Chapter 3: Bombs Away

"What a joke dating is" Steve grumbled to himself as he brought the protesting old VW bus to a stop at the Circle Boulevard intersection. "Why not just move in together and be done with it? I already like her, she likes me, and it's not like I'm an ax murderer or anything. A witless dance between two people to get to know each other, to be 'sure'. I'll spend the whole evening trying to convince Jenny how wonderful I am. Which, of course, prevents her from really getting to know me..."

He smiled in spite of himself, earning an odd look from the mid 40's Volvo driver across the street from him, waiting for the light to turn green. Which made the smile into an outright chuckle. These old guys just didn't get it. They figured that if someone younger did something unusual there must be a problem somewhere. His smile faded, and a resentment arose in his mind. The turkeys had such an influence on his life, and they always seemed to be there, approving or frowning, determined to be in control. It seemed like he'd never get out from under the collective thumb of the boomers. It was hard to take the degree to which his life was controlled and affected by old duffers who now drove Volvo's, and their old girl friends who now drove minivans like the one behind him in line.

This transporter for instance, which he bought because it was the cheapest enclosed vehicle he could come up with for his windsurfing board collection. It had originally been owned by a former hippie, bought new while the he attended Oregon State University. The thought of buying a brand new minivan (or "microbus") while still in school, as an undergrad, was boggling to him. Here he was, 2 years out of school, a well ranked engineer for a huge multinational concern, pulling down twice the average salary for young men his age, and yet even now it would be difficult to afford a new minivan and a social life at the same time. Insurance alone would be overwhelming.

And what had the old codger done with it? Trashed it. Hand painted flowers on it with waterbased enamel paint, scorned regular maintenance (like oil changes), overloaded it with spaced out fellow travelers and then driven the little bus over the continental divide. No wonder he'd had to put in a new engine 20 years ago. But like most boomers he'd put the bus to secondary uses after getting a "real" job (with the same company Steve worked for) and the late childhood toy had finally been discarded when the boomer's daughter needed braces. Steve was delighted to find a serviceable, if thrashed, van.

Out of the blue, Steve suddenly understood something his friend Bill had once said to him, something he'd also heard (but discounted) from a "late boomer" supervisor.

The light turned green, and he moved past the now self absorbed pair of boomers in the Volvo and minivan.

"The history of this microbus could be analogous to the whole dating gig," he said to himself. Life had once been full of expectations, good ordinary things taken for granted, but the previous generation had consciously destroyed all that. The children born after the boomers had grown up learning how to live off the best pieces, sifting the wreckage left by their parents and elder siblings. For instance, the micro bus. Or, relationships. Mom and Dad, both "early boomers", had found each other through a fairly traditional process of boy-meets-girl, boy-asks-girl-out, girl-decides-when-the-first-kiss-is-OK, etc. Yet they had been embarrassed by the whole episode, and didn't talk about it much. Instead, they had talked more glowingly about the alternative living arrangements they'd had, the open marriage they'd discussed as a real possibility. Fuchida and Yumi Mitsunami had always been very impressed with their minor role in smashing the inhibitions that infected society before their generation came on the scene.

He turned onto the street where Jenny lived.

In their time, a monogamous relationship was common and cheap. It was expected and therefore somewhat boring. Something like the inevitability of owning a new car. Their generation had gloried in customizing those relationships, altering them until they fit their own ideas of cool and choosing variations that were different and fun. They then pushed those relationship ideas so hard that they had trashed the normal, expected relationship.

He turned the opposed 4 cylinder engine off.

Steve decided that this was too philosophical for the moment, but that he'd touched on something important here. Maybe courtship was clumsy, and maybe Jenny was being old fashioned in her approach to their budding relationship. In an odd way, it felt rebellious to engage in this ritual, here in Corvallis in 1996. Which made it more fun. As he knocked on the door, he decided he liked it. And then Jenny was there.

The Bombs Away Cafe, a favorite local eatery of eclectic, vaguely Mexican cuisine, was busy and noisy as usual. In an odd way, it was the "safe bet" place to go with a friend. Everyone went there.

