Matt and Elena First Date.pdf

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Dedicated to Red and Natalia—a sweet tale of new love blossoming

A date . . .with Elena Gilbert!

Matt nervously opened his wallet again and counted his cash. A ten dollar bill

and six cents left over from what the six neighbors on the cul-de-sac had given him to

rake all the autumn leaves from each yard into a giant bonfire-pile. The rest had gone

into buying this crisp new pair of casual/formal dress pants. Seven dollars and twenty

cents left over from cleaning attics and mowing lawns—the rest of that money had been

carefully invested in the jacket he was wearing right now—a letterman’s jacket wouldn’t

do, not on this occasion, and he’d heard that Elena didn’t like them. A ten dollar bill

from helping Mr. Muldoon carefully change all the light bulbs in his house that the old

gentleman couldn’t reach any longer.

Twenty-seven dollars and twenty-six cents . . . plus . . .

He turned the wallet around and pulled it out from its special place of honor—a

concealed compartment in the wallet’s side. And there it was, folded in half, as crisp and

new-looking as when Uncle Joe had given it to him.

A hundred dollar bill.

He could remember Uncle Joe—Great-Uncle, really, but always called Uncle,

pressing the bill into his hand while the nurses were out of the room. “Don’t blow it on

just anything,” Uncle Joe had whispered in his grating voice. “Keep it till a special

occasion comes. You’ll know when the time is right. An’ fer God’s sake”—a pause,

while Uncle Joe had a long and racking coughing fit and Matt held him up—“don’t

y’dare spend it on cigarettes, right? Don’t you get the habit, boy, cause it’s only going to

bring you grief.”

Then Matt had gently lowered Uncle Joe. The glass-shattering coughing was

beginning and Matt wanted a nurse to check on Uncle Joe’s oxygen saturation level. It

was 85 when it should have been 100—maybe Uncle Joe needed more oxygen.

That had been exactly two years ago and two days ago. Exactly two years ago

today, Uncle Joe had died.

Matt found that he was grinding one fist into his thigh, painfully. It was hard,

hard to remember how Uncle Joe had gone.

But now, looking at the hundred-dollar bill, all Matt could think about was the old

man’s mischievous smile and his rasping words, “You’ll know when the time is right.”

Yes, Uncle Joe had known, hadn’t he? Matt would have laughed himself sick if Uncle

Joe had told him what he’d be spending the precious money on. At just-fourteen young

Matt’s thoughts about girls and cooties had not entirely separated. Okay, so he had been

a late bloomer, a slow learner. But now he’d caught up. And he was going to wear his

new pants and an ironed shirt, a real tie that his mother had given him last Christmas, and

his brand new sports jacket to the most wonderful event he could imagine.

Blowing over one hundred dollars in one night with Elena Gilbert.

Elena . . . just thinking her name made him feel as if were bathed in sunlight. She

was sunlight. With that marvelous golden hair that floated halfway down her back, with

her skin, the color of apple blossoms, even after tanning season, with her eyes like

luminous, gold-flecked blue pools, and her lips . . .

Those lips. Together with the eyes, they could turn a guy upside down and inside

out in no time. At school those lips were always in a model’s slight pout, as if to say

“Well, really! I expected more than this!”

But Elena wouldn’t be pouting tonight. Matt didn’t know where he’d gotten the

courage—he’d as soon have dumped an ice bucket over football Coach Simpson’s head

after they’d lost a game—but he had managed to work his way up to asking her out. And

now, with Uncle Joe’s hundred-dollar bill, he was going to take Elena Gilbert on a real

date, to a real French restaurant: a date that she’d never forget.

Matt glanced sharply at the clock. Time to go! He certainly couldn’t be late.

“Hey, Mom! It’s quarter to seven! I’m out of here!”

“Wait, wait, Matt!” Mrs. Honeycutt, small and round and smelling of cookies,

came at almost a run down the hall. “Going without at least letting me see you?” she

scolded, her eyes beaming. “Who ironed that shirt, may I ask? Who heard about the sale

on jackets in the first place?”

Matt gave a mock-groan and then stood, genuinely blushing, as she looked him

over.

Finally, Mrs. Honeycutt sighed. “I have a very handsome son. You look like

your father.”

Matt could feel himself going an even deeper red.

“Now, you’re going to wear your overcoat—”

“Yeah, of course, Mom.”

“You sure you’ve got enough money?”

“Yes!” Matt said. Yes! he thought jubilantly.

“I mean, this Gilbert girl, you hear all sorts of things about her. She goes out with

college boys. She expects the moon on dates. She doesn’t have any parents to watch

over her. She—”

“Mom, I don’t care who she’s been out with; I’ve got plenty of money; and she

lives with her aunt—as if it were her fault that her parents got killed! And if I stand here

another minute, I’ll end up getting a speeding ticket!”

“Well, if you’ll just let me find my purse, I’ll give you ten dollars, so you’re

covered, just in case—”

“No time, Mom! G’night!”

And he was in the garage, smelling the familiar smells of grease and oil and rust

and must.

His car—well, he was sort of hoping Elena wouldn’t look at his car. He’d hustle

her into it and out of it. It was just a junkyard collection of miscellaneous parts that Matt

had somehow managed to attach to the skeleton of his dad’s wreck and make use of as a

vehicle. In his own mind, he referred to it as “The Garbage Heap.” But there was

nothing he could do about it, so he was just hoped Elena wouldn’t see too much of it in

the darkness. He had the way to Chez Amaury memorized, so he wouldn’t have to turn

on the map light.

Oh my God!

This was her street. He was here already! With a sort of gasping gulp he

couldn’t help, Matt loosened his collar a little as he turned. He felt as if he were

drowning.

Okay. Gulp. Outside her house. Off with the ignition. Pull out the keys.

Okay. Gulp. Keys in his pocket. Outside the front door.

Okay—gasp—finger on the doorbell. Matt spent about a minute getting his nerve

up and then he forced himself to press the little round button.

Distant chimes . . .

And then he was looking at a thin, rather plain woman, who gave him a bright

smile and said, “You must be Elena’s new date. Come in, come in. She’s still upstairs,

you know these young girls. . .”

The woman seemed as hospitable and kind as his own mom, and she did

everything she could to make him comfortable. But eventually there was a pause in the

conversation that couldn’t be ignored.

“Y-you’re Elena’s Aunt Judith, aren’t you?” Matt managed.

“Yes! Oh, don’t tell me I forgot to introduce myself again! Yes, you can just go

ahead and call me Aunt Judith like everyone else. Here, I’ll get you some chips or

something while you’re waiting. These young girls, you know. EH- LAY -NAAA!” She

hurried out as Matt cringed and resolutely refrained from covering his ears.

“Here you go; some Fritos,” Aunt Judith was bustling in with a bowl. But Matt’s

eyes weren’t on her. They were on the vision in blue descending the stairs.

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