Grant Park

Sunday July 25, 1988

“Well I know many of you will remember the time she challenged Marty Muskgrove to arm wrestling - “

From the crowd there’s a howl and a very tall, dark islander type stands up clapping.

“Mister Martin! You made it! Get on up here!”

Marci is the first to relate a fun memory after Steve and Tish, who followed the mayor, who followed Steve’s friend who had offered a very general blessing on those who were gracious enough to join us this lovely afternoon.

And it really was, 81 degrees and partial clouds. Nick had gotten there on his bike a little before noon and the rented tent was set up, with little functional purpose beyond a focal point, and Nick’s first duty was to run an extension cord to the edge of the park and mate it with a cord that someone had plugged into their house. At this point it seems Marci is a miracle worker.

They had a basic picnic spread for the core crew and most ate as they set up the stand of pictures and the sealed urn. Nick helped with the portable PA, not surprisingly marked as property of JHS.

His parents were out in the crowd along with seemingly half the town, at least the portion involved with the upper-class student body. Tim had talked to Irene last night and said he’d always thought Sabrina was “very cool and very smart,” and added, “this really bites,” which was a safe-house word they had come to know Irene didn’t mind so much.

Many stood around that didn’t bring chairs and it’s truly a celebratory event.

Marci continues,

“I’ll try to be brief, but one day some of the varsity football team joined us lowly middle schoolers at lunch, and this beefcake - I mean,”

Marci has to pause as the crowd roars and the legendary six-foot-seven oak tree of a defensive end strikes some poses before slipping an arm around her shoulders as he towers above in stark contrast to her compact, pallid frame.

“Yeah, all of this sat across from us, and somewhere along the line Miss Sabrina says she can beat him at arm wrestling if she puts her mind to it.”

“That’s my GIRL” Marty chimes in, to more cheers.

“We are mostly done eating and so the monitors organize as many spectators as possible. Marty here naturally just lets her try everything she can think of, feet on the table, climbing on his shoulders, and eventually he stands up and she’s hanging from his side trying in vain to move his arm until the bell rings!”

Marty stands there seemingly reenacting the same stiffarm stance as the crowd loses its mind.

“Alright, I think your laughter and cheers say it all this afternoon, thanks for being here Marty, and to all of you as well.”

This gets her a hug and smooch from the big dude before he re-joins the crowd.

Nick is in a dilemma at this moment, since they all insisted that he follow Marci before they invite folks from the crowd to relate a memory. 

On the one hand, there’s no pressure since there’s a good vibe already, but on the other hand, there’s no way anyone could follow that. But this is not performance, it’s all for Sab, so here goes. 

Nick proceeds up with the notes he had written out then keeps them palmed. The crowd has calmed down, and he clears his throat into the mic, even after testing it earlier, subconsciously as a way to get a feel for the volume.

“I was lucky to have Sab as my chem lab partner this past year, and we got to spend some time together, um, before the trip.”

Heaviness sets in just for a second, then this comes out of his mouth.

“We spent a couple days together just goofing around, one of those days started with her playing Iron Maiden on her bass, then ended up with me playing the bass while she played Smoke On The Water on her trombone - lying on her back, playing with one foot.” Instinctively he takes a long breath, then, “Thank you.”

Nick walks off to some genuine laughter but even louder applause as he takes his seat, feeling warm in the ears. Marci squeezes his hand, 

“That was really nice.”

Deke takes his turn and relates one of the handful of times Sabrina would bring up a hypothetical trial situation and try to argue a win where there was none.

“I said Sabrina, my dear, there’s no way a sane judge would allow that.”

“What if I argue it with a plate of fresh cookies?” Deke throws his hands up and shakes his head as the crowd once again cheers our gal.

“Thank you all so much.”

And so Marci takes over as emcee for a season of sharing as folks slowly line up. Surprisingly only once does she have to gently prod someone to wrap it up after interspersing reminders here and there.

But at least, the fallen guest of honor, it feels like she’s really among them at least, at last, laughing along.

At some point Nick remembers the dream he had just before awakening. 

The fair starts this coming Saturday and he dreamt of walking around, not sure with whom, when Danni passes by, and not a sight for the timid. She’s fully decked out, way beyond the minimal effects that work their wiles, this was full-on assault, burgundy stockings, long skirt, all cylinders firing but the makeup doesn’t cover any freckles, it makes ‘em pop. And to top it all off, well, that look, that expectant look, without a word, that says, your move.

Nick has to fight at some points to stay in the moment, as he definitely doesn’t want to go to the fair now.

Tomorrow

Saturday July 24, 1988

“Fool you got about ten minutes to shit, shower and shave, get movin’.”

Nick was still drifting into consciousness when Deke called, he was headed over to Stass’ and Nick was going one way or another.

“Is this…do I dress up?”

Deke sighs. “Oh good LORD, do I have to come in and dress your skinny ass? Put on a decent shirt.”

“Got it. OK see you in a bit.”

Nick hangs up and scurries downstairs to scrounge some breakfast and to his amazement there were fresh bagels, so that can be toasted while he tracks down this clean shirt. He decides on some pocket shorts found at a garage sale and a nice button-up short sleeve that he leaves untucked.

Back downstairs he smears on some Philly and explains all this to his parents between chews, that the memorial service might be tomorrow afternoon at Grant Park, but he’d find out more.

As soon as the teeth are brushed our hero steps out front just as Deke’s ‘84 Prelude pulls into the gravel off-street space and he jumps in.

“Next time you get FIVE minutes, dig?”

“Yeah yeah.”

Deke is a Jedi Master at keeping the mood light in these situations.

They arrive at the now familiar house where there’s a few cars parked but a sign in the yard, surrounded by the bouquets left on the porch.