Jenny didn't like it.

She had enjoyed the ride over from her home. Steve had been polite and attentive, the conversation had been easy. He really could be charming when he put his mind to it. Then again, the conversation hadn't been that easy because the old microbus was terrifically noisy. Someday he'd be able to afford something better, she hoped. And, a quick smile coming to her face, maybe she would help him pick it out?

Steve missed the reason for her smile, thinking that she liked the place. The food here was really top notch, excellent ingredients and knowledgeable chefs, and he was looking forward to the meal. "Pretty cool, huh?" he said. "My boss brought his whole project team here once for lunch. I really like the food."

Her smile faded. "Do you like this noise, though? How are we going to talk?"

He laughed. "Nobody talks here, you yell at each other. Or dance. But talking is out. Where does it lead?"

Jenny made a face. "I like to talk. How are you going to tell me all about yourself, for instance? I don't know a thing about your time in college, for instance. And what are your parents like? And how many brothers and sisters do you have? Do you like to do anything besides engineering and ultimate and windsurfing?"

He thought "I like being with you for some reason" but didn't say it. "OK, you're right. Should we go someplace else? But we're almost to the front of the line."

"No, we're here. Maybe we can find a corner, or take a walk after dinner?" she said hopefully.

"Good idea. What do you want to eat?"

They ordered, he paid (he was a bit surprised that she made no move to pay her share), took the little plastic sign which would guide the waitstaff person to them, and went in search of a "quiet" table. The search eventually turned into one for any table at all. Around behind the palm fronds there was a small one sheltered by a couple booths. That it was relatively quiet was a nice bonus; its main charm was being empty. Bombs Away Cafe was crowded tonight.

"What is everyone doing out on the town on a Thursday?" Jenny asked.

Steve saw Peter Fellows and his wife at another table and waved. "The boomers are out in force tonight. Most of this crowd is over 40! Must be nice to have more money than you need, enough to just drift out to dinner when you don't feel like doing the dishes."

"Whatever" Jenny said as she gracefully removed her coat, hung it on the back of the chair, and slid onto the chair all in one motion. Steve didn't think anything of it, but the graying crowd in the immediate vicinity was impressed. "This place is so garish."

Puzzled by her nonchalance about the place, he opined that he liked the restaurant's random dashes of bright colors. "It rains so much here that it gets gloomy. The colors here are a pretty effective antidote."

"True, but there are other ways of lightening things up. This scheme is so pretentiously radical, it hurts. It hurts my eyes, and somehow..."; she faltered. She had been going to say "it hurts my soul" but that sounded corny. "...somehow, it makes me tense. Maybe when brightly lit, clean and comfortable restaurants were common place this kind of decor stood apart and made a statement of some sort. But now its message of random destruction and disorder is so commonplace that it makes the decor a safe way to insure business while adding to the sense that everything is falling apart around us."

Steve was startled. This line of reasoning sounded familiar. He didn't think a philosophical discussion at this point would be a particularly great way to start up a relationship, yet her insight made him want to carry the idea forward, to find out what she thought, to tell her what he thought. This wasn't working like he'd planned. Thinking and dating don't mix.

Jenny could read the hesitation on his face. "Silly boy," she said to herself. "I've probably gone and scared him. He's not ready for deep discussions of the culture. He expected me to like this place. I know it was one of Sachico's favorite haunts, and all the managers at work like to bring their people here. Maybe I'd better change the subject."

Just as she began speaking, the music started. She sighed. Yet another rendition of "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band".

Steve didn't like the sigh. His gorgeous date wasn't particularly enjoying herself yet. He'd have to come up with something to say.

"Did you enjoy the game? I think you saw part of it today."

"Oh, yes, Ultimate looks like fun. How did you get started?"

And they had something to shout about. Steve had no difficulty going on, at length, about the wonders of Ultimate Frisbee, and the virtues of strenuous exercise. Jenny learned a lot about him from listening to his life history as framed by the rotating disk and Nike tennis shoes. Later, when the album had finished and dinner had arrived, they were able to talk at a more nearly normal level of conversation.

