Sebastian engaged in coitus at age 18 in 1957. Two spawns were engendered from this act of passion. Sebastian was young. He was in college. He ate the majority of his food from tin soup cans. He played football for the University of Vermont. He had a rabbit named Fur. He had a German Shepherd named Sex Wax. He was very young. His new twin sons were very young. A couple towns over, Maria was also very young. On May 3, 1957 at 6:00PM, she was 2 months 8 hours old. It can be assumed that Maria and Sebastian had not yet met at this time (she was recently born and he was beginning a family). Stories of this nature demand a certain precision. At this point, time moved onward. Thankfully, Maria physically, intellectually and emotionally developed from infant-hood. Sebastian grew up in whatever way a man of Sebastian’s nature can grow up. The pair of blue-eyed spawn evolved in girth, length and weight over the years. The responsibility of offspring instigated a process of maturation in Sebastian. 20 years passed, at which point Maria had aged to 20, and Sebastian 38. They had reached a comparable degree of perception and sagacity. The spawn had reached the age of 20 as well.
Sebastian had amassed a fortune, which he was now quickly consuming, through the development of a kitchen appliance technology (electric mixer) and came to believe cigar smoking to be imperative for a man of his stature. Accordingly, at 12:03AM on Wednesday, July 3, 1977, Sebastian Vittver drove down Interstate-293 in a red Jaguar with an unlit cigar positioned between his lips. In these days, “impression was everything.” As a child I often received the advice, “Fake it ’till you make it, baby.” That is what he was doing on this particular July 3. It can be assumed that a generic Bob Dylan song played from a tape player—for the purpose of setting the scene and aiding imagination.
Maria wore a silver-sequined camisole. She was driving a lemon-green 1974 Volkswagen Dasher; a stark contrast alongside Sebastian’s cherry-flavored vanity-mobile. At my first inquiry and since then, Maria has abstained from revealing her summer profession at this time. This piece of the puzzle remains missing. I have taken the liberty of including some hypotheses that aids in my understanding of their courtship. These are: unlicensed pediatrician, investment banker, Barnum & Bailey ringleader, surrogate mother, the fourth Charlie’s Angel and President. My recommendations are based in an extensive archive of personal qualities and knowledge of careers my mother excels at today. Aside from the hum of friction clinging to air, body and vehicle, silence pervaded the scene. While driving home, she was organizing, scheming, inventing—employing all lobes of the brain stowed inside her head of straight, strawberry-red locks. My mother and the owl exhibit a peculiar quantity of analogous characteristics. Among these: they both do their thinking at night.
Somewhere around 12:05AM their respective vehicles came abreast. Sebastian caught site of bona fide, version-red Goldilocks. He decelerated to allot five additional seconds for observation of the specimen. Maria perceived the lingering and took notice of the unidentified presence in the red car. It is at this moment I assert that an element of fate commandeered the situation. Or perhaps it was fate that led them to this highway at this hour. Either way, something of this manner ensued: Maria accelerated. Sebastian accelerated. Maria accelerated more. Sebastian accelerated more, more. Maria accelerated more, more, more. Sebastian became intrigued with Maria’s competitive nature and driving capabilities. Maria questioned whether her competitive nature was dangerous. Maria turned off exit 17, towards the apartment of her at-the-time-boyfriend.
At this point I become doubtful of my capabilities to accurately clarify my father’s mental rationale. He had a total of three minutes for deliberation. At the culmination of these three minutes he chose to exit I-293 at the succeeding ramp in pursuit of his mysterious contender. It will be assumed that within these three minutes of deliberation he found himself fantasizing, envisioning a woman of such intoxicating qualities as to be worthy of pursuit. He pulled off at the exit and began his quest. He explored for ten minutes without success. Amused by his spontaneous impulse, yet discouraged, he turned back in the direction of the interstate. He reminded himself to do things of this nature more often. Fortuitously, as he approached the ramp, he caught a glimpse of the lights of her car in a parking lot beside the road. There she sat, reading. Her automobile glowed in the darkness. I imagine that my mother glowed as well, more radiantly than car lights or streetlights or stars.
He pulled his car alongside her in the nearly empty lot of the sleeping apartment complex at 12:25AM. She became exceptionally aware of the lingering, unidentified presence in the red car.
She had thoughts like, “He’s kind of big and old.” And, “I need to stop reading the newspaper in empty parking lots at night.” And, “How many people do you think he’s killed before?”
He was wearing a tuxedo. She started to perspire. He rapped on her car window. She shook her head in disapproval.
He mouthed, “I don’t want to rape you.”
Tales of this class can have a profound influence on their audience. At age seven, I became helplessly romantic, often sending private notes to suitable gentlemen in gymnastics class, math class and mountaineering club. These notes read along the lines of, “Marty, I don’t want to rape you.” Or “Benjamin, I don’t want to rape you. Meet you on the slide.” My handling of the word “rape” was discovered one Thursday, and I served a week of in-school detention. Despite my misdemeanors, at the culmination of lower school, I was awarded the prized superlative, “Class Casanova.” At the time I was unaware of the significance of this award. However, today it is my most treasured achievement. Due to the success of my seduction technique I was able to kiss (without tongue) a total of twenty-four boys between 2nd and 4th grade.