The next girl was pretty and looked close to my age.

The next girl was pretty and looked close to my age.

I could see she was closer to Gold Star than I was to Eagle Scout by the badges sewn in formation down to her rope belt. She moved faster than the first girl, so you could see the brass pin to her sash bounce off her caboose in a rhythm allegro. If I were Gene Autry I would come up with the next verse before Tex Williams took a breath, but anything less than an aria would insult her erudition. I was no Tajo, this was proven time and again, but I could still steal from The Shadow until the proper moment, perhaps the bus ride home, or after choir practice when I could better hold my audience. I shot her a wide-eyed impregnable stare.

“Mr. McGuire, take your place beside Howitzer for the group shot.  Not there. Behind Mr. Murphy where you belong.” Mr. McDougall, our civics teacher, directed.

“Roger Wilco.” I broadcast.

“Get out of the clouds, McGuire.” Murphy piped in.

“He’s allergic to reality. He can’t stand in place because he forgot his place.” Howitzer volleyed.

“Isn’t that why you wear a name tag at home, Howitzer? Your mother sews it onto your underwear.” I inquired.

“At least I don’t jack-up Norman Vincent Peale to call a date.” Horowitz countered. “Butchery.”

“You know why they call you Mountain Oysters Rockefeller? I’ll tell you, because yours are the lowest hanging fruit.” I explained. “I’ll start calling you eight-balls."

“No. That’s Miss Andrews from the cafeteria.

“Gentlemen!” Mr. McDougall instructed.

“Ladies present, including you Mr. McGuire.” Murphy muddled.

“I read in the Packard; Walker Gordon is looking for their stud-fees back. Shooting blanks again, Howitzer?”

“Why don’t you ask your sister.”

“Enough! Stand Still. Look at the camera.” Mr. McDougall ordered.

The photograph would memorialize our participation in Community Service Day. My position beside Howitzer and behind Murphy placed me four positions diametrically from Cindy Boyd. Down two, over two. Best to think in pairs. Where her embroidered collar tucked under her cardigan was the best you could get from this position unless she turned to whisper to Kathy Black, then you would relish their prolonged exchanges, bewitchingly missing from McDougall’s radar, their reflective smiles took a much better picture. Must have been harp “Is that why you wear those rubber booties? Baa, baa,” McGuire said sheepishly.

In fairness we all had winter footgear, preferably laced up under our trousers. Over the trouser boots left you open to broadsides from able volleyers. They couldn’t really be rolled down unless you put on old-fashioned waders, but waders weren’t really practical, not bending properly at the knee.

“You mean the ones you borrowed last night?”

“No. That was for your bullshit. Thanks, you had them nicely warmed-up.”

“What she said. But I digress. We’ll come back to it ala Grotto. I have swimming at three.”

“Tennis.”

“Anyone? Nan? Maybe after four gin and tonics?” Murphy queried.

“I’ll have to restring my racket.” Howitzer added.

“Have you mastered laces yet?” I said.

“Slip-ons is the way to go.” Howitzer said.

“Why is that? Alfredo?” Murphy said.

“What slips on must slip off.” Howitzer said.

“I heard she gave you the slip.” Murphy said.

“No, I had to earn it, and it wasn’t the s-l-i-p.” Howitzer said.

“You can take shots for that, in a diagonal across your stomach.” I said.

“Not mad-dog.” Said Murphy.

“She’s definitely canine. I heard Howitzer teaching her to roll over.” I confirmed.

“Voyeur!”

“Bon voyeur, yourself.”

“Punishment.”

As mind-numbing as you can imagine, we survived another day at Jefferson High School, another brick in the wall.

Cindy Boyd was prim and proper, proper the way she pushed the corners of her mouth together, like holding her last breath. When she did breath, we watched, listened, inhaled, and savored every word. Every word danced across my eardrums on silky toes. I’d swear she pushed out little turds like Almond Joys, two at a time, or it could have been coconut oil. Not that I’m saying she carried a loaf around in her knickers for olfactory purposes. But if you paid me $100 to take a bite, I can think of worse ways to feed Benji. Like Einstein said, everything is relative. 