THANK YOU FOR THE FLOWERS

MEMORIAL 2PM SUNDAY GRANT PARK

BRING YOUR OWN CHAIR

AND STORY TO SHARE

PLEASE RESPECT OUR SPACE

BUT HOPE TO SEE YOU THERE

Nick doesn’t ask but assumes they’re expected, and was right. They’re greeted by Sabrina’s mom Tish and get a hug, then the same from Steve, and in the living room Nick trades smiles with Marci, and seated at the other end of the couch is the Honorable Mayor Cal Catlett, who stands up and introduces himself to Nick, since he would obviously know Deke. That would explain the Lincoln out there.

It’s now all coming together, how Marci must have gotten the gears turning on a big outdoor memorial and blessing to gather in the park on short notice, must be that space that usually has an impromptu softball or football game and the mostly underaged participants try to conceal their beer supply.

There’s a couple other folks from Sab’s class that he doesn’t know very well, except for student council type of stuff.

Tish gently grabs his arm, ”Nick, there’s some things she wanted you to have”, then leads him back into the hallway, as memories flood back in a flash, now seeming like ages ago yet sealed forever in time’s amber.

Back in that room with the treadmill and the bass she hands him the manila envelope. Nick suddenly felt several different temperatures throughout his body, but overall, with this family there’s no need for alarm.

“Now I didn’t look inside but I slipped in a letter she had written you on the way there.”

Nick draws a breath, “Wow.”

Tish smiles, that smile she passed on to her daughter, “That says it all, doesn’t it?”

Nick gets some wits back, “Well, thanks.”

She pauses a second, then pecks his cheek, “I know you two would have had a lot of fun times together.”

“We always did.”

Tish, motions over to the table where she’d grabbed the envelope, and on it is a metal canister. 

“The urn is sealed, if you’d like to touch.”

He looks over wide eyed, then back to her, and she nods. He proceeds over and runs his fingers along the edge and can only hear her playing the bass in the corner to his right.

“Take your time, Nick.”

Tish has stepped out and he feels like an intruder, despite the invitation. The bottom line: she’s not here anymore, at least not for him, so he shuts out the light and heads back to the living room. Appropriately, Sab’s door is still closed.

Nick finds Deke and asks if he can put the envelope in the car, Deke tosses him keys so he posits it right on the passenger seat. Given the contents he doesn’t want to take chances, so he locks it back up.

Once again back in the living room they are going over details, there wold be a portable PA system and they would encourage folks to share ONE story, hopefully a funny one, and hopefully it will be a picnic atmosphere. There’s really no officiator although they hope one of Steve’s college friends would make it, now a Unitarian minister, which most closely fits their beliefs. Mr. Catlett says he’ll mostly be on hand as an official presence since he didn’t know Sab personally but wanted to give his heartfelt endorsement to the gathering.

Nick feels a bit out of place with all these players, then at one point Marci beams at him, “Nick I hope you join us sharing a story, you’d have to have one.”

His cold sweat returns, for a moment, then he remembers the foot-trombone, “Yeah, I got one.”

The thought of speaking to that large of a group is daunting, to say the least, but, yeah, for Sab.

Marci lights up, “Will you sit up front with us? We’ll have a few chairs.”

“Sure.”

“Good, and if you can get there around noon to help set up, I think we’ll have sandwiches, “

“Okay.”

Tish announces the coffee is ready and Nick gets in on that, and from there he just drops back and takes it in. He’ll definitely need to write something out and try to draw from class presentations over the years.

Steve and Tish look relieved, although not well rested, which makes a bit of sense, being back with familiar faces after going through all this. For a brief second he wonders if they’ll stay together, then quickly tries to forget thinking it.

After a few minutes Marci pulls him aside, and they end up in a side-hug. “Nick I’m glad you are part of things, she was really hoping to spend time with you, I think you know that.”

“Yeah I really looked forward to more…well, the crazy…”

“Weren’t we all. Hey, can we meet up and talk sometime, maybe next week, once things settle down?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks,” she squeezes his arm, taps his elbow, and heads back toward the john, Or, for her, the jane?

He had been hoping to break the ice with her at some point, just not under these circumstances, of course. Marci Dell is one of those who would fall into the background if she wasn’t always, well, in the grinding gears, yes, student council stuff and who knows what else. She’s sturdily built with thick hips and thighs, you might say, wholly un-athletic, strong speaking voice and quite articulate. In fact, she feels like an aunt, yeah, a 38-year old unmarried aunt, but with a clear, fair complexion, equally clear blue eyes and thin blond hair, usually in a denim skirt and girly sneakers.

Nick gets the sense they will share some times and he’s just fine with that, as they form the bread on this oh-so-untimely Sabrina sandwich. 

After Nick puts his mug in the sink, Deke motions him over and excuses them both to Tish,

“We’ll see you tomorrow, hon, get settled in and call if you need ANYTHING, got it?”

More hugs, then as they walk to the car, “Nick I’d take you to lunch but gotta take care of some things.”

“Thanks but too early, I gotta write my story.”

“Oh come on, you got this.”

“I know, just….”

“Yeah you’re a green pup, I know, give your folks my best and I’ll owe you a lunch, hear?”

Back at the homestead Nick just wants to finish sleeping in then start from there, but at least he can start sorting things out.

The house and surrounds are solemnly quiet and his window is still open as it’s a decent morning, so he drifts in and out.

Geena will have dinner with her folks tonight before she heads out in her well-maintained 82-and-a-half Datsun, although she plays off any attempt at substantiating that half-year. The times with her had almost been an out–of-body experience, but then, they both knew it was an experiment of sorts; they set parameters and went by them, got to explore the facts of life in a safe space. But, he wasn’t invested, not much at stake, and that’s what made it work. Somehow she’s savvy enough to know that, which to Nick is pure magic. 

Oh, Sabrina. He’s certainly in a suspended state, a…a purgatory?  Tomorrow…tomorrow.

