yeah. he has a saab. a 93 aero. It’s purty. It’s that sleek silver with black edging and a license plate displaying his retired position from the Marines. It says, “baby I know class, but you’re damn right I’m bad ass too.”
He comes to the coffee shop a lot. He has befriended my bestie Ethan. They bonded over bicycles, cars and fly fishing. Recently, when asked about his living situation, Ethan confessed extreme discontent. To which the man replied: well we’re going out of town this weekend, why don’t you crash at my place?
So, he has a saab. And an Exterra. And a Highlander. And a ’66 Mustang covered with a tarp that we lifted up just to get a glimpse of the classic beauty. She’s torn up inside but the seats are faded black leather that still has a sheen in the garage lamp light. She’s no automatic–no this ride’s a beauty of a manual sticking up from those dirty floorboards that deserve a good vacuum and scrubbing. The paint is red and she needs some touch up. But man. She’s a purty little thing.
And besides that Saab and Nissan Exterra and the Mustang, he’s got a killer grill on a patio lined with sunflower plants that give a whimsical feel to the very masculine house (adorned with photographs of his helo).
Today I texted Ethan from outside on the patio that I was going to make a face at him, “grinning, cheeseball style, chin up and eyes squinty and all that jazz.” Apparently Ethan knew it was coming after he had sent me something sweet and snarky at the same time. So he told the Saab man (who was standing at the counter) to “watch this. she’s gonna make a face at me.”
I barely saw him turn around and lean so he could see me as I screwed my face up into the classic Sara B— grin.
I came in a bit later, and was talking with Ethan while Saab man’s wife watched us slightly. I think she was wondering about the connection or why I had been laughing so loudly as she strode into the shop to join her husband and two boys.
“who is that?” she asked her husband.
“Sara. And I guarantee she was at our house while we were gone.”
at which point Ethan looked over from talking with someone.
“You heard me.”
“Oh you heard me.”
But the best part is this:
yesterday the man with the Saab brought Ethan and I cucumbers grown in the community garden. I’m eating mine for dinner tonight. And we talked about F16s and helos the other day. And today he asked how my job search was going. And he knows he has a sick grill. And he knows I was there to use it with Ethan and a few others the night I crashed the party to shower off something I mistook for bed bugs and wash my clothes. And he doesn’t mind.
I mean, seriously. He drives a Saab. That means you’re either a prick or you’re awesome.
(and he certainly isn’t an uptight prick)