Steve said, standing up, said "I need a beer. Can I get you one?"

"I don't drink" Jenny said, rather primly.

"Oh? Why not?" He immediately regretted asking. Why pry?

"Well, in the first place, I'm a Mormon, and we don't believe that drinking alcohol is a good thing. In the second place, I had a relative who was a drunk and it really was disgusting. Coke is fine with me."

Steve sat back down. This was news.

"I didn't know. Tell me, what is it like being a Mormon? I don't think I've ever talked to anyone about that faith before."

Inwardly he winced, while keeping a straight face. So much for avoiding deep philosophy. Sachico had always been bored with anything deeper than Dear Abbey, and even for that she'd needed to be in the right mood. He'd been raised to think of people who held on to a belief in an all powerful supernatural God as idiots, bigots, and worse. Steve knew that discussing anything like this on the first date could be the kiss of death for future dates. But he'd done it anyway. Freudian death wish? There he went, thinking again.

"What faith did you grow up with, Steve?"

Careful, guy. "Uh, none really. My parents were from Japan, and they had rejected the Shinto of their homeland as superstitious. Dad considered becoming Catholic before they were married, and Mom's feminism seems to get her connected with New Age stuff sometimes, but they both prefer not to think too much about supernatural things. They say they don't have time for it."

Jenny nodded, and said "Well, my upbringing certainly wasn't very rigid. We went to 'church' occasionally, and I've been to the Temple in Salt Lake City, and I've had most of the schooling in my faith. Dad didn't buy some of the things my church teaches, and Mom really didn't buy what the elders teach about women. But I've always liked the traditions, the history, the sense of belonging that comes with the Mormon church. And I think much of what is taught to us makes sense, like the ban on drinking. Every ounce of alcohol kills a few brain cells, for instance. I don't need to lose any of the few that I have."

Steve smiled. He was well aware of how intelligent she was; if anyone could afford to snuff a little gray matter, she could.

She continued. "Our teachings give me some idea about good and evil, you know, the big picture kinds of things. I wish it was more clear, and that everyone could get it, but even failing that it seems important to me. The world is so chaotic; I want some stability."

She fell silent. Had she talked too much? Well, better for him to learn early on in their relationship than later.

"I see. I think you're attitude towards drinking is maybe a little drastic, but on the other hand it's better to be drastic your way than the other. Being drunk or drugged all the time really isn't pretty. Your discussion of faith interests me. I honestly haven't considered it much, and most of the consideration I've given it has been negative. I've not had any positive connections with a church before, and I know little of what makes one church different from another. What is the difference between Mormons and Catholics anyway?"

"Uh, well, to tell you the truth I'm not certain. I think the Catholics have corrupted the faith, and the Mormon church was established by an Angel of Light 100 odd years ago as a new start on living the right way. Since then, the Catholics seem to have become more open to the basics of Christianity, so there aren't so many differences. I don't really know, but I guess I should. There are other Protestant denominations too, but they all seem basically the same. For some reason the Catholics are still held apart, as are we to a lesser extent. Probably old prejudice, or something."

"Yeah, I see."

Another song started up. The Rolling Stones belted out "Can't get no satisfaction".

Jenny laughed until she choked on her food, and Steve's spirits rose. The conversation hadn't been going at all the way he thought it should.

"This is some deep, intellectual place to be having a discussion like this" Jenny said in a loud voice, despite which only Steve could hear her. "Most of the people around us really know what this song means, now." And they both laughed. Time to talk about something else.

"Jenny, how did you ever end up with that old Cobra? Isn't it hard to keep running? I mean, everyone knows they are fast, but I also hear that they break a lot."

"You just have to know more than the car. My dad put it together from scratch, and I helped." She giggled. "I helped get the whatchamacallit, I helped bring coffee, I held the light. But he taught me a lot about it, so I can keep it running. You see, it's really a very simple car....."

