A True Story From Real Life

It was August 3, 2009, the Chinese year of the Ox. But this story is not about oxen and only coincidentally about China. These are the dear and precious facts, which I cling to in the darkest moments just before dawn overtakes the starlit skies. Prepare yourself, for what I am about to relate is a True Story From Real Life.

When I left Fargo that fateful summer day in my '88 Reliant with the crappy shocks I had a vague hope that I would indeed stop in Jamestown that evening on my way back to Bismarck. I was motivated by all the right reasons; I needed caffeine, and my best friend from college was back for the summer living in J-town. I can assure you that reigniting the hopeful marriage itch of a desperate mother was in fact far, far from my mind. But all the same, I should have known.

Stepping back in time, let us recall another fateful day, this time in the late fall. The year was 2007, or maybe 2008. Anyway, EONS upon EONS ago. My best-college-originally-from-Jamestown friend, let us call him "Tyler," had lost his prized cell phone. It was found by a kind-hearted stranger, as strangers usually are. It's the people we know the best who are the most unkind. This stranger had every intention of returning Tyler's phone to its rightful owner and apparently thought the best course of action was calling the number for "mom." Mom, let us call her "Bernice," answered and immediately sprung into action. Her plan was to examine the cell phone bill and start calling the numbers that appeared in the greatest frequency. According to Bernice's reasoning these numbers belonged to people that Tyler was closest to, and would thereby probably know where he was at that exact moment. A brilliant plan, I concede.

I can't say with full confidence that I was the first victim of this inquisition but I do know I wasn't the only one. I remember that afternoon well. I had just been with Tyler an hour earlier at our usual hang out spot on campus. Coffee may or may not have been involved. I remember Tyler had a poetry class that met at 3 p.m. - a class that I always regretted not taking - and the two of us usually met for coffee up until the time I was expected at my work, usually around 1-2 p.m. This day seemed no different than the rest as I greeted the building receptionist on my way inside and quietly slipped into my seat at the desk where the name plaque read "empress of death." Like any other day of the work week, I began editing obituaries at the Bismarck Tribune.

Then my cell phone rang. I was initially startled because I always made a point of turning it off, or at least on silent, out of respect for my coworkers. My cell phone habits after hours were a different story, but until about 5:30 p.m. I liked to keep things at least appearing more professional. The mood seemed rather relaxed in the office that day so I answered the unidentified number on a whim. "Hello, who is this?" asked a voice that sounded like it belonged to a beautiful woman with an attitude. "This is Rebecca," I offered. "Oh, are you Tyler's girlfriend?" the now excited voice replied. Thinking I deserved some clarification, I had a few questions of my own. "Who the hell are you and how did you get my number?" is what I wanted to ask. Instead, polite introductions were made, the lost phone was mentioned, and the list of most frequently dialed numbers revealed.

"Oh, but are you sure you're not his girlfriend?" the persistent Bernice quizzed me. I couldn't help laughing a little, remembering the time Tyler referred to his mom as "Mrs. Bennet" from Jane Austen's "Pride and Prejudice." (Aw, she's not that bad T!) "Well, you can come home with Tyler anytime," Bernice excitedly continued..."You should tell him to bring you home with him sometime!" Not sure I could contain my giggles, I tried to get our conversation back to reuniting Tyler with his lost phone. "He's probably still in the U-Mary coffee shop. I bet you could just have him paged - they have a phone there," I said. And we wrapped up our conversation. Not an experience one easily forgets, right? Wrong.

Back to August 3rd. I was 10 minutes outside of Fargo heading towards Jamestown that fateful night when I reached Tyler on his cell phone. It was just past 6 p.m. "Yeah, I'm free the rest of the evening! I can finally take you to that coffee shop I've wanted to show you. Call me when you pull off the interstate and I can give you directions then," Tyler said. Babb's Coffee was everything a coffee shop should be, and more, except that it lacked extended week-night hours. This was unbeknownst to us. We had taken two sips when the girl behind the counter politely and urgently mentioned that she needed to close up. So we decided to go back to Tyler's house and regroup. Tyler had wanted to see pictures from my recent trip to China, especially if live narration was included.

I think I was right in the middle of my Great Wall album. Anyway, at some point I heard the front door open and Tyler said, "oh, my parents must be home from their walk." Almost immediately I heard that same beautiful voice with an attitude call out "Tyler, do you have a pretty girl over?" (This made me blush uncontrollably.) The pair of them came downstairs and Bernice took one look at me and asked "is it hot in here" (obviously noticing my pink face) "or maybe it's just because I was out walking," she said. Mr. and Mrs. disappeared up stairs and my breath came back in a rushing wind, draining the pink from my face as suddenly as it had appeared.

I think I was actually semi-prepared for the second campaign. Birthday cake and ice cream, along with sweetened iced tea, were the propaganda. As she set the snacks on the computer desk Bernice thoughtfully added "I cut you a smaller piece just incase you like to watch your figure...but you're so beautiful." Was this really happening? It got better. "Doesn't my Tyler just look so handsome? Don't you think?" she expectantly asked, watching me for any sings of flinching or pinkness. Well of course I thought so, Tyler has these natural good looks that he obviously got from his mother but how do I explain that in a way that would sound exclusively platonic? You just can't. So I stared back dumbly and silently. "I'm so happy to have him back for the summer, he's so special to me," she concluded and walked back upstairs. This woman was good, real good.

I thought it was over at that point. Flustered and a little bit on edge I babbled on about China as my ice cream melted into a giant lake of dairy-ness around the birthday-cake-island on my plate. Around 10 p.m., as if on cue, I heard Bernice call down from upstairs again. At this point her voice had such a complete Pavlov effect on me I'm sure I blushed just at the sound of it. "Rebecca, why don't you just spend the night? It wouldn't be a problem at all, and it's so late already!" Not sure if this was innocently thoughtful or suspiciously scheming, or a little bit of both, I stammered something about it not being too extraordinarily late yet and that I best be getting home tonight.

The rest of the details of the night are insignificant except for the befuddled state of my head. "How DOES she do it?" I nervously mused to myself the entire 100 miles back to Bismarck. I just know that next time I'll be ready. How? I'm not really sure at the moment - perhaps a Kevlar vest.

All names and places have been recorded without embellishment (like this story needed any embellishment!) according to my narrator's first person, limited omniscient point of view.