How about a
little short fiction again this week.
###
SOMETIMES THINGS TURN OUT ALL
RIGHT
I thought I’d die when
she walked up to me. Guys aren’t supposed to admit things like that, but, man,
that’s the way I felt. Part of it was surprise, and part of it was pure
excitement.
Graciela (I never
called her Gracie like everyone else) and I had a history that stretched back
to grade school. We’d started out yanking hair and kicking shins, but that switched
to lipping off to one another as we got older. But I went virtually mute the
first time I noticed she had breasts. One day she was built pretty much like me
and the next, these knobby little things popped
out on her chest. Kinda hard holding a casual conversation while sneaking
glances at those awkward protrusions.
The real transformation
took place our freshman year in high school. Those knobs became balloons. Her rounded
hips made my throat go dry. Imp-face became Pixie-face. Right about then,
Graciela discovered boys. Not this boy.
Not the schmuck next door, but guys older than me. Guys with shoulders and
biceps and pecs and Adam’s apples.
I used to hang around
hoping she’d notice me. I’d head for school at the same time she did. I went to
school dances … which I loathed … just to see her dressed up like a movie star.
And in the privacy of my bedroom at night, I did my best to render myself blind
while holding onto a mental image of her. And felt unclean afterward.
My senior year I used
some of my hard-earned savings and bought an old Ford, a jalopy like you saw in
the Archie cartoons but without the rumble seat. Guys that hadn’t given me the
time of day got to be buddies, but Graciela didn’t give me a second glance.
One warm, pleasant Saturday
afternoon about one-thirty, I breezed out of the house heading for my car
in the driveway. As I reached for the door handle, Graciela materialized beside
me. Surprised me. Scared the crap out of me, actually.
“Johnny,” she cooed. Only
person I knew who could speak and coo at the same time.
“Uh … oh, hi. Didn’t
see you there.”
“I need a favor.
Please.”
She had the prettiest “pleases”
of anyone in town. “What’s that?”
“I need a ride to the
mall.”
Our only mall, The
Eastside Mall, was – guess what – on the east side of town. I’d intended to
head in the opposite direction to meet a couple of the guys at the municipal
swimming pool. But screw the guys.
As she settled in the
front seat beside me, my mind’s eye saw us holding hands and exchanging glances
as I drove down Henderson Drive. Me, a man in control of his powerful
automobile, and she, the woman at my
side. My starter ground, shattering the image. Nonetheless, I got the old
jalopy started and backed out of the drive, almost clipping the mailman as I
did so. Anxious for something to say in the face of near disaster, I cleared my
throat as I followed her directions and parked as close to Dillard’s as
possible.
“I can hang around and
bring you back home, if you want.”
“That’s sweet. But I
don’t know how long I’ll be,” she said.
“I don’t mind. I can
just … you know, hang.”
“I’m meeting someone.”
“Who? Marcy?” She and
Marcy were as different as night and day, but they were tight. “I wouldn’t mind
having a pretty woman hanging off each arm.” Did I really say that out loud? My cheeks felt like they were on
fire. They actually burned. I didn’t dare glance at her.
“Not Marcy. Well, thanks
loads.” She tossed the words at me as she flounced out of the car and slammed
the door.
By the time I got my voice-box
to working she was walking down the sidewalk toward a dork named Freddy
Fleisher. Last year’s fullback … this year’s freshman at the community college.
All shoulders, biceps, thighs, and a real Adam’s apple. With hair on his legs,
to boot.
When they hugged, I
felt like something tore loose inside me. He planted a kiss on her lips before
opening the car door for her.
I’d driven her to her date? Why
didn’t he pick her up? My blood pressure dropped twenty points. I felt used. Like
a taxi driver who got stiffed for the fare. I sat there like dog doo on the
bottom of a shoe, my eyes watching the two-year-old Olds convertible fire up.
Freddie revved the engine before throwing the transmission into Reverse.
Movement caught my
eye. A vehicle motoring down the lane was invisible to the couple in the Olds because
of an SUV parked on their right. Mr. Flannery, the same postman I’d almost
nailed, was headed to the mall’s substation. I could probably have honked a
warning, but I didn’t.
I expected a big crash
when Freddie came roaring backwards out of the parking space but it was more of
a thud and a crunch. Freddie must have been flustered – decidedly uncool –
because he slammed the Olds in Drive and shot forward, smashing his front end into
the Chevy parked on his left.
Graciela and Freddie
piled out of the car, both talking a blue streak. What I got out of the rush of
words was that Freddie was wrapped up in the wreck of his dad’s wheels, while
she was bitching about being late for an appointment.
I took a deep breath,
eased my jalopy in gear and rolled past the scene of the accident. As Gracie
tried frantically to wave me to a stop, I gave her a casual salute and went on
by. A swim with a couple of buddies – boring though they might be – seemed like
a good idea right about then.
#####
Don
New posts are published at 6:00
a.m. each Thursday.
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