And the conversation took a lighter turn. They were finding that they enjoyed each other's company. Steve, for instance, had always wanted to have a hot rod but his dad had never had the time to help him with one and his mom had objected to paying the insurance required. His high schools days had been spent driving a Chevette, which was really pretty embarrassing at the time. But he'd had friends who drove faster cars and his favorite Saturday afternoon activity had been driving over the George Johnson's house to help him work on his 1968 Camaro. Though he'd never been around Cobra cars much, he knew quite a bit about them from his magazine subscriptions. He found that Jenny wasn't kidding when she said she knew a lot about her car.

"So why do you have a 302 instead of a 427?" he said at one point in the conversation.

"Because my dad felt it would be lighter and would steer easier, which he thought was important for a girl, of course" she said, dimpling again.

"Oh, well that makes sense I guess. You could have taken up weightlifting."

"Please, Steve, don't be funny. Some women like doing stuff like that, and I'm happy for them. But I'd rather work out with a wrench than spend hours doing repetitive exercises in a stinky gym."

Steve nodded. He'd never been real fond of mindless exercise either, though he rather liked the smell of a gym. His mind started to wander to a mental image of Jenny lifting weights in a gym... and then he realized that the conversation was lagging. "Did you and your father do anything to the engine to make it faster than a standard 302?"

"Oh yes, Dad put in high compression pistons, 4 bolt rod and bearing caps, an Edelbrock manifold, and a really good carb. Before we put the car together, he spent over a month polishing and honing that engine. It's been balanced absolutely beautifully; I helped do that. You should have heard it run on the stand with no mufflers. It was a thing of wonder."

"How did you help balance it?"

"I weighed all of the moving components, numbered them, made up charts, figured out how much metal had to come off, that sort of thing. He did the actual drilling, but I did all the engineering."

"Wow, sounds like a lot of fun. I'd like to do something like that someday." Steve was really envious.

"It was" she replied. "But you know, the car was kind of a headache when I was going to college. Real, genuine Cobra's are very valuable now, and after a couple scares I ended up renting a garage and storing it off campus."

"Really? I guess I hadn't thought about that, but a great car would be kind of vulnerable on campus, wouldn't it. Still, Pepperdine is a pretty radical school, and it seems hard to believe that you could have any serious problems there. What kind of scares did you have?"

"It was stolen once, and the top was slashed once."

"That's awful" Steve replied, feigning shock. What was the point in hashing over the wretched state of the world? "But how did you get it back? I though the police didn't even bother trying to find stolen vehicles in southern California."

Jenny smiled. "Well, the police in the area had kind of noticed me driving around in that car before. It kind of attracts attention."

Steve thought of other reasons the police would have noticed her driving with the top down, but kept them to himself. "True."

"So, when the policeman on duty saw a scroungy looking man driving my car away from campus at high speed, he kind of guessed that something was wrong and chased him down. The thief stopped the car at an intersection, blocking traffic, and made off on foot. They didn't catch him, but I got my car back with only minor damage to the wiring. After that, I decided it needed to be stored."

"Really. I can see that. It is really sad that you can't have something nice without it attracting negative attention, isn't it. " Steve shook his head. "I mean, what is the point in having a nice car if society won't let you have it? Even if you are rich and have a garage to store it in, and can afford to live in a nice neighborhood, what does that buy you? Can you drive your Cobra to downtown Portland? You take a chance. Can you drive it with the top down to the ocean on a beautiful Saturday? You're taking a chance. It's sad."

Jenny smiled, and said "True, but that makes it advantageous to own an old microbus, doesn't it?"

They laughed.

Steve and Jenny visited about mostly inconsequential things for the rest of the evening. They got to know each other better, and as the evening wound down Jenny realized she was still glad to be out with him. This was going well, and she was even a little smug about it.

Later Steve drove her home.

As they came to a stop in the driveway, he asked "Would you mind if I asked you out again, soon? I've really enjoyed this evening, and I'd like to take more of your time, if you don't mind." He'd already said that. Nervous.

"I'd like that" was her reply. Inside her head a triumphant blast on a trumpet played. "I've got a trip planned to the coast with some friends this weekend, but next week is pretty open. Give me a call." And she beamed at him, slid out, and went inside.

After staring at the closed door for a couple minutes, more than half hoping it would open again, Steve drove home.