September 1996 - Dayton, Ohio
“I drive with reckless abandon.”
I laughed out loud, the way people did before it was a meaningless abbreviation. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“That’s why I get laid ALL THE TIME.”
I looked at the guy in the driver’s seat. He was seventeen years old, had braces that looked like leftover chicken wire and acne spattered across his forehead. Again, I laughed. Not because I thought he was being funny, but because I knew he actually believed what he was saying.
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| Jesse (artist rendering) |
Me, I was a year younger, overweight, shy and sitting in the passenger seat and wondering why I hadn’t just walked to my destination.
You see Jesse was a special kind of nerd- the kind that didn’t even know he was a nerd. He had somehow convinced himself that he was cool and popular, even though he was arrogant, insulting, and rude.
As a fellow nerd, I didn’t even like him. If anyone had seen us together, I would’ve been quick to tell them that Jesse was most definitely NOT my friend.
But Jesse did have one thing; a 1986 Fiero with T-tops. It was what I liked to call “burnt shit brown”. It had been given its last oil change at a friend’s house with used oil from a lawn mower- that’s how cheap (and clueless) Jesse was. It was a hideous vehicle.
Unfortunately, I was between jobs so my vehicle (a beautiful sky blue 1986 Mercury Cougar, with only a few dozen cigarette burns on the interior) had been sitting in my parent’s driveway for about two months. My father had made it clear, without a job and the money to cover my own car insurance, that Cougar would rust back into the earth from whence it came.
So there was Jesse and I cruising through a residential street at about 55 miles per hour. He had offered to take me to a job interview, and I needed the ride. I didn’t think at the time that his reason for offering was so that he could try and verbally run me down while he avoided doing the same as he crazily sped through the backroads, passing every other car in sight.
“Man, slow down. You’re driving like an idiot,” there was no trace of politeness in my voice.
“Don’t tell me how to drive. I know what I’m doing,” he said, turning to me and taking his eyes completely off the road. “I bet you’re a virgin aren’t you.”
At first I was struck by the boldness of the comment, my initial reaction was to blush. Then I remembered who I was talking to. Had it been one of the actual “cool” kids from school, I would’ve lied, or made some self deprecating joke, whatever it took to save face. But, this was Jesse, and I didn’t give a shit what he thought about me, or knew about me.
“Ya I am, and so are you.”
“Wha-?” he tried to mount some sort of response, but I wasn’t having it.
“You are so full of shit Jesse. Just stop with the lies. I’m sick of it. The closest you’ve ever come to pussy was comin’ outta one.”
“You keep it up and I’m going to get my Beretta,” his words were clumsy, his voice thick.
“You don’t have a Beretta, Jesse. Because if you did, I imagine I’d have seen it some time last Saturday.” About a week before this a neighborhood teen had confronted me while waving a gun around in my face. Jesse had been there. At first anyway, he had not surprisingly disappeared before the ordeal was over.
As I recalled this memory I became more angry, no longer willing to tolerate his inane manner.
"And slow the fuck down would ya?”
Jesse eased off of the accelerator.
I looked over at the now meek child that replaced the boisterous teen. Jesse’s face was red and eyes puffy, he was fighting a losing battle to hold back tears. It wasn’t surprising to me that he was welling up, I guess I was surprised that no one had called him out before. With only a few pointed words I had cracked, if not shattered whatever delusional barricade he had created for himself.
I wondered what made him act the way he did. I drew a blank.
The rest of that car ride was completed without a word. To his credit Jesse did in fact take me all the way to my interview. He very easily could’ve made me get out and walk for confronting his bullshit, but he didn’t.
When I exited his vehicle, I looked him in the eye. “I’ll find another way home.” I began to walk into my appointment.
For some reason, maybe it was my internal need for finality, perhaps some crueler spark within, but something made me turn back to him and say, “After today we don’t know one another.” the last thing I saw Jesse do was nod after he shifted that Fiero into gear.
It’s been twenty years since I’ve even thought about Jesse and that beat up Fiero. I’m not sure why he popped back into my brain this week.
I have no clue whatever happened to the guy, or where he ended up. I just hope he learned to come to terms with who he really was. My guess is that person was probably a pretty decent guy, shame I never met him.
