dontravis.com blog post #633
Images Courtesy of ClipartMax.com:
Hope
you enjoyed last week’s story about Chuck the Rock and Perry the Brick. Today,
I’ll wish everyone a Merry Christmas and happy Holiday Season and wimp out with
a repost. I’ll blame it on the busy season, although I don’t know what my buddy
Mark Wildyr will say because he told me he’s doing the same thing.
I
first ran the following story on Thursday, August 14, 2014. I’ve not edited it
a bit, so you can tell he how much my story-telling style has evolved. Enjoy.
****
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 through the front
door 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.
****
We all get
petty now and then, don’t we. Can’t say I blamed him.
Until next week, stay safe and stay strong.
Now my
mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say… so
say it!
Please
check out my BJ Vinson murder mystery series starting with The Zozobra
Incident and ending with The Cutie-Pie Murders. I may be biased, but
I still think they’d make great Christmas gifts for the right person.
My
personal links:
Email: don.travis@aol.com.
Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982
Twitter: @dontravis3
See you next Thursday.
Don
New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.
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