He gets up, changes into a tee shirt, then fishes out some notebook paper to get it scratched out, then smells some leftovers heating up and goes down to see what that’s about.

“You got a letter, I think from Danni, oooohhh,” Irene teases.

Oh man. There it lies, postmarked yesterday. He runs it upstairs to somehow fit in to the rest of the day.

They all eat at the table and get Nick to recount the morning’s gathering, and both his folks plan to attend. Before Nick heads upstairs, Ned pipes up,

“Not sure when the best time to bring this up, but we’ve got a short internship open, doesn’t pay but good experience - in fact if we set it up right it might count toward college.”

Nick raises both eyebrows. “What about Casper’s?”

“Are they goin’ anywhere?”

So this sounds like a bright spot on the horizon, at least.

Back upstairs, Nick is determined to get a draft down before opening the Deej letter.

And so, he writes, in pencil, the paragraph, but then, no, before that should be a…a preface, yeah, just a sentence.

So he starts over on a fresh sheet, the first sentence, then the paragraph, then glances up at the envelope. Fresh ink in that hand he’d know the world over. He can’t resist picking it up for a sniff, and barely discerns something familiar, but doesn’t trigger any memories, maybe just those of the storied Old Maine Trotters box in the closet that houses the sacred archive.

But he resumes the copying and pretty soon has the entire piece written out in his best penmanship, which is just a hair above ransom note quality. Then, it’s time to carefully cut open the envelope’s top with a slightly-rusted and wholly classic Imperial yellow pocket knife on permanent loan from the garage. Once that’s done he heads downstairs, hugs the rail since he’s still in his glasses, hands his mom the final manuscript to review and heads to the front porch with Danni’s letter.

He absorbs it very slowly, as if every character contains a vital clue, then after the fourth read-through it’s just nice to get an eyeful of her trademark abuse again. The timing of this somehow makes sense, and now he’s imagining her in a kimono instead of a ball cap; she’s evolving. They both are. 

The funny thing is, in simple absentia she’s become quite pneumatic, an all-too familiar theme, but at least, well…yeah.

And as always, god, larger than life itself. He doesn’t need to dig pictures out of the Trotters box. Especially engraved in his mind’s eye is her freshman school photo, which he has in a 3x5, yes, she gave him one of the larger prints and he still managed to fuck up the deal, but still, she’s bright as the sun, so many nuances, connecting her light freckles forms countless constellations, so much sophistication in such a fun package. She enters a room and the room is hers, plain and simple.

There’s the one time he took the SLR camera, a Mamiya-Sekor that Paps had given him that year, took it to one of her games and got some of her on the mound, at a standard-width angle, but got her to pose afterward, and he captured, well, it’s that expectant look mixed with some kind of satisfaction. Maybe someday he’ll ask what that’s about, but for now, well, now is now.

And in hindsight, that chicken shit he pulled with Deej at that party, well, damn, that actually worked out. It was a joke, the joke was on him, yet somehow it brought them closer. Maybe it was the raw, reckless abandon mixed with her ability to contain him.

But at the moment, he’s not sure what to say to her, she’s gotten her life together and Nick has a feeling his is about to start taking a new shape finally. Just a few weeks ago he would have completely shut down at the sight or mention of Marci Dell, but now, she’s become a spring of hope.

But, if nothing else, Deej gets a birthday card in a couple months…probably a simple one and signed just his name. Yeah.

He steps back into the house and Irene hands back his draft, “Looks great sweetie, just read it out loud some and it’ll be great, made me chuckle. OH was that from Danni?”

“Yeah, and she mentioned you ran into her at Kmart.”

Irene makes a surprise face, yet free of denial, “How is she doing?”

“Seems fine, Geena called her the other day so she had to respond I guess.”

“Well good, hope you can talk to her sometime, she’s a sweet girl.”

Nick just sighs.

“You’ve had quite a summer haven’t you?”

“It’s been three summers so far.”

Irene grabs his hand and puts a kiss on it. 

Nick realizes it’s not terribly hot outside, “Think I’ll ride some in town.”

“Well be careful and take water this time.”

“I will.”

Once in motion he thinks of what he might send Deej besides a card but nothing seems right. She seemed to like the mix tape two years ago, but there’s absolutely no context for that now. Actually, a few weeks after the first tape he presented her a compilation of stuff from homemade tapes, playing radio, stupid shit with Tim and assorted neighbor kids, which she returned to him the next time they met up, as he may have included a few seconds of himself taking a leak as a hidden track at the end of Side 1.

“Umm, you can have this back.”

Nick could never bring himself to mention that apocryphal tape ever again, although tonight would be a good time to dig that one out, it’s the closest thing in existence to a ‘greatest hits’ trove of preadolescent shenanigans, such as they are.

At the edge of the river he actually gets the notion to head out to the Eversoles’, but the sky looks gray and he better think again. Hopefully tomorrow afternoon is just slightly overcast in the park, that would be just right, or, as right as it can be given the circumstances.

But she did seem to almost dare him to head out that way. Would be really cool to see her at the karate studio, it’s out on the strip, but do they allow spectators? And when’s her class? He’d surely get his ass thrown three ways from Jordan for his trouble.

On the way back home in late afternoon that moment comes to mind from this past spring, dialing around on shortwave he comes across WRNO playing Great White’s Save Your Love, and that’s enough thinking, for now.

Nick pops in the goofy tape for a while and probably dozes off a couple times before some leftovers for supper. Geena is having a last hurrah with her folks in a world he would never feel a part of. 

With a full belly he sits outside for a bit, watches some TV with his folks for a few minutes, then heads upstairs to make himself read the letter from Sab, for some reason, while seated at the workbench, which begs the question why he doesn’t dig into a project book to see if anything starts a spark to solder up.

