Weekend of My Discontent, Part 2
Here you go, kiddies. . .
First Quarter
The drive up was uneventful. I brought a book on CD but she got bored of Al Franken after Disc one. I knew she liked Ben Folds and played through most of his discography because I didn’t want to take a chance on anyone else.
I made a couple of stabs at conversation and they died quickly. She spent most of the drive looking out the window. Her hair was back in a pony tail. She’d catch me looking at her from time to time. Nicole’s main facial expression was a frown. Generally when someone is deep in thought, you don’t want to know what they’re thinking.
The background subtly shifted from flat Georgia to mountainous North Carolina. Her expression told me that she was a bit nervous about the weekend. We had never discussed exclusivity in the two months that we’d known each other. I envisioned the kind of weekend that a long-term couple has at home, only in a slightly more exotic locale. Asheville may be no Vegas, but the surroundings were pleasing to the eye. As I turned into the neighborhood bordering the development that included our cabin it started to snow. It had been at least two years since I had seen that kind of snow in Atlanta.
After a brief stopover at the main office, we found our cabin on Branch Lane. “Carl’s Cabin” read a small stenciled sign nailed to a tree with branches hanging over a small gravel area that was to be our parking lot. The cabin was, as the Web site promised, a log cabin with a slanted roof and a small archway leading to the door. I saw a large green plastic bin to the right of the house. The kind woman at the office told me that was to keep the bears out of the trash. How thoughtful.
“I should have grabbed that movie,” Nicole said as first saw the cabin, clearly underimpressed. Inside the main office was a small closet with a large selection of VHS and DVD movies. I could imagine being stuck in the cabin during a blizzard with the cable out and nothing but Pearl Harbor to watch. Either she had a misguided crush on Ben Affleck or Josh Hartnett or she was making a pretty good joke.
Her mood improved when I opened the door for her. I offered to carry her over the threshold. She turned around, grunted, and left me alone outside like a stand-up comedian whose first joke absolutely bombed. The modern kitchen to the right, almost as big as my entire condo, was a nice surprise. The ceiling literally was to the roof, coming to a point about eight feet over our heads.
“I’m going to turn the heat up,” she said. Nicole always knew where the thermostat was, and I secretly thought that the reason why she rarely stayed at my place was that I kept the temperature at 68 during the winter. I checked out the bathroom as she went around a corner. I started walking to the door on the opposite side of the room, most likely the deck, when she ambushed me.
Our bags were in the car, we hadn’t even ventured downstairs yet and she all but tackled me on the beige couch. It could have been leather, but I had my doubts. I bruised my knee.
“OK, I like it,” she said a few minutes later.
“Did you think that you were going to hate it?”
“Kind of.”
“Then why did you agree to come?”
“It was a nice gesture,” she started. My stern looked asked for more detail. “OK, the only way I could get out of working on Martin Luther King Jr. Day was if I told my boss that I was going out of town with my fiancé.”
“Excuse me?”
“At first I was going to say boyfriend who was very likely to propose, but that would take too long to say. So I took it to the next level.”
“Just for one day off work.”
“Actually three. I haven’t taken a full day off in months. I almost cried when you told me that we couldn’t get wireless access out here.”
She lied, and so did I. I inquired about the availability of a wireless Internet connection. It wasn’t that kind of cabin. While I get separation anxiety when I’m away from my machine, I planned ahead for three long days apart. It wasn’t like I picked a place without a television. That would be roughing it.
Besides, it was a moral imperative to be computer-free for the weekend. One night when I came over for a sleepover she brought the infernal machine. Telling me that she was just checking her e-mail while I got ready for bed, she proceeded to furiously type for the next three hours. She didn’t even wake me up in a special way to compensate. Nicole set the alarm for 4:30 the following morning so she could get her daily workout in before heading to the office.
I could see us hammering away on our dueling keyboards for three days, ten feet from an excellent view of the Appalachian Mountains.
“Do you want to see the rest of the place?”
“Where’s the wood?”
I could take that comment in at least seven inappropriate directions. Instead I followed her pointing finger to the fireplace.
“I guess it’s outside somewhere.”
“I saw a pack of fire-starters on the porch.”
“All foreplay and no finish,” I mumbled.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing. I’ll get the bags.”
Nicole had figured out the TV remote before I returned. Her bag was small but heavy. Mine was large and heavy. I packed enough clothes for a week.
I took the bags downstairs, but on the way I heard something that caught my attention. Nicole flipped fairly rapidly. I managed to hear a snippet that sounded like “the Seahawks and the Redskins, coming up next.”
Holy crap. I scheduled a romantic weekend during the NFL divisional playoffs.
