Forty Something

It was hot as hell that day, but I like it that way. I was going to meet two of my oldest friends. We’ve spent most of our lives together–preschool, grade school, and high school–the most memorable years of my life; the years during which no one asked questions like “What’s your 10K time?” or “What rate did you get on your refinance?” It was a time when things were so simple–you played all day, laughed all night watching TV, and chatted on the phone with boys you liked. I miss those days . . .
Though we’ve managed to reconnect, we lost touch for awhile, and haven’t really spoken much in years. We went our separate ways after high school, both of them choosing to go to local schools while I opted to go away for my four years. Over those four years life seemed to drastically change for both of them–kids came and they traded school for steady income–we had different lives and different paths.
I was going to their family barbeque and was quite anxious and excited to see them after seven years. I arrived at their parents’ house to find it just as I remembered it–an old but well-kept three-flat building with family occupying each level. Outside, children (who I would later learn were my friends’ own) were playing. As I neared the back of the house, I saw one of my friends. “Wow, she has not changed,” I thought. We were about to embrace one another just like old times when we were interrupted by a man asking me for a hug as well. I hugged him thinking he was a family member I just didn’t remember. But, as time went by, I learned he was not a family member, but her boss. I paid him no attention. The rest of the evening we ate, shared laughs, and told old family stories.
The next day my friend called me.

“Hey girl, how are you? It was so good seeing you.”


“Aw, you as well–I missed you both.” I said with a smile.


“So, my boss, he asked about you!” she nearly shouted.


“Really? I don’t really remember him.”


“He’s a good guy; he’s wealthy, divorced, and single. He wants to take you on a date.”


“Divorced–how old is he?”


“40 something.”


“40 something? I don’t think so.”


“No, he’s a young 40.”


“40 year olds always say they are ‘a young 40,’” I think to myself. “I don’t know–I don’t remember much about him and although I’m getting older, I’m still holding out for the bachelor with no kids.”


“Look, just go on one date. I promise you will have a good time if nothing else.”


“Okay,” I responded with hesitation.


When he called I agreed to meet for ice cream.
The day we were to meet up, I saw a car coming down the street–small in stature with its top down. What??? It’s a Porsche.
I should tell you, I couldn’t care less about a man’s car. It’s just not my thing. Don’t get me wrong, I like nice stuff and having a nice car is great, but I don’t date men based on their cars. In high school and college when I judged people less on their personality and more on their worldly possessions, I dated men based on cars, clothes, or other material goods, but now a car to me just means you have a car payment; another bill. Anyway, as impressed as some may have been, I could think of nothing else but my hair. As I inched toward the car, I wondered how I could tell him the car was nice but not very practical. I guess he could see the look on my face because he said, “You want me to put the top up, huh?” We both laughed.


As we sat and chatted about family, work, and our mutual friend, I realized 40 something was not so bad. I always thought that I was the kind of person who could date an older man. When I was in high school and college, I often dated men 10 years my senior. But somehow the rules of engagement had changed–I now believed that dating older men involved holding hands, chatting on the phone, and receiving wonderful gifts. “I mean, what other reason would there be to date someone much older than me?” I thought. “Maybe love has no age limit–I mean, as long as he doesn’t really touch me, I think I’d be okay.” I agreed to a formal date.


We had dinner the next week. It was a nice dinner–we chatted, he ordered our food in Spanish (to impress the waitress, I guess–anyone who knows me knows I’m not impressed by conforming to another language in America). We decided after dinner (well, he decided) to go for a walk along the lake. Luckily, I had my flip flops in my bag for this very possibility.


“This would be a great night for a boat ride,” he said.


“Yeah, that would be nice,” I replied, thinking “I hope he doesn’t try to kiss me.”


As we walked, I noticed we were walking with a purpose. As we got closer to the harbor, I realized he was pulling out a key.
My heart started to pitter-patter (much in the same way as when I thought I was getting diamonds for my birthday). I was almost giddy. A boat, a boat! I was grinning from ear to ear as he helped me into the boat. All sorts of thoughts were jumping around in my head: How long will it take me to learn to drive? Do you need a license? I wonder if he’ll give me a key? These were the benefits of dating older men, I realized. Men my age are paying car notes on Range Rovers; men his age have paid off their Range Rovers and now are paying the notes on boats. Wow! Great, I’ve graduated from car booty to boat booty. He had a 4-seater speed boat. The sad part was I kept imagining me and my boyfriend (not him) and another couple of friends out for a ride. But, the boat ride was amazing. It was super fast, and reminded me of the Miami Vice movie, except I wasn’t with the then young Don Johnson; I was with the 40-something guy.
As the night ended I realized I was not the least bit attracted to him, but sort of had butterflies in my stomach when he asked me on another date. (Yes! Of course I’ll go on another date with the boat… I mean you! )
We decided to meet for appetizers and a few drinks. As I was sitting across from him, I noticed his wrinkles–small indents in his face as he smiled. It totally grossed me out, and then he did the unthinkable. After we had had a long conversation the day before about boundaries and my not being ready to display any affection, he kissed me. I was so shocked. As he pressed his lips against mine, I felt like small bugs were all over my body. I jerked back–so much so it turned out he felt as though he needed to apologize. “I’m sorry, I could not resist.” I felt violated, but in a different way–more like I had been molested by my uncle’s friend and I needed to find the words to tell my mother. At that moment I knew we were done, but I knew it would only be right if I properly said goodbye to the boat (my true love). So on our farewell date we took one last boat ride. I savored every moment. I didn’t care about my hair blowing or the water splashing up on my face–I wanted to live in the moment. That was the last time we saw each other.

As the summer nears once again, I realize how much I miss him–the boat.