We sat in back of an older couple who were evidently on their first date. He was wearing a big cowboy hat and a jean jacket with "Loretta Lynn" embroidered on the back. She had a mop of tossled grayish hair piled atop her head, and a commanding voice immediately got my attention. Corb and I just sat there, listening to the conversation as if it were dinner theater.
"Now, I'm an alchoholic," she said. "I admit it! So if I ever do anything to embarrass you, or say something loudly that I shouldn't, I totally understand it if you just say to me, 'Look. That's it.' I totally understand it, and I wouldn't blame you one bit. Because I've done that, you know. Had too much to drink. Said things. Embarassing things. So if you, 'Time out,' I totally get it."
He had a scratchy, throaty voice, from one too many cigaretts. It was hard to hear all that he said. "No, I don't think that'll be a problem. I totally..." And then his voice died down.
The conversation bubbled up after a few minutes. "So he dove into the water, and when he came back up, I could see, clear as could be, that he had tears running down his eyes."
"How's that possible?" Corb asked me.
"And I looked at him and said, end of sentence. End of story. That's it."
He mumbled something to her.
"Yeah, my friend Janice had the same thing happen. And I said to her, 'kid, cry your eyes out, Go into a room and just let itr all out. And then, when that's all over, look in a mirror, wipe the tears away, put your make-up on, and go out there and face him again. Because that's all you can do, you know?"
I tell you, it was better than listening to Lynn Samuels.