(continued from
The Way We Met)
So, Spring 1983 Lucy is totally gaga over Steve, he is pursuing me, and I'm clueless to his pursuit. We three started riding together to the Single Adult Conference planning meetings, 30 miles away. At one point, on the way home Steve suggests that I sit in the middle in the front seat, instead of in the back. AWKWARD! But Lucy was insisting as well, so... On another day, I was sitting next to Vic and other Single Adults in the back row of Sacrament Meeting, and I remember Steve crawling over a few people and me, to sit between Vic and me; which I thought was a bit odd at the time, but I sloughed it off thinking that he had to visit with Vic about something. Yet another Sunday morning, my friend, Dorene, who was constantly trying to match me up with guys, noticed Steve at Stake Conference and pointed him out to me. I rolled my eyes and leaned over saying, "Not interested." I was set to put my papers in for my mission, and Lucy was still swooning. Steve and I had a few other interactions which I thought were awkward, at the time, and I was beginning to think he was a bit weird.
We were placed on the same SA Conference committee, charged with the task of soliciting rooms from local members to be used by the attendees of the conference. Which meant that I was doing all of the footwork; until the 4th of April, when I called Steve offering to walk up to the University and meet with him during his lunch hour to deliver a chart I had made with the telephone numbers of half of the Ward members who had signed up to provide housing and three quick questions to which we needed the answers: how many participants could they house? what gender would be most convenient to their family situation? and would they be available to transport the attendees in the evening/morning? All he had to do was to call the number and note the answers in the adjacent boxes. I remember that I was so put off by his thus far non-participation that I quipped my request for the meeting like this, "I know you are soooo busy with your work that you hardly have time for anything else, but we do need to make some calls...I'll walk up to the University to deliver a list of members to call during your lunch hour. You do take time for lunch, don't you?" He answered nonchalantly that he did and our meeting would be fine. To his credit, he did offer to pick me up, but I was into the new 80's exercise fad of walking 3-4 mile/day, so I declined his offer figuring that I could easily walk the 5 mile round trip.
When I arrived at his lab, Steve announced that the Challenger Space Shuttle was launching for the first time, that he really wanted to see it, and asked if "we could move our meeting to his place." I agreed, figuring he was the one with the time constraints. We drove to the Powell's house, members of our Ward who rented three rooms in their basement to college students. The renters jointly shared the use of the den in the basement. Shortly after we finished eating the lunches that we each had prepared for ourselves (I brought mine), I suggested that we discuss what needed to be done to fulfill our commitment to the Conference. That discussion lasted three minutes, tops. Steve readily agreed to calling his half of the list. We proceeded to watch the shuttle take off from every televised vantage point, with every notable aviator (including Snoopy) commenting on the historical significance of the feat. Hours went by, while I scratched my head wondering at the luxury of this day in comparison with the allusion that Steve presented of his advisor being such the task master.
Finally, at four o'clock I reminded Steve that I needed to return to Comyn Hall for my work shift, which started at four-thirty. Steve agreed and walked me to the sliding glass doors that led from the den into the back yard of the Powell's house
(see picture here, click "Bird's eye" view and zoom in). After I stepped through he door, I heard it slide closed behind me. I turned to see
Steve lock the door from the inside and pull the curtains shut. I let out a
gaffaw, and started knocking on the door. As Steve had moved the meeting to his home, I was now at least ten miles away from Comyn Hall. Did he really expect me to walk from here? I kept knocking, telling him through the door that his joke was
"really funny." No response. I sat on the patio furniture for a few minutes waiting for him, and returned to knock on the door and call out to him.
No response. Sat on the patio furniture again. Knocked on the door.
No response. I walked up the driveway that led from the back of the house to the street, changed my mind and walked back down to the sliding glass doors, knocked and called out my request to use the telephone to call a cab.
No response. I walked around to the front of the house and knocked on the front door to ask the Powells if I could use their phone to call a cab. No one answered. I walked back around to the back of the house one more time to try to reach Steve.
No response. Now I was angry. I started to walk with purpose up the driveway and up the long straight slight hill of Brookmere Rd. toward the nearby mall, where I knew I would be able to catch a bus back to Comyn Hall. I walked backwards at first, thinking I would see Steve coming after me, either out to street on foot, or in his early 1970's Impala. Nothing. When I could no longer see the house for the turn in the road, I turned around and began to walk briskly.
I had made it about a third of a mile and was just approaching a gas station, where I had planned to call Comyn Hall and explain to the day shift person that I was going to be very late, when all of a sudden Steve drove up beside me and snapped through the passenger side window, "Get in!"
I opened the door thinking, There he is! Maybe Pili (day person) won't be too mad. As I slid into the seat, Steve barked, "No girl has ever walked out on a date with me before, and no girl ever will again!"
I refused to answer him, and rode home in thought: I can't believe HE'S mad at me! He's the one who locked me out of the house. How DARE he be mad at me!... Date? What date? This wasn't a date. This was a meeting. HE thinks this was a date. Oh, NO! He thinks this was a date!
As we neared Comyn Hall, Steve had already started apologizing. I kept insisting that it was okay, thinking Just get me out of here! As we drove up to the door, Steve was pleading to take me out to lunch to make up for the misunderstanding. Realizing that we were going to have to reconvene to collect the results of the telephone calls, I relented.
Steve insists this was our first date. What do you think? (Be sure to vote in the poll at the top of the page.)
To be continued... wait until you hear about Steve's compensation date!
Oh, Steve's explanation (offered at my request, once we started dating seriously):
- He thought I knew that he had to lock the sliding glass doors from inside and exit through his private entrance in his bedroom; the door of which was right next to the sliding glass doors.
- But first he had to rinse off his knife and plate that he used to make his peanut butter and marshmallow cream sandwich, ...in the utility room, behind the den.
- When he finished cleaning up, Steve couldn't find me in the back yard, so he thought I was playing hide-and-seek in the bushes behind the house.
- When Steve went into the front yard to look in the bushes, he asked Brother Powell, who was sitting on the front porch , if he had seen a girl. When, Brother Powell asked, "What girl?" Steve explained, "I brought a girl home to eat lunch and now I can't find her." Brother Powell, answered, "Well, Steve, you go find that girl and bring her back here!" [Note: Brother Powell was no where to be seen while I was wandering around trying to find a phone, NOR while I was walking backward up the street! That's how long it took for Steve to 'come find me'. I'm just sayin'...]
+06dec+re.JPG)
