Dating : Cruisin’

Tina and Albert wore matching shirts on Saturdays. That was nothing special. Albert could remember distinctly when and how their Saturday tradition began, on an unusually industrious social weekend in the spring of ’94. It was Matherson’s sons’ graduation barbeque with the great pulled pork — the best Albert could remember having, just memorable! — and Tina made him go along to the quilt show down at the arena. Or was that in ‘92? Tina only remembered that they’d been doing it, oh, for ages, and there was no reason to stop now.

On this particular Saturday, they wore Hawaiian shirts with peach, gold, and pink flowers, dark green leaves, and glossy, fiery-feathered birds of paradise on a pale blue background. Topping it off with knee-length khaki shorts, white socks, white tennis shoes, and wide brimmed tan hats, Tina and Albert stepped out on the porch of their ranch style home-sweet-home on the outskirts of Scottsdale.

It was a tolerable 86° in the shade. Their neighbor Bethany stared indifferently out her dining room window in their direction. Tina waved; Bethany made some involuntary movement with her hand that could have been a wave, Tina wasn’t sure.

You could never tell with Bethany.

“Traffic doesn’t look too bad.” Albert was poking at the GPS on his phone. The Coachman was packed, gassed, and ready to go. Albert had made sure of that. Tina had already walked through the house twice to make sure they weren’t missing a single thing they might need. The plants were watered, and the back door was locked. Albert liked to leave a few windows cracked for airflow, but that wasn’t necessary and it might invite prowlers. Tina had closed them up.

“Welp.” Albert ambled around the front of the Coachman to the driver’s seat, opened the door and swung himself up into the cabin. Tina hung back a moment in the relative cool of the porch. It was always so hot in the RV before Albert turned the air on. Good thing it wouldn’t be too hot in Colorado Springs!

“Albert — “

The RV growled to life and drowned her out. Oh well. He’d wait. Tina walked around the side of the house, just in case. And good thing, too! The faucet head was drip-drip-dripping! She tightened it up until the drip slowed to nothing, and continued around the back and other side.

All good in the neighborhood. Albert was talking something at her in his rearview mirror that she couldn’t hear over the roar of the engine. He’d just have to wait a second.

Tina finished her final pass around the house and clambered up into the cabin. Not too hot now. It would cool off more once they were on the road.

“Did you crack the bedroom window open?” That must have been what he was asking her before.

“Everything is closed up.”

“But is the window open?”

“No, no it’s closed. Everything is closed up.”

“Yeah, okay. I wanted that window open. For airflow.”

“We can open it when we get back. The house doesn’t need airflow while we’re gone.”

Albert thought this over for a moment. He’d give in (he usually didn’t push the window argument), but he really did think that keeping the window open would improve airflow in their house. But if Tina was okay with a stuffy house, he’d just have to let it be.

“Okay. As long as you’re okay with a stuffy house.”

Tina buckled herself in. “I’m okay with it for now.”

“Okay.”

Albert shifted into drive, and the Coachman, gleaming from its recent trip to the carwash, rolled out onto the street.

“Oh! I almost forgot.” Tina fiddled with the cd player for a moment.

“You’re gonna fly away, glad you’re goin’ my way, I love it when we’re cruisin’ together.

Albert smiled to himself as Smokey Robinson crooned one of his and Tina’s old favorites. Never hurt to kick off a vacation with the right tunes. Neither of them were ever great singers, but that didn’t stop them from warbling along as the Coachman rumbled through the neighborhood toward the freeway entrance.

Music is played for love, cruisin’ is made for love, I love it when we’re cruisin’ together.”