He flips on the shortwave but WRNO has given up that frequency, then he finds some exotic music drifting in and out from somewhere and lets that play.

OK, no more procrastination. Nick reaches for the manila envelope and carefully finds two sheets of torn-out spiral notebook paper along with the expected pristine vintage smut they had roared over just a handful of helluva-days ago. Looks like he’ll have to make an exception to the rule about such things in the house; hopefully the letter will mention it at least and provide some context, you know, in case it’s ever found.

“NICKNICKNICKNICKNICK…” it begins, and goes into the journey through Iowa and almost unexpectedly jokes about how it’s “almost as flat as I am, HA.”

The last thing that girl needed was ample bosoms.

Continuing on, he hits a bummer pretty soon when she goes over the agenda, starting with a hike.

After forcing himself though that, part, and pausing several times, more deep sighs than he can count and nearly tearing up, she starts a new paragraph.

“Once we get back can we spend a day at a lake or something? I can use the car, would just be great if, well, I’ve always wanted someone to hold me in the water. OK I’m blushing so hard right now I hope no one looks at me but, well, I said it. Hope that doesn’t freak you out but I often wonder where things are leading. But if you don’t feel the same way I understand, I just hope we can do more fun stuff like we have been, okey dokey smokey?”

And there it is. 

She closes it out pretty soon. 

Nick sits there feeling like a bag of wet concrete, almost wishing he had read this sooner since the night feels like a nasty monster closing in.

Something prompts him to check the manila envelope again and there’s a small note, and in a very shaky hand, 

“Enjoy the magazine, but not too much :P  Love always, Sabrina.” Like a station signing off. True to herself to the very end.

And then, his blood runs cold but his insides get warmer. Tomorrow will help heal. And with that, the envelope takes its rightful place beneath the Trotters’ box in his closet.

He looks forward to spending time with Marci, just in what capacity is unclear, but instinctively her kindness is genuine and they have both lost the same thing, and, well, who knows. Having another sharp gal in the mix rarely does him harm.

So he slowly drifts downstairs and plops onto the couch, and Irene gets him to talk it out some.

Just as he was headed to pee, brush teeth and settle in the phone rings, it’s Miss Geena. In true gentlemanly form he sneaks in the pee by trifling on the bowl surface then leaving it be while she recounts her day, then he does the same.

“Nicky I’m glad she got to know you at least, wish I could have met her, she sounds like a trip.”

“Trip and a half.”

“So…you know I’m tempted to suggest we sneak out, but….”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me something?”

“Sure.” 

“If I would have given you blessing to go, well, all the way, would you?”

Nick pauses, partially as the tingle kicks in. “No.”

Silence.

“Okay then, can I ask why not?”

His best answer, “You could get pregnant I mean, I’d do the, well, the other thing -.”

“Not with me you won’t! That’s…no, sorry.”

“I wouldn’t try that, don’t worry.”

“I know…I, but…” obviously flustered, “OK…so, .and that’s the only reason?”

“Yeah, I guess I wouldn’t want to chance it, even just a little.”

“Hmm.”

“What?”

“I dunno, just seems…well, are you waiting for someone special?”

Nick pauses. “For that, I don’t know. I just don’t see why there’s all these girls at school getting pregnant, dropping out, they can’t do anything else but take care of a baby -”

“So who are you protecting?”

He pauses again. “That’s a good question.”

Geena draws a breath, “Nick, you really are unique, you know that? Actually, we’re a lot alike, we’re blessed with a sense of purpose, those girls getting pregnant don’t have that, and the guys doing it surely could care less. Be thankful, I know I am thankful to know you.”

“Thanks.”

She sighs, “Sorry to go deep on you, we’re all trying to figure it out aren’t we?”

“Seems like it.”

After a pause, “Well, I just wanted to check in on you, I’ll be praying and thinking on the drive tomorrow.”

“Be careful.”

“I will, good night, and thanks for being you.”

“You too.”

At this point Nick is relaxed enough to just drop off without putting the phone on the charger, brushing teeth, or opening the window. His remaining conscious thoughts wander back to Geena’s porcelain legs, she has big pores that remind him of a coral reef.

Balls

7/22/88

Hey JERK,

So I just got off the phone with Geena, how does such a nice girl like her seem to like you so much? You know I have to bust your little BALLS after what you pulled, but in all fairness, we probably needed a break. But still, you know that hurt me, were you even thinking? But still MORE…well, I haven't heard your side of the story yet. It better be good, too!

Also you may or may not know, I ran into your mom at K-Fart back before school was out, she promised not to tell and probably didn't, she's such a nice lady, how did YOU ever come from her? (Okay I am probably enjoying this too much) But I teared up and she hugged me and we had a nice talk, I was glad you were doing OK, and yes, maybe a little too glad to hear you had been miserable after we stopped talking, but then, well, so was I.

But I dug into homework and back in the winter I started martial arts and that has helped me work though, well, a number of things, hoping to go get all the belts if I can, so WATCH OUT! :)

Also your mom mentioned you've filled out a bit since I saw you, and I got Geena to admit she likes your butt - so you actually grew one droopy drawers? HA! It's probably a good thing she's going away soon or you might seduce her with your SMOOTH MOVES HA HA!

OK I will try to get serious for a moment, I think we both needed to grow up a bit, they say as juniors (you DID pass, didn't you? HA) we will be a lot more mature than last year, so who knows, hoping that’s where the karate helps. If nothing else, I hope we can go to each other's grad party, you can come to mine if there's room left once everyone important gets an invite HA!

And if you do have the BALLS to drive by the house, maybe I'll be mowing and you can catch a glimpse of paradise, and if I see you maybe I WON'T flip you off!

OK I was kinda mad when I started writing this but now it's gotten fun. Anyway I better deal with Sam who's beating down my door, I won't tell her who I'm writing but she thinks you're neat, but what does she know? :^D

That's it for now, 

Peace...

