The Thing About Dating an 18-Year-old
The entire week had been shit. School was – naturally – physically, emotionally, mentally, and socially exhausting, and when I actually had the time out from pop quizzes and fake classmates, my parents just had to utilize those moments to nag at me for whatever random reason they thought about. Not to mention, my mom’s Mazda broke down so, for a whole week, I had to be dropped at school with my dad’s 8-year-old minivan that he really loves but I – and most probably the rest of the world as well – don’t.
But the thing about dating an 18-year-old was that, as the sun was starting to set on a Friday afternoon, he’d be standing outside your door, leaning on his ancient, rusty red pick up truck while he spun the keys around his index finger with the same old crooked grin he wore the last time you saw him.
“Can I steal you away for a ride?”
“I don’t know, can you?” I smirked, trying to play hard to get though we both knew that I was already all caught up in the complete work of perfection that is Lucas Carson. But I don’t mean perfection as in the tall, dark, and handsome type. He was dark, yes, but we were almost the same height, and he wasn’t what most would perceive as handsome, but he was for me. For some reason, I adored his dark hair that never seemed to stay in place, and I loved the way his lips looked dry and chaffed all the time because he wasn’t a fan of hydration, and I think it’s cute how his teeth are still crooked even though he spent most of middle school with gigantic braces. He was my kind of perfect, I guess.
“Well,” he said. “I did just text your mom that you can’t come home for dinner tonight because you were going on a roadtrip”
My eyes lit up. “Roadtrip?”
He opened the car door and it creaked but still he motioned for me to get it with his head. “Get in”
“But I’m wearing a track suit right now. And my bunny fitflops.”
He shot me an impassive expression. “Do you honestly think I care, Kathryne?”
I laughed.
***
The next thing I knew I was poking my head out one of the tinted windows of that old, rusty red car – the cold wind on my face, the sense of freedom in my heart, and Lucas Carson trying to scream into my ear that I shouldn’t poke my head out of car windows.
“You sound like my dad,” I told him.
“I sound like the adult that I am,” he corrected.
I scoffed. “You’re eighteen.” I turned to him to give him a glare. “We’re two years apart, Luke”
“Doesn’t change the fact that you shouldn’t go around poking your head out car windows,” He smiled, obviously so proud at how maturely he answered that question.
Whatever.
I pulled my head away from the window and crossed my arms, pouting. “Fine”
The thing about dating an 18-year-old was that after 15 seconds of pouting and deciding that you want to hate him for the rest of the evening, he’d blast your favorite band in his low-tech, 90’s car stereo, and the next thing you knew, you’re singing along, and he’s singing with you even though he barely knows the words and you’re laughing at each other because guitar solos aren’t supposed to be sung but you sang it anyway and it was more accurate than any other part of the song you’ve sung so far.
***
“Where are we even going?” I asked.
Luke has been driving for hours. It was already dark and he still didn’t tell me where he was taking me out for dinner. It better not be anything fancy because I sure can’t show up in a 5-star restaurant wearing a track suit and bunny fitflops, most especially not with my hair being this frilly mess.
“I actually have no idea,” he answered. “Pizza, I guess?”
“There are like tons of pizza places in our town, Luke. You didn’t have to waste so much gas”
Wow, Luke.
For an 18-year-old he sure is pretty dumb.
“Yeah, but-“ he trailed off, not speaking again for a long time.
“But what?”
“But I wanted to be alone and this close to you for 2 hours or so”
It’s been 6 months since I wrote “yes” at the back of my math exam results and threw it at him while he was at basketball practice, but I still blush at these little things.
No, it’s not blush. More like completing metamorphosis for a tomato.
I didn’t speak for a while.
“So, when are we getting that pizza?”
***
The thing about dating an 18-year-old is that he’d always pay, and he’d buy like four whole pizzas because he knows how big your appetite is. You’d eat in the car, even though it smells like cheese and whatever else his ancestors left in there to rot because you both are too ashamed to be eating four whole pizzas in public.
So, there I was, in that same old pick up truck, betting Lucas Carson that I can finish a box faster than he can, and trying to tell him afterwards that it was an unfair game because he was a guy, he was 18, and he had a huge appetite, which led us to another bet of who can finish an entire liter of Coke first that he ‘purposely’ lost (obviously didn’t. Duh. It was my clear victory) because he felt bad for me.
Ten minutes later, we sit in regret, in the pick up truck, rubbing our bellies and exchanging lame jokes, and laughing because this was our idea of a date.
***
On the way back home, Coldplay was on the stereo. I looked at the stars and mapped out constellations.
Luke turned the music down, like he always did when he had something really important to say.
“Kathy,” he said softly.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks” It was almost a whisper. But I heard it. Even if I didn’t, I could see it in his face.
“What do you mean? You did everything. I was just here”
“Exactly. You’re always there for me”
“Awww,” I teased, poking his shoulder. “You’re always there for me, too, Lukey wookie”
He laughed. I laughed. And then only Coldplay and the wind were making noises.
“But, seriously, though, Kathryne”
“Yeah” I understood. I always did. We didn’t talk about it on a daily basis, but we knew most of all what feelings we held for each other – that’s the thing about dating an 18-year-old.
“Thanks as well, Luke. A lot”
Of all the stars I’ve seen shining that night, none was ever as bright as Lucas Carson.
***
“So”
We found ourselves back in front of my house, leaning on his ancient, rusty red pick up truck with our hands clasped together, which kind of just happened.
“Yeah”
We both looked at our hands and how they just fit, and how close we were at the moment, and how good it felt to be this close.
I looked at him, and I remembered that at one point in time I didn’t even find Lucas Carson handsome, but as I got to know him and spent more time with him, somehow, he became more and more attractive to me, and I found myself drawn to him each passing day, until that day when he stood in front of my house with pizza, saying that he was sorry that Gavin Connors broke up with me and if I wanted to talk he would listen, and all of the sudden, Lucas Carson became the most handsome person I have ever laid my eyes on – not because of what he looked like, but because of who he was.
“I guess I’ll-“ he said.
“See you-“ I continued.
“Yeah” We sighed.
The thing about dating an 18-year-old is that it would take 1 or 2 weeks before you see him again, because he went to school in another town, but another thing about dating an 18-year-old, is that, right after your lips brush, you don’t really mind that much.
-Desimandrius
