Thursday, April 1, 2010
After miles of e-mails and hours of phone calls, it was time, at last, to meet face to face. The book recommended meeting in a public place, for safety, and planning a short date, in case something went dreadfully, knuckle-draggingly wrong. I was looking everywhere for good omens as I drove the 60 miles to Wildhorse. It was an ideal Indian Summer day, Oct. 26, 2008. I had the radio on and as I got to the crest of the Blue Mountains, I heard Joe Cocker singing, "My Baby, She Wrote Me a Letter." That buoyed my confidence. It's meant to be, I thought. I was first to arrive at the deserted Tamastkalikt Cultural Center parking lot. We were to meet at 10:30 a.m. Soon after several patrol cars drove up. I thought, What in the world is going on? My anxiety ratcheted up a notch. Was I doing something illegal? This was my first crack at Internet dating. Had something gone terribly wrong? Turned out the tribal police had picked this Sunday morning, of all Sunday mornings, to conduct drills. Soon after Teri showed up in her Dodge Caliber. When we weren't both instantly arrested, I let out a big sigh of relief.