DJ

Die Hard

Friday July 23, 1988

Nick is with Geena’s group at an understandingly full showing of Die Hard. None of them got carded even though the box office clerk is in his class at school, Allan just grinned in a way that seemed to wish him luck with his fine date.

The rhythm of this week really did fall around her piano schedule, since she would practice at the church on her own on Tuesdays and Thursdays, plus get ready to travel several counties back to her college on Sunday. 

Yesterday centered around filling out the application for Casper’s Grocery and tracking down a couple of references. Deke of course is his all-star, but then he called Marci, partly to see if she would be willing and also to see if any updates. 

She pointed out two things, 

    a) Just call one of your teachers, most of them are in the book and love to be references. Nick can’t believe he didn’t think of that.

    b) The Staas’ were supposed to head back yesterday and will get back sometime over the weekend.

And so he left a message for their chemistry teacher, who he will likely see next week at the funeral.

There’s no hurry to get hired, and he would have to get a work permit from the school office once hired, evidently it’s case-by-case.

This morning Nick ran errands and swung past Stass’ for probably the last time before they get back. The pile has grown a tad since Wednesday, but still an impressive showing. That gave him an idea, so he got to the florist just before they closed for lunch and picked up a pink rose.

And so tonight he agreed to join a group activity for a couple reasons, partly to help redeem their intense alone-time and also since it meant a lot to her, those big eyes are hard to turn down, dammit.

It turns out her folks are pretty laid back and they had good chemistry, they know his own parents from the church world and so there weren’t a lot of questions, well, despite last fall’s adventure, and yes Geena can cook, not surprisingly. She whipped up a goulash, something Irene hadn’t done in a while, the peppers seemed very fresh and they had plenty of the Kraft crumb-cheese in the green can.

It also turns out that couch is a nice slate blue, but that’s not where they spent the evening. The basement is partly furnished and partly storage behind paneled walls, and there’s a cozy older sofa and TV hidden away down there. This felt like a set up as they settled in to watch the one and only Harry Caray do his thing from the booth as the Cubs took the field, and it’s evident that she wants to neck during commercial breaks. This goes on for about an inning and a half before she whispers if she can do some more research, then calmly undoes his belt and digs out her little friend.

And so with her head mostly facing away she figures it out, which moves get a response, slurps a couple times, apologies if he jumps, but takes her time and even explores the twins a little. Nick is starting to wonder if he’s being tested somehow, but again, he understands the need to experiment. With that, he tries to explore a little beneath her denim skirt but gets his hand removed and at one point gets gently bit till he gives up.

When the finish seems close he gyrates a little, and she starts using her hand, and it’s not long, she accepts it with a slight mmmm and consumes every drop. 

After planting another peck on the spent soldier she looks up and smiles, “How’d I do?”

“I’d say the eagle has landed.”

“That tasted kinda buttery. Should make my hair shiny, right?”

Nick has to laugh, then packs himself up and checks the score, not that he really cares at this point.

She takes a swig of her drink from supper and swishes it around playfully before giving him a peck, then it turns out there’s a little half bath down there and she hops in there, he hears a flush and he’s partly recovered and gets an idea. 

When she takes her place next to him, he puts a hand gently on her thigh, “Your turn, my dear.”

“WHAT?”

Nick slides onto the floor and puts a hand on each of her knees. “I want a taste.”

“NICK! You can’t be serious. I just peed!”

Nick just raises an eyebrow.

This gets that inhaled huff and that adorable wide-eyed glare of hers, but she relents, 

“You’re incorrigible, you know that? But my panties stay on and, well, stay outside, know what I mean?”

“Of course,” then begins kissing her knees, thighs, and gradually works his way downtown, which is warm and pretty sensitive, so he tries to be gentle. His only geographical reference is from those trashy magazines they used to find on bike rides, but he has an idea somewhere in the middle is what she wants, but he just kinda takes swipes once he gets her spread, she really is tangy as she smells, soft pillowy lips, and so far she seems unsure of this, until,

“OH…right there.”

And so he continues, but pretty soon, 

“Easy…easy…”

So he tries to go easy, and seems to find a balance, finds a rhythm, she holds his head, he holds the outsides of her thighs, and eventually,

PUFF

“SORRY!” After a couple deep breaths, “I think my eagle just landed, Nicky.”

So he pecks her tender hood and slides back up on the couch, and she leans on him for the ninth inning and dozes off.

And so, tonight is for group stuff so they can mellow out and keep it above ground. Although, when he presented that rose he made a sly double entendre regarding her promised land and got the huff-and-glare for his trouble.

On the way to the theater she messes with the stock AM/FM radio and finds Richard Marks crooning Hold On To The Night and leaves it there but low enough to talk over. 

“Did you mention finding certain magazines on the side of the road, what, from your bike?”

“Yeah or sometimes they get stashed under rocks here and there until someone steals ‘em. I never brought one into the house.”

“I wouldn’t think you would. Are they really….like, nasty?”

“Usually just the ones they sell at a gas station behind the counter, the feature the crappy stories and like nudie events, although, well, one time it was a biker mag.”

“Oh don’t those usually have some scenery?”

“Yeah there was a centerfold, but she was obviously a model or, well, built for the camera you might say, and tan all over. But the other gal was just, well, an every day babe, had tan lines and just messing with tools in a shop, she even held a wrench up to her, well, a nibble.”

Geena had worked into quite a laugh at this point, “Every day babe, huh?”

Then at some point later muses she needs to work on some tan lines of her own.

Once the movie starts, Nick finds it interesting how the church youth-group types generally avoid using R-rated language but don’t hesitate to consume it. He could do without the intensity and especially all the blood - how would someone survive that level of exsanguination? But in those moments he tries to get in a nibble or two since he’s on the far side of the group, but she playfully avoids it.

