Your hands are a flutter, as they lay in your lap. Dainty, fingernails painted a soft pink, match your lips. It’s a little touch of colour, because you’d wanted to be pretty. You’d taken a whole day to get ready for your date to the drive-in. Mary-Janes and a floral print dress, the tiniest of braids and a brushing of rosy blush.
And for what?
Well, to find yourself being whiz-roared away, clinging for dear life at the back-seat of the wildest Pontiac Firebird that’d ever graced your parents’rich, fancy-frilled neighbourhood.
Driven by the hoodiest of hoodlums, it’d squealed to a stop at your Mother’s rose-bloom covered letterbox, and kidnapped you! A spluttering red-metal junk bucket, wheezing and a-sneezing on four thundering wheels. There’d been no seat-belt, yet there’d been no way of escape. Dressed in black leather, eyes darker than burning coal, he’d given you a grin and you’d been a goner.
And so now you sit, in the back-seat of his Firebird, pretending to watch the film. Your eyes though, have settled on a cigarette burn - coincidentally the shape of a rusty love-heart - that’s by your stockinged right thigh. You don’t want to look to your left thigh, because he’s right there, and you know he knows he’s making you squirm most uncomfortably. You also notice that there’s a frayed, gaping rip in the well-worn and bottom-dented back-seat on your side.
Amused, he says the back-seat’s gotten a lot of love rubbing and you gulp, throat tightening. Back-seat claustrophobia. He's too close, too too close. It’s a sudden ailment you've caught, with symptoms of fever, fast pulse and an inability to think straight.
"Do you want some popcorn?" He asks with a wicked stare, while you perspire into your lace and frills of innocence. Naive girl! Blind dates indeed!"Huh?" You squeak."Popcorn. You want some, Miss?" Your date's got a tattoo of an eagle, and a cigarette packet, half-empty, in his pocket. He doesn't smell too much like a smoking chimney, but you can tell by that grin, he's going to bring you nothing but trouble."Yes please."What's a girl like you, doing in a place like this, with a boy like that? Oh but, ooooh!
He winks as he leaves to get the popcorn, and promises he'll be back soon."Oh Mama, forgive me," Cheeks all a flaming, you squeak out your last squeak to the watching moon above, "Mama, forgive me for what I do tonight."