Can I talk to you for a minute?

I have a minute now.

I’ve been worried about something.

You can’t see it on your face.

Thank you for saying so. I’ve been worried about my dreams.

I wouldn’t call it worry. I’d call it a psychoanalysis.

I had a dream about you staying home from the Sadie Hawkins Hoedown.

Was I deathly ill? Was it TB?

I’m afraid it’s worse. You may need apostolic deliverance.

You mean exorcism? That sounds serious and time consuming.

Not if you are willing to sacrifice a little compassion for my cause.

You’ll buy me a pink corsage to match my jumper?

Murphy and Charlotte have wheels. We’ll pick you up at seven.

It could have been a seriousness that pinched her lips together and held them there as though constantly reminded of a very important subject. It wasn’t something she practiced but rather something that came naturally, or some kind of reflex triggered in defense. It was definitely a skill that would take her far away from Jefferson High where seriousness is welcomed with open arms.

The inflatable tennis dome trapped most heat by the ceiling so that the thermostat kept generating new heat that passed through cooler air creating a mist at lob level. No big deal except that you worked up a wicked sweat that forced you to shower before you left the gym. In this context being average gave an enviable power of anonymity; notoriety belonged to the anomalous, we kept telling ourselves. 

I want you to know I’m doing my best to overcome my shyness. They tell public speakers not to be overwhelmed, just imagine the entire audience naked. You’d be the only one I’d cloth. Better yet you give your speech to someone in the first or second row, like you’re having a conversation, only you do all the talking. I’m trying to incorporate this strategy in everyday life. Even right now. 

How’s it working?

May I ask if you are feeling a little bit breezy?

I’m fine.

Just checking. I got an idea to experiment with this strategy by wearing nothing but a Speedo. You know, put the shoe on the other foot. 

In a Speedo you’re not wearing any shoes.

It’s a work in progress.

It's a marathon after all, tortoise, and hare rules of engagement. Somebody said Chinese plan, in thousand-year cycles, to preserve the elements, wood, fire, earth, water, and metal. No deadlines, just Mao’s ascension vs Western erosion. Halley’s comet could come and go a dozen times, each to commemorate phases of accomplishment for global control of the elements. I’d settle for a fifty/fifty chance at a date with Cindy Boyd to Sadie Hawkins Hoedown. Most of the time the greatest exposure on the dance floor was a collarbone. I favored my chances to complete one of the squares. 

There was talk that someone had thrown a sack of beer from a moving car and three of the cans were still potable. Breadcrumbs. Where the real party was kicking off draft beer poured into tin steins to save on breakage and replacement costs. They’re robbing me blind still, considering the walkaways, the proprietor affirmed. 

We’re thinking, if we walk into Romeo’s with one of the Piel Brothers, why wouldn’t they pour us a pitcher? Daisy Mae’s are hood ornaments, especially in Dogpatch garb, although Chesterfields with lipstick would cement the detailing. Stop on Calhoun Street at the Jamaican deli. They’ll take your cash. It’s the closest to Dillinger you’ll ever get. 

There was no bouncer. Or I should say, the front door was propped open with a milk crate. Sadie Hawkins wannabes promoted their influence with ample bounce, you might say they lorded their dominance with remarkable gravitas, counterpoint to our feeble portrayal of hayseeds who might as well take charge of parking and put on oversized photosensitive vests. I’ve worn my share. No hard feelings with Daisy Mae, now, on your arm like bayonets. It was not enough to be seen. How many pitchers will it take to loosen decorum restraints without whispers in Jefferson High corridors Monday morning how Daisy Mae came home dressed as Moonbeam McSwine. 

We appreciated the delicate balance between middle adolescence and rites of passage. There was no going back, with gravity a perilous force of nature, if we mis-stepped or failed to listen, only failures, like photographic images of car wrecks, make a permanent record. 

One of the drawbacks to youth is having to try everything for the first time. Do you think Hank Greenberg has to worry how to throw a runner out at home plate? He has it memorized. So, when the ump jerks his thumb, baseball is a family game, we already know the score. 

