First Date

The following evening, David called me.

“So, I was thinking…do you wanna go down to the waterfront on Friday night?” he asked.

I stood in front of my full-length mirror on my closet door, my cordless phone wedged between my shoulder and my ear, grinning at my reflection. I couldn’t believe that this gorgeous guy was actually calling me for a date.

“Sure,” I replied, struggling to sound nonchalant. “I’ll pick you up around seven?”

“Yeah, that sounds good. See you then.”

Friday, July 11, 1997 arrived, and it was a pleasantly warm evening, not a trace of humidity in the air. A perfect midsummer night. I pulled up outside Lynda’s house and waved at the waitresses milling around on the loading dock of the restaurant where I worked. My best friend Carolyn was among them; she grinned and gave me the thumbs-up signal as I crossed the street and walked up Lynda’s front steps.

David’s brother’s girlfriend let me in the house and introduced herself. Her name was Marisa, and it turned out that we both attended the same university as commuter students, though she was a year ahead of me. She offered me a seat on the sofa and told me that David would be down in a minute. I heard the faint strains of a radio playing pop music drifting down from the second floor.

Marisa ran upstairs, presumably to let David know that I was there, and I glanced around the large, neat living room. The carpeting was dark green and a little worn, but clean. The furniture was old and mismatched: a light blue sofa and loveseat, whitewashed rattan coffee and end tables, a white overstuffed chair in the corner. The windows were thrown open and a lovely breeze blew throughout the first floor. A heavy crystal ashtray, nearly overflowing with stubbed-out cigarette butts, sat on the coffee table.

The music upstairs stopped, and a moment later I heard a door squeaking open. Then David came running down the stairs, followed closely by Marisa. I smiled at him, my heart fluttering. He looked fucking great; he was wearing a plain white t-shirt, the short sleeves rolled up on his tanned biceps, long denim shorts that came just to his knees, white socks and sneakers, and a silver chain around his neck.

“Hello!” he said. He looked nervous, and I felt a little better.

“How are you?” I replied.

“I’m great. You?”

“I’m good.”

“You ready to roll?”

“Sure.” I grabbed my purse and stood up from the sofa, jingling my car keys in my hand.

He shoved his leather wallet into his pocket and glanced at Marisa, who was hovering in the background. “We’re going down the city tonight. Be back later.”

She smirked as we walked out the front door. “Have fun, guys.”

Outside, the sun cast a mellow glow on the street as it set over the rooftops. I unlocked the car doors and we set off toward the city.

“So, how’s work?” David asked me.

“Good. I really like it there,” I said. “Your mom’s been there forever, huh?”

“Yeah, she has. Since I was born,” he informed me.

“Wow. Well, at least it’s convenient for her to get there…right up the street.” I groaned to myself. This had to be the lamest, most awkward conversation in the history of first dates ever.

I popped in a cassette tape of my then-favorite rap song by the Notorious B.I.G. as my car passed under the El at 63rd Street. To my horror, just as the song began, the tape deck went berserk and ate the cassette.

David and I looked at each other and cracked up. Thank God, finally an icebreaker.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he answered. “I could go for some food.”

We wound up at the TGI Friday’s on the Ben Franklin Parkway. There was a wait for a table, so he led me to the bar. I didn’t dare protest, but I worried that we’d be carded; I was just nineteen years old, and I knew that he was not quite twenty-one yet. But he carried himself in a way that made him appear older, and the bartender didn’t bat an eyelash as David ordered himself a bottle of Bud and me a fuzzy navel.

David pulled out a stool at the crowded bar for me and motioned for me to sit. He stood behind me, his arm resting on the back of my seat. I peeked at our reflection in the mirror across the back bar, wondering if David liked how I looked. I’d agonized over the perfect outfit for this date. Shorts seemed too casual, but I didn’t want to be overdressed, either. I’d settled on a dark denim skort, black sandals, and a thin cotton shirt with pale pink, black and white stripes. My hair was pulled back from my face and fastened in a thick, cascading mane with a banana clip.

The bartender slid our drinks across the bar to us, and David lifted his beer in my direction. “To us,” he announced. I smiled, clinking my glass against his bottle.

After dinner, I asked him if he wanted to hang out on the steps of the Art Museum instead of driving all the way across town to the river. He agreed, so we retrieved my car from the parking lot and drove down the Parkway to the museum.

When I pulled my car up to the very edge of the top of the Art Museum’s steps, he looked alarmed. “What are you doing? Are we allowed to be here?”

“Yes, yes,” I reassured him. “It’s perfectly legal to park here. My friends and I come here all the time.” He cast a doubting glance at me. “Come on,” I insisted. “Let’s get out and sit down on the steps. It’s a beautiful night, and you can’t beat this view.”

We joined each other in front of my car and sat down on the cool stone steps in silence, gazing out together down the Parkway at the twinkling lights of the city. What was he thinking? Was he having fun?

After a few minutes, I tugged on his arm and stood up. “I want to show you something.”

I took him by the hand and began walking around to the back of the enormous museum.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

I chuckled. “You’ll see.”

We left the asphalt parking lot behind the museum and carefully hiked down the steep, grassy hill leading down toward the Schuylkill River. It was pitch-black and deserted, eerily quiet except for the faint hum of traffic on the Expressway across the river and the muted roar of the river as it descended over a long, shallow waterfall.

I led him down the path and as we squeezed through a gap in a metal construction fence, I knew he must be wondering exactly where I was taking him. The path ended at a magnificent outdoor ballroom, resplendent in the moonlight. David gasped.

“Come on,” I said. “Over here.” We weaved our way through the towering marble columns until we reached a balcony that jutted out over the river.

I looked up at him and smiled. “So what do you think? Pretty cool, isn’t it?”

We were standing in the middle of the famed Fairmount Waterworks, although it would be another five years until it was technically open to tourists. But so what if we were trespassing? It was safe enough, and the Philadelphia P.D. had bigger fish to fry than a couple of young kids on their first date. I’d been here plenty of times with my friends, and we’d never gotten in trouble.

“This is amazing,” he admitted. “I never even knew this was here. How did you know about it?”

“Oh, my friends showed me, and I just love it here. I love the city…everything about it. I’d love to live down here after I finish school.”

We strolled along the river and I told him what I knew of the history of the Waterworks. When we reached the end of the path, we walked out on another balcony and admired the white lights that outlined the Victorian-style houses of Boathouse Row, which was just a few hundred yards upriver. It would have been the perfect setting for our first kiss, but David never tried and I didn’t force the issue. Instead, we finished our looping walk around the Waterworks, chatting and laughing, the city as our backdrop. It was lovely.

It was nearly midnight when we arrived back at his house.

“So…thanks for tonight,” I said as we gazed at each other across the center console of my Olds Cutlass Supreme.

He leaned over and hugged me before stepping from the car. “You’re welcome. And thank you. I’ll give you a call, okay?”

“Okay,” I said, trying to disguise my disappointment as he firmly shut the passenger door and walked off. This was the first time I’d gone on a date that didn’t end with a goodnight kiss. He must not like me that much.