Beach Blanket Bingo

July 19, 2005

Driving with the window open did little to keep me cool. After a three-hour drive in a rolling black box, pushing through the stifling, humid air from South Jersey to Brooklyn, I arrived home with a soaking wet stripe of sweat across my chest where my seat belt had been. The open window kept my head filled with highway noise most of the way, which I tried to combat by cranking the car radio to eleven. When I finally pulled onto my street, shut the engine off and closed the car door behind me, all I could hear was a chorus of angels.

I climbed the stairs, threw open my apartment door, tossed my things on the floor and ran to the air conditioner. A push of a button and a turn of a dial blasted me with an icy breeze and, soon, I began to coagulate into my solid self again.

After an hour or two of AC, my phone rang. It was Sarah. "Can you work tomorrow?" she asked.

"Can I? Yes! I’m so there, I'm back already."

"Just one day, but it's something."

Afterthat, I was ready to face the thick summer air once again and sent Deborah a message to see if she wanted to meet for dinner.

"Are you asking me on a date?"

I figured that was code for "Are you paying?" Since I had a day of work coming, and I'd spent exactly zero dollars the whole weekend, eating my parent's food for free, I figured I could swing it. "Yes."

"Okay. Where and when?"

There's a seafood restaurant on North Sixth Street that's decked out like a tropical beach bar: Surfboards hanging from the ceiling, palm trees, fish tanks, sand covering the floor. Chowder, margaritas, et cetera. I couldn't remember the name of it, but I suggested we go there. "How about that Beach Blanket Bingo place off Bedford?"

"Okay! Should I wear a bikini?"

"Yes!'

But she didn't.