and I stepped out into a balmy spring night. While keeping up a pretty meaningless stream of chatter, I looked for a car parked near my house. There was none. Then, in my best attempt at covertness, I looked up and down my street for parked cars. I didn’t see any. I tried to mask my disappointment with a strained smile. I exclaimed to Steven, “Oh – I thought you were driving tonight!” Although it was dark, I am sure Steven blushed when he responded, “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t drive yet. I thought it would be nice to walk to Regent Square.” Embarrassed, I blurted, “Oh, that is alright. And it certainly is a beautiful night to walk!”

We kept up a brisk pace for the mile walk to Regent Square, arriving just as the trailers were rolling. The only available seats together were the two farthest left in the front row. Steven apologized for the bad seats and gestured to me that I should take the seat furthest from the wall. I smiled, gestured that it was no problem at all, and prepared for a crick in my neck. The movie was Cool Hand Luke and we were riveted to the screen until the lights came back on.

Steven walked me home and never once spoke of his bicycle. However, I know he had cycled because the next day, I found some broken branches in the bushes near the pergola over the driveway.

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The day after the date and forevermore, my father would laughingly relate that as soon as he saw that Steven was breathless, he knew I would be just fine.