They agree on Friendly’s for shakes and Nick drives carefully in Ned’s pickup, they agreed he could use the practice and it’s way cooler than a wagon. Nick was pensive and Geena seems to have caught on. 

After the final lesson this morning they sat on the front step for a few and she related calling Danni. 

“She seemed distracted when I mentioned your name, but says she’s doing as well as expected these days.”

And now, he’s distracted. 

The rest of the evening goes as one would expect, three of each gender and pretty fun group and so Nick just politely keeps quiet. One of the guys had some questions about starting guitar when that came up but it was good to just listen, especially as the weight of the next few days starts to set in.

The standout is Greg, actually a couple classes ahead of Geena at a different college and even more steeped in activity, but seemingly tireless, genuinely gregarious (no pun intended), quick with the humor. Thankfully Greg keeps the conversation going and brings Nick in from time to time,

“So you’re awful quiet, what do you think?”

“Oh no one’s paying me to think.”

Which gets a heartier laugh than he’d expected. A few times he thinks of a story that might fit in here or there but doesn’t feel like it would really land, so, yeah. These are not his stars.

Greg makes him wonder how Kevin is doing out there, somewhere.

Nick brings up the R-rated language double standard with Geena and she admits the paradox but ultimately chalks it up these ever changin’ times.

It was around 10:30 when they arrived at her house, he popped the tailgate and they drew out the elongated goodbye. They admitted they probably wouldn’t keep in touch but she would let Irene know how camp goes, and then, we’d see.

“Nick, let’s not rule anything out, deal?”

“Deal.”

There’s still that unidentifiable energy about her, she’s expecting something, maybe…anticipating? Deejay had that going on as well and Nick tried to ignore it. Starting to look like he won’t always get to ignore it.

After a shower, Nick stretches out with the window open, but needs something else, then finds some reliable classical on the low end of the FM dial and dozes off a handful of times as he tries to keep riding this buzz as long as he can.

It finally came to mind how many times he had been put off at the sight of girls who were obvious about their desires, the creepy leering, usually when one or more of them, well, the ones with bad reps, would get to laughing and whispering, make the stupid comments that seemed to come from left field. Evidently they’re preoccupied with this stuff, the stuff of life, as it were, and someone with a balance life, well, like he strives for, just kinda deals with it as it comes along.

The Dairy Stand

Wednesday July 21, 1988

For the moment, as reality is held in suspension, Nick has been following the Cubs more often than not this summer on WGN radio. It’s always a toss up how they’ll do, and every now and sometimes a weekend game gets picked up by one of the nearby TV stations. Nick is starting to wish they had cable, but Ned only trusts newspapers and Irene thinks they watch too much TV as it is. 

Sigh.

And so Tuesday was a strange haze, but not one without hope, just…surreal. But in a surprisingly comfortable way, despite the circumstances. The evening skies this summer take on a reddish glow towards sundown, maybe it has to do with the crazy weather.

Today finds him at the dairy stand patio seated across from Geena. This was Irene’s idea and Geena seems as nervous as Nick feels. 

With another fresh ten in his wallet (and nothing else, mind you…) and the keys to the wagon he drove very conservatively, especially not having ventured out to the main drag very much, although, he’ll need to get used to it if seeking entry-level employment soon.

She just wanted fries and a diet whatever but he got a burger, small fries, and a mocha shake - not on the menu but most times they can make ‘em. It’s just a tad muggy but that heartland breeze makes up for it. If it were a week later they would have gone to the fair.

They had already talked about the Cubs some, her family usually went to a few games a year but have slowed down considerably as kids grew up and left the nest.

When the conversation hits a lull, she calls out the elephant.

“Nick, you seem to be handling things well, I hope…well, I don’t know what else to say.”

He takes a slurp of shake, “It’s been an interesting couple of weeks, best I can say, I never know what to make of it till later.”

She smiles, “Coming from you that makes sense.”

Nick searches for words, “She’s such a character, she’s one of those that will really live on…” and he trails off.

“She’s being cremated right?”

“Yeah, she didn’t want to be a burden to transport or take up space, that kinda thing.”

“Hmm.”

Nick just stares on.

“She sounds very unique indeed.”

“And I’m relieved, this might sound bad, but I didn’t want to see her in a coffin. I probably would have not been able to go.”

She reaches over and clasps his arm. 

For whatever reason, Nick blurts out, “You look nice today.” Which is true, she has on a floral top that brings her eyes out.

“Nick.”

“Well.”

“This shouldn’t be about me.”

“But you shouldn’t go ignored, either.”

Her expression has lightened up considerably and things are at ease for the first time today, at least, for a few seconds.

A voice comes from the side, in a rather whining tone,

“Geeeeena, I thought you weren’t seeing anyone?”  They look to Nick’s right to see a fellow about his own age walking up, blond crew cut, lanky as can be with long arms, furled brow and, well, a very angular face that shouts chronic frustration. Nick perceives this character is not terribly advantaged intellectually and runs on pure reaction.

Her face clouds up in a heartbeat, “Ted, we talked about this, there’s nothing between us, and you can’t just interrupt our lunch.”

“But you LIED! You’re a Christian and you LIED to me,” with a finger getting increasingly closer to her face causing her to flinch, then starts to cry, then as his face turns to anger, Nick instinctively grabs Ted’s left hand and pulls his thumb back, which thankfully drops Ted to his knees.

“Ted, don’t you think you should walk away now?”

Ted gasps, “Let…go…”

Nick stares at his face, “When I let go, you start running, do you understand?”

More gasps, “Yes…”

Nick counts, “Three…two…ONE.” Then lets go with a snap, after which Ted rolls over to catch his feet and takes off as if from a starting block, in a very Jerry Lewis kind of manner, and nearly knocks over some folks getting their order from the counter.  

