Have You Ever Been Arrested?

 

“Have you ever been arrested?”

This was one of the first questions my friend’s date asked him as they were headed out for dinner. Andrea rested her hand languidly on the steering wheel and looked at my friend expectantly.

“Um … no,” he said, glancing at her. “Have you?”

“Of course.”

Of course. Ben shifted slightly in his seat.  His friend had insisted he would like Andrea, even though Ben had sworn off blind dates for eternity. His last blind date had been a disaster, the girl (Dina? Diane? Dana?) sat silent and looked petrified, her eyes widening in horror when the waitress approached their table. 

But after seeing pictures of Andrea, he caved. Andrea was attractive, in a wholesome, all American sort of way. Her honey-colored hair, freckled nose, and brown eyes portrayed something light and airy, almost refreshing.

Now here they were, encapsulated in Andrea’s Honda Civic heading north. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, her being arrested. Maybe she was protesting for an honorable cause and was taken into custody for trespassing. Or perhaps she took the heat for a friend, allowing them to escape while she stood there bravely, letting the cops slap handcuffs on her dainty wrists.

Ben cleared his throat. “What were you arrested for?”

Andrea glanced at the road before resting her gaze on Ben’s face, unwavering. “Vandalism.”

“Vandalism?” Ben repeated. “Like, graffiti?”

“Nah. I keyed my ex boyfriend’s car.”

Ben wasn’t certain, but he thought his heart stopped beating for a split second. 

“You keyed your boyfriend’s car? Why?”

Andrea shrugged, staring ahead. “He broke up with me.”

Shit. This date had to end fast. The last thing he wanted was anything to happen to his BMW. His BMW was his baby, his pride and joy. This was the very reason he insisted Andrea drive. Their lunch destination was located on a road that hadn’t been paved in decades. Ben didn’t want to take the chance of pebbles or debris scratching his Beemer’s freshly waxed exterior. Now that paled in comparison to what Andrea could do.

“Wow,” was all Ben could muster. He frantically made plans. Act like a jerk, so she’ll never want to see you again. No … no. That may piss her off. She’ll track me down and disfigure my car. Boring! Be really boring so she’ll never want to see you again!

So Ben tried to be a dud. He sat stone-faced, like Dina (Dana? Diane?) and said very little. Andrea didn’t seem to notice. At one point she reached over and stroked his hand with her thumb, announcing how happy she was to be there with him. A sense of dread engulfed him. 

Driving home, Andrea started to plan their future. Ben panicked.

“I don’t think this is going to work out,” he said. Silence. He watched Andrea’s fingers tighten on the steering wheel, her knuckles turning a shade of white. “It’s not you. It’s me. I’m just not ready for anything …” 

Ben stopped talking. Were they going faster? The scenery flying by Ben’s window was gathering speed. He grabbed the edges of his seat. Andrea was facing forward, her foot gradually pressing down harder on the gas pedal.

“But I know someone perfect for you!” he blurted out.

He could feel Andrea’s body relax. Her foot eased off the accelerator. “Oh yeah? Who?”

“My buddy.” Frantically, Ben thought of his friends. Who would be attracted to someone like this?

“Which buddy?”

And then Ben thought of Doug. Doug who was always kicked out of bars for crazy behavior. Doug who just took it one step too far. Doug and Andrea would be perfect for each other.

“Doug.”

Doug?” she repeated. “What kind of name is that?”

But she was satisfied and dropped my friend off in one piece, but not without the orders of Doug contacting her immediately. On impulse, Ben went into the garage to check on his BMW before calling Doug.

“I’ve got a girl for you. But I’m warning you -she’s crazy,” he told Doug.

“Niiiice,” Doug said, “You know what they say. Crazy in the head, crazy in bed.”

And so, Andrea was handed off to Doug, who decided that even she was too nuts for him. But Ben’s BMW was never touched.

 

 

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