First Quarter
The drive up was uneventful. I brought a book on CD but she got bored of Al Franken after Disc one. I knew she liked Ben Folds and played through most of his discography because I didn’t want to take a chance on anyone else.
I made a couple of stabs at conversation and they died quickly. She spent most of the drive looking out the window. Her hair was back in a pony tail. She’d catch me looking at her from time to time. Nicole’s main facial expression was a frown. Generally when someone is deep in thought, you don’t want to know what they’re thinking.
The background subtly shifted from flat Georgia to mountainous North Carolina. Her expression told me that she was a bit nervous about the weekend. We had never discussed exclusivity in the two months that we’d known each other. I envisioned the kind of weekend that a long-term couple has at home, only in a slightly more exotic locale. Asheville may be no Vegas, but the surroundings were pleasing to the eye. As I turned into the neighborhood bordering the development that included our cabin it started to snow. It had been at least two years since I had seen that kind of snow in Atlanta.
After a brief stopover at the main office, we found our cabin on Branch Lane. “Carl’s Cabin” read a small stenciled sign nailed to a tree with branches hanging over a small gravel area that was to be our parking lot. The cabin was, as the Web site promised, a log cabin with a slanted roof and a small archway leading to the door. I saw a large green plastic bin to the right of the house. The kind woman at the office told me that was to keep the bears out of the trash. How thoughtful.
“I should have grabbed that movie,” Nicole said as first saw the cabin, clearly underimpressed. Inside the main office was a small closet with a large selection of VHS and DVD movies. I could imagine being stuck in the cabin during a blizzard with the cable out and nothing but Pearl Harbor to watch. Either she had a misguided crush on Ben Affleck or Josh Hartnett or she was making a pretty good joke.
Her mood improved when I opened the door for her. I offered to carry her over the threshold. She turned around, grunted, and left me alone outside like a stand-up comedian whose first joke absolutely bombed. The modern kitchen to the right, almost as big as my entire condo, was a nice surprise. The ceiling literally was to the roof, coming to a point about eight feet over our heads.
“I’m going to turn the heat up,” she said. Nicole always knew where the thermostat was, and I secretly thought that the reason why she rarely stayed at my place was that I kept the temperature at 68 during the winter. I checked out the bathroom as she went around a corner. I started walking to the door on the opposite side of the room, most likely the deck, when she ambushed me.
Our bags were in the car, we hadn’t even ventured downstairs yet and she all but tackled me on the beige couch. It could have been leather, but I had my doubts. I bruised my knee.
“OK, I like it,” she said a few minutes later.
“Did you think that you were going to hate it?”
“Kind of.”
“Then why did you agree to come?”
“It was a nice gesture,” she started. My stern looked asked for more detail. “OK, the only way I could get out of working on Martin Luther King Jr. Day was if I told my boss that I was going out of town with my fiancé.”
“Excuse me?”
“At first I was going to say boyfriend who was very likely to propose, but that would take too long to say. So I took it to the next level.”
“Just for one day off work.”
“Actually three. I haven’t taken a full day off in months. I almost cried when you told me that we couldn’t get wireless access out here.”
She lied, and so did I. I inquired about the availability of a wireless Internet connection. It wasn’t that kind of cabin. While I get separation anxiety when I’m away from my machine, I planned ahead for three long days apart. It wasn’t like I picked a place without a television. That would be roughing it.
Besides, it was a moral imperative to be computer-free for the weekend. One night when I came over for a sleepover she brought the infernal machine. Telling me that she was just checking her e-mail while I got ready for bed, she proceeded to furiously type for the next three hours. She didn’t even wake me up in a special way to compensate. Nicole set the alarm for 4:30 the following morning so she could get her daily workout in before heading to the office.
I could see us hammering away on our dueling keyboards for three days, ten feet from an excellent view of the Appalachian Mountains.
“Do you want to see the rest of the place?”
“Where’s the wood?”
I could take that comment in at least seven inappropriate directions. Instead I followed her pointing finger to the fireplace.
“I guess it’s outside somewhere.”
“I saw a pack of fire-starters on the porch.”
“All foreplay and no finish,” I mumbled.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing. I’ll get the bags.”
Nicole had figured out the TV remote before I returned. Her bag was small but heavy. Mine was large and heavy. I packed enough clothes for a week.
I took the bags downstairs, but on the way I heard something that caught my attention. Nicole flipped fairly rapidly. I managed to hear a snippet that sounded like “the Seahawks and the Redskins, coming up next.”
Holy crap. I scheduled a romantic weekend during the NFL divisional playoffs.
posted by Zach Law | 5:30 PM
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