Nick watches for a few seconds until Ted disappears around the rear of the grocery then checks on Geena who has her face covered.

About then someone from the dairy stand comes out, probably the owner, wearing a white apron,

“Everything OK?”

Geena keeps still so Nick answers, “Yeah, seems to be now.”

“Okay, good.”  then looks at them in turn.

“I think we’re about ready to go actually.”

“Okay, well…thanks for your business.”

Nick offers, “Well it was really good.” just as said owner turns around and hurries back around the building.

Geena is looking at him finally, with a strange grin he’s never seen.

They clean up their table and proceed to the car with what’s left of their drinks and she takes his arm and leans on it. 

“Nick that was amazing, I mean - I don’t care for violence, but you got the point across. How did you think of that?”

“That’s how we always dealt with dipshit kids in the neighborhood.”

Geena nearly drops her cup and buries her head in his chest laughing, “I may need a minute.”

“I’m serious, we’d be doing something in the yard and if they wear out their welcome we offer a little…encouragement.”

Eventually they get back to the car and he lets her in the passenger side, then takes his seat, then realizes they hadn’t planned beyond this.

“Umm, where we going?”

Silence.

He looks over and she’s still grinning that grin. “I have an idea, can I navigate?”

“It’ll be good driving practice.”

She fights back giggle, draws a breath, “Okay…”

Within 3-5 minutes she has him park along a residential street then they walk up to a house on the opposite side, she finds keys in her purse and opens it.

“So this is your summer home?” Nick offers.

“Summers and holidays, can’t beat the rent,” as she turns around and plants her lips onto his and gently tightens an embrace.

Nick responds in kind, as best he knows how, but he gets the idea she’s a novice at this too, except she has a lot of conviction.

Gradually she works in some tongue, hers is silky soft, and some things are starting to make more sense even as a lot of questions arise. Actually more than questions are starting to rise, and he has to remember to breathe now and then.

At one point she stops and removes her shoes, and so he does the same, then she takes his hand and and leads him to the sofa, where she takes a place on his lap and kisses his cheek a few times, she whispers

“If this is okay…no one should be home for a while…we keep our clothes on…deal?”

“Deal.” It would be really cool to have a clever response but she’s clearly in charge and that’s a good thing. Also, he remembers she’s wearing one of those denim skirts, ye shroud of a thousand mysteries, some of which may not be so mysterious in the near future.

And so it continues, but she centers herself astride, kinda hovering on her knees, hands on his face, she picks up from before, the tongues, and now he has to figure out what not to do with his hands.

Tim always said you start with her head, for what that’s worth, but it sounds right, and so he does, that hair smells so nice, he can taste her foundation, his hands caress her head, sometimes her ears, then rub her shoulders.

He detects a tangy, almost sour aroma mixed in with their sweat, and now she’s feeling his chest, maybe that’s a clue? And is her butt more or less…sacred…than her chest? Well she went chest first so he better mix it up, bottom’s up. So he slips one hand down there as a bit of a surprise and she moans, OK, maybe he got it right. Her bum is nice and soft, but he keeps one hand on her head and switches off a few times.

Pretty soon she takes her hands away and he realizes she’s undoing her bra strap, and for some reason with her head turned he licks her ear and she nearly collapses on him. Once that’s done she starts kissing his neck, so he does the same, then timidly starts finding his way inside that floral top that brings her eyes out.

Her back is smooth and it actually takes him a while to find her bosoms, in all the flurry but there they are, perky as he’d thought with small yet very awake nibbles, hard as pebbles - neighbor kids used to say that, when they claimed they saw a girl’s mom topless at their house, she had HUGE titties and you could see her nibbles. 

At this point he really wants to see if he can lift her shirt up for a visit, even a quick one, but she gasps, 

“Can you lie down?”

So he does, and finds a pillow beneath his head to adjust, and she is once again astride but with her very warm crotch against his, and she starts to rub. After a few strokes he starts to catch on, so he pulls up his shirt then reaches in his shorts to line up his fuselage with the landing strip, as it were, and she makes the adjustment.

From some tawdry tune, no idea who sings, but a lyric comes to mind, honey you got the gasoline and I got the spark.

And so this rhythm continues, in a way not surprising, and he still has access to her blossoms, and sneaks a quick lick now and then, which eggs her on, he still touches all the other spots, sometimes holds on to her bottom. Eventually he realizes he will probably fire one off at some point, so he undoes his belt just a bit and pulls the tip out, and this really eggs her on, she squeezes it a little bit, Nick caresses both her bosoms, feels it close, reaches beneath the skirt to grasp both buns,

As it happens for him, it seems to happen for her and for all of creation. She keeps two fingers on his little head the whole time, she calls out, 

“Nicky Nicky…Nicky, thank you so much…oh,” then twitches two or three times, then keeps kneading his thing, which is too much after a while, so he takes her hands and pulls her on to his chest as they catch their breath.

Finally he asks, “You OK?”

“Never better. Well, I…never mind, Nick this was what I needed.”

“Same here.”

He thinks she may have dozed off for just a few seconds, then suddenly with a sober voice, 

“Mmm, OK, we’ll get cleaned up then can we go somewhere and talk?”

“Sounds good.”

“OK, don’t move, I’ll bring you a cloth.”

Nick has his eyes closed as she slowly gets up but feels her lips on his for a few lingering seconds, then she floats away. 

At this point he realizes she never turned on the lights, the drapes are mostly closed and he doesn’t even know what color this couch is but it is good quality and the house smells clean, not surprising. He hears water running in a bathroom somewhere, and he may have dozed off when her voice comes into range, 

“Okay, this is silly but we have to share a washcloth, I rinsed it out with soap so we don’t share germs.”

“I’m not worried,” and reaches out his hand and feels a warm, damp wash cloth then starts cleaning up.