Channeled on safe passage through senior high school doesn’t raise enough yaw for distraction. Pick the games you can win once you’ve assessed the competition. Keep yourself on the winning side. Side rhymes with pride but we took no pride behind blinders that delivered us to communion every fourth Sunday. Pride was knowing the cited Wesleyan verse and the interpretation by United Methodists visa vee Presbyterians further south on Nassau. Having the answers way ahead of time had its currency and got you elevated above trial queries for which conversation, especially with females was deferred, as much as possible. 

There was tennis and baseball, the NBC Symphony, The Shadow, Inner Sanctum, Toscanini, Shostakovich, For Whom the Bell Tolls, As I Lay Dying, Rick’s Café. It struck me as Howitzer naturally filled every stein, Sports Parade was over and only Music “Til Midnight was on for comfort on the ride back. I was programmed to deliver our assets home this side of scandal. Behind us, Murphy had Charlotte on the side of a booth you couldn’t see from here. Two cigarettes, with long ash trails, lay at 11:45PM in the ashtray. Cindy held her Chesterfield at a ninety-degree angle with her elbow on the bar as though ready to offer a drag to anyone who might ask. Her stein was nearly empty.

“Howdie Doodie? Think Murph and Turf will surface before spring? They’ve been germinating over there since we got here.”

“Why don’t you drop in for an education?”

“I’m failing biology, that is, the subject of biology, but I won circuit wrestling champ three years running. I have the mat burns to prove it. I reveal them only to qualified burn specialists from the Shriners Hospital.”

“Thank god,” said Debbie.

“One wonders how one comes upon mat burns on one’s body where one’s body doesn’t touch the mat,” said Cindy.

“One, one, one and one makes four.” Debbie said.

“I’ll bet you even Murphy he’s working on a treasure map of mat burns right now.” McGuire

“Is intervention in order?” Boyd

“Either that or one more Piel’s for the road.” Howitzer

“After that we hit the road.” McGuire

Howitzer leans in close, “Bricks man, hit the bricks. She’s working on her fifth tin.”

“Maybe you should go over there and rescue his car keys. Have about 12 pockets to roust. He’ll probably get a woody.”

“I think that’s where he keeps them.”

“Man, I can’t un-see that. May go straight seminary?”

“There’s a shuttle service from the parking lot.”

“I wonder if they go by my house?”

“Miss Boyd, I’ve been meaning to ask you, is Boyd the past tense of boy?”

“It’s all over for the Boyd’s. They’re toaster strudel. We’re updating our name to Bjorn.”

“Alas, I knew him well. Surely you jest?”

“Stop calling me Shirley. Would you put a head on that for me?”

“All I got are tails.”

“And I was saving mine for later. That was some fishing expedition.”

“Say, are they Mayan or Incan pyramids on a Manhattan glass in Cancun?” McGuire

“Those were martinis.”

 “I think they’re Mican. You know that powder in those little packages.” Howitzer

“You mean the pyramids are really just a giant pile of mica sacks?”

“I wouldn’t trust those huge steps, no way. I don’t care they’ve been sitting there thirty thousand years.” Boyd

“The Neanderthals never really moved on to pyramids after they nailed fire.” Said McGuire.

“What was stopping them? Permits?” Boyd

“They had no practical defense capability. They worked out great for the tourist crowd. You know the Floridian Neanderthals and the Cubans. They drifted down on rafts made of empty rum bottles strapped together with tobacco stems.” Said Howitzer.

“What a waste. Hemp would have worked better.” Debbie

These were Cubans you understand. McGuire

Yes, Cubans. What else would they be?  Debbie

The Dominican’s are coming in a narrow second. Boyd

Yeah, like Napa merlot. Gangbusters on skid row. Debbie

You’d want your buck-two-ninety-eight to stretch like Mr. Fantastic. McGuire.

Better yet, the lethal threat of nylons painted on every city bus. Howitzer

That would stop traffic. Military applications apply without saying. Debbie.

Really, I heard they were down this year. Boyd

Don’t forget it’s a leap year. McGuire.

Makes all the difference. Boyd

Between me and you? McGuire

Looks like half an inch. Debbie

I went metric. McGuire

Off the scale. Boyd.