Tom seemed nice enough on the message - although anyone can come across as nice on a message. He was more than likely reading a script. He was smooth. His phone number showed up as New Mexico. Sister Jones had told me he was from around here. Was he a Russian spy? So many questions. So few answers. And so much suspicion. With little left to do but rip the band aid off the gaping wound, I hit the redial button and waited for what seemed like three lifetimes as the line rang. Finally a voice appeared. He had me nauseous at "Hello."
Despite the drama leading up to it, however, the phone conversation was relatively harmless. Usually that is how Satan works. He lures you in, line by line, until you can't escape. We chatted pleasantly enough about the weather. He was going to move his sister to Utah from Idaho that Memorial Day weekend. I'm sure "sister" was codeword for something much more dangerous and illegal. We talked about Sister Jones, and what a "sweet" woman she is. They had apparently known each other for years. I'm not surprised. That kind always sticks together. Like the mafia. I told him I had heard a rumor that he served in Argentina. He confirmed. I then asked which one. He replied that he served in the Buenos Aires North Mission. My eyebrows raised and my mind raced, trying to remember an Elder Smith* in flesh or in legacy. As hard as I tried, however, I couldn't pull anything. So I asked him when he served. "Oh," he replied. "I got back in 1993."
1993.
1993.
It didn't register then, that the date had nines instead of zeros in it. I was too caught up in trying not to vomit. Our conversation ended quickly, me having told him I was going home for the weekend and would be unavailable for awhile, and him telling me he would call me when I got back. I threw down my phone and walked out to meet my eagerly waiting roommates to give them the news. "It was," I choked out, "Tom." They squealed. And then I said nonchalantly enough, "Yeah, he said he was in my mission, but he got back in 1993." My roommates just stared at me, their jaws sliding down farther and farther, their eyes getting bigger and bigger. "What?" I asked. "Is something wrong?" And that's when it hit me like a ton of breaks - and I almost did vomit. 1993. 1993. 1993. I frantically grasped for any math skills left in my social science brain and did the terrifying calculations. If he left on his mission when he was 19, the youngest he could be was...My hand flew to my mouth in horror. He was 38 - at the very least. No, I thought. Impossible. I must have heard wrong on the phone. He must have said 2003 and I was so concentrated on holding my insides together that I just misheard. Yes, that must be it. 1993...
We decided we had to know ASAP. We are the Facebook generation, so naturally that was the first place my roommates and I looked, attempting to find a birthday, or at least some shred of evidence that would calm me down. Unfortunately his Facebook profile was private, so all we could see was his picture. He was situated between two Latins - and he looked quite young. A part me breathed a sigh of relief. The other part, however, still twisted in turmoil. The picture wasn't enough to cure my anxiety, so I whipped out all the stalker skills that I could muster, and we spent the next hour searching Google for any information we could find. Finally, our efforts paid off, and we found his high school alumni page. It read:
Tom Smith*:
- Graduated : 1989
- BS 1997, MS 2000 in Chemical Engineering, BYU
- Working on goal of being last member of Class of '89 to be married
Despite being completely in shock at the idea that I was going to go on a date with a man only 6 years younger than my mother, a man who, given the right circumstances and lack of good judgment, could have been my very father, I couldn't help but chuckle at the Matchmaker's latest work...quite the masterpiece. It was going to be a long week waiting for that second phone call. Meanwhile, I thought I should go brush up on my knowledge of AARP. He was, after all, close to qualifying.
To be continued...
2 comments:
Ouch! Poor Tom deserves better than this! Not only do you liken him to Satan himself, but saying he is close to qualifying for AARP?! If he has a blog and was writing about you, what do you think he would say? I went on a date with a girl that could only say cool or awesome, and loved Backstreet Boys? Are you old enough to use the slot machines or buy beer? Haha, just remember it goes both ways amiga!
First of all, Tom is a very nice man. Much of what I wrote was obviously from an exaggerated standpoint because I'm bored at work. I don't think he is a Russian spy (although you never know these days.) And he is only almost 15 years away from AARP. That is pretty darn close. I would love it if he wrote about me on his blog. I need more reading material. And I was just going through my CD’s at home and was tickled to see my CD’s of my younger years – Britney, 98 Degrees, N*Sync, BB Mack, and yes, even my beloved Backstreet Boys. They were so cool AND awesome! (:
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