octolilly [through the years]

I will do everything in my power to never stop at Citgo on Wade Hampton Blvd.

When my dad bought me a car for my 15th birthday, he told me that I would be wise to fill up the gas tank when it was half full. Obviously, as a concerned father, he was trying to prevent any situation that would require his having to trek off at who knows what time of night to find his daughter stranded on the highway. For the first year I did quite well. My gas tank would get around the halfway mark and I’d stop at the nearest gas station.

Then life got busy…as life does when you move from worrying about which piece of bubblegum you will chew next to which elective you need for the Academy. My ever watchful eyes no longer hovered over my gas tank and I began experiencing the “if only I can make it through this red light and coast down the hill and turn into the gas station” type problems.

One day after school, I was driving on Wade Hampton when I noticed that orange flashy light on. Since I had about 25 more miles to go before I reached home…I pulled into the Citgo gas station. I had pumped the gas, and was paying for it when I realized that I had locked my keys in my car. All I had in my hand was my wallet. My cell phone and keys were sitting all cute-like in the front seat.

Joe-who-worked-behind-the-counter offered me the telephone and I called my dad. He was working about 30 miles away and was unable to come to my rescue. After trying to remember my mom’s phone number, I finally got in touch with her. She told me that she’d be there in about 30 minutes and to just hang out at the gas station.

I hung up the phone and casually looked around the place. I was alone with Joe-who-worked-behind-the-counter and he was giving me his sexiest grin possible. I meandered in the beer section for a while merely because it was the farthest area away from the creep. My back was to him and I was glancing over the selections when I heard him approaching me.

My heart picked up speed and I began deliberating on which case of beer to throw at him first when I heard him say, “Hon, I thought you might git bored out here so I brung you some magazines to look at.” And with that, he dumped a pile of porn magazines in my arms.

On Thursday evening, I’m going to hear the 90-plus member Hungarian National Philharmonic Orchestra. I’ll admit, there is a part of me that would rather curl up at home and read a book instead but since I’m going to be in G’ville for a meeting that night anyway…I thought I’d go. Plus, this is an opportunity to dress up and get all girly. As far as what is to be expected- Debussy’s “Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun,” Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 4 and Liszt’s Concerto No. 1 for Piano and Orchestra featuring soloist Karoly Mocsari, winner of the 1986 Liszt International Competition.

Perhaps you are thinking I have designs on a certain man, a new swishy skirt or that classy black suit on sale. It is possible that all three are correct. But none are quite attainable at this point.

About 80 acres of land complete with luscious creek and wildlife sits across from our home. We have noticed lots of work on the land in the last few months and we, along with our neighbors, have been increasingly worried that a new mobile home park might pop up. After all, we live in South Carolina. The value of all the homes would diminish in one quick swoop and the next thing we’d expect is trashy women prancing along the street and dirty barefoot children scampering around. That theory is based on the observance of every other mobile home park in the area.

In spite of this threat, we have hoped and wished that something snazzy might be in the works. I found out this morning that the classiest neighborhood in the city is moving in on that land. Thus, the value of our home and everyone else’s will sky rocket. That is quite nice but not that big a deal.

I mentioned that I have designs. At some point in the future, I am going to inherit our home. I do love to tease my parents about moving out as soon as possible or imminent death. They laugh and give me mistrusting looks when I offer them something to eat. I’ve been asked to try something first on more than one occasion. It is all jolly fun. My dream is to turn this place into either an upscale restaurant or a Victorian bed & breakfast. I’m leaning toward the restaurant idea.

A white baby grand player piano would adorn the foyer…sprinkling out waltzes. Vivid satin ties would pull the sheer gauzy curtains away from the windows. An Internet café, coffee bar, and piano bar would complete the ensemble. Breakfast and lunch would be served daily. Fresh tulips would grace each tiny white embroidered tablecloth with their fragrance and color. Black and white pictures, capturing moments of laughter and love, would be interspersed throughout the restaurant. Petit fore cakes, crumpets dusted with chocolate, and apple charlotte perched on a crystal cake stand. Glamour would abound.

And I would be the hostess. With red lipstick.

but tension is to be loved when it is like a passing note to a beautiful, beautiful chord