“All set?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, um, I was a mess down there.”

“Damn.” Nick only had a vague idea what she meant, don’t they only produce enough wetness to aid intercourse? This was just…outercourse?

She giggles, then cheerfully, in that thin, perky voice, “Hey, where’d my little friend go?” Then starts fishing in his pants.

Nick is startled and starts to squirm, but she keeps digging till she gets a grip on the shrunken head and pulls it back out and plants a kiss on it, then,

“Hey it’s only fair, you had a chance at my goodies.”

“True,” he mutters.

She grabs the washcloth then heads back to wherever and he packs himself back up, and he hears the water running for a good  minute. Must be covering the trail for laundry, no awkward questions, something he would do.

Once all is set they get back in the car, and agree on Needles Park, where else.  The rest of the ride is quiet but she glances at him often. It feels like they should hold hands but she keeps admonishing, “Ten and two!”

They find a picnic table in the shade and sit on the top, she leans on him, then starts,

“Nick I  want to say this was unexpected, but you probably know I was hoping for it, maybe you were too. And you know I’m not some tart looking for a good time, but...”

“I know.”

“Most of my friends agree that this kind of thing is healthy, to explore things so you’re not totally caught off guard on a honeymoon, if that makes sense.”

“It does.” Nick had never thought of it that way, but is glad she has some clarity.

“You’ve been so nice to me…you’re so…real, and we have this…mmm, chemistry, I held out as long as I could, no one else had seemed right, and you’ve been through a lot…they say God moves in mysterious ways, I’d say this qualifies.”

“Hmm.”

She lets it go for a bit, then draws a breath, “Nick, has our…fellowship, helped you get through the loss?”

“I’m sure it has,” he responds instinctively, since he can’t answer from reason.

She looks up at him to confirm, he answers with a peck on her lips, to which she exhales and leans back on his shoulder, then finally, 

“Do you look forward to being married?”

This gives him chills, not the angle he’s used to reasoning with.

“Um, I don’t really think about it.”

She pauses. “I suppose a lot of guys don’t, well, some gals, too.”

“Yeah. I just want to get a degree and go from there.”

“Such a wise young man. Do you want to have kids?”

“I don’t think I can get pregnant.”

She bites his bicep “Nick you’re a stinker you know that? Seriously.”

“Not particularly.”

Geena clears her throat and traces her finger on his forearm. 

“I bet you do.”

“Yes, I love children.”

“Then go for it.”

She muses, “I suppose we don’t get to have a relationship for very long do we?”

“Depends on how you look at it.”

“Yeah, I suppose so, this has been great - oh, crap, what do I tell your mother? I hope I didn’t mess you up.”

“Umm, no, you’re very sweet and nice.”

“Thanks, but I can’t just…” she pauses and sighs, “how about I say we shared a moment but you were a complete gentleman?”

“I can live with that.”

“Can we keep in touch? Maybe…well, when I come back? Oh and…well, if you aren’t seeing anyone? If anything changes, write me? I’ll do the same.”

“Sounds like a deal.”

She looks up and smiles and they seal it with a peck.

“So what are you doing the rest of the day?”

Nick has to think, “Just been going with the flow, I think the Cubs play later, might finally try fishing upstream here.”

She pauses, “I’m cooking supper tonight if you wanna test your gag reflex.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

She beams, “Well we’d be chaperoned  at least and it’ll get you out of the house, we can watch the game.”

“I have a feeling I should say yes.”

She pecks his cheek, “Right answer.”

So they head back to his house so she can officially head home, and she asks, 

“Did you ever think of a message for Danni?”

“If you talk to her, tell her I hope she’s doing well.”

She smiles and squeezes his arm.

Miss Geena

Monday July 19, 1988

Forget solo fishing at the river, the Swansons made an impromptu trip up to see Paps and Gramma, for which they were due. They had called first but still found them dozing off in the living room. Paps had been more tired than usual lately and was almost convinced to get a fresh checkup, just to be sure.

So that trip did its trick and thankfully no messages on the machine, and watching the miles and farms and towns go by helped our hero process the past week, this scrawny, loony and potentially genius gal had really gotten deeper inside his veins, but now it feels like the needle’s being snapped off.

They dined on wonderful leftovers and didn’t get back till prime time reruns, just reruns and movies, but still, Nick took the couch and joined Irene for Murder She Wrote then dozed in and out during some movie.

After a shower he found hearts of space and dozed off to that, woke up having to pee, thought about shortwave but kept the classical on.

The worst part is not being able to make her laugh. Even if he could call her room…she needs to rest and heal.

He has been trying not to think about, what if she has feelings, hasn’t been time to explore yet. It’s great when they sit close but it doesn’t really stir anything carnal, it’s pretty free from that, like a safe space - a cartoon? Yea, it’s like being in a cartoon the way they riff and play tricks, but it’s just...nice.

Things are never cut and dry in life, are they?

Geena…Geena, Geena, Geena….there’s a bit of stirring there, but too many questions he wouldn’t want to ask.

This is no time for such meanderings though.

Gradually he dozes off longer and longer each time until he hears the piano and abruptly sits straight up, really having to pee at this point and not wearing a stitch. He scrambles himself into some clean drawers, old jeans and a muscle shirt bearing the logo of Ned’s employer then darts into the bathroom, does the morning business and heads down to pour a bowl of generic honey-nut Cheerios.

Before reaching the bottom step, Miss Geena darts over at lightning speed and proves she has freakishly strong arms, 

“OH Nick I’m so sorry!” 

He tries to respond but can only grunt.

Irene just looks at them with a mixture of surprise and amusement as Geena buries her head in his collarbone and whispers, evidently in prayer.

Finally he manages, “Can’t breathe.” He could actually breathe a little, but the grip she had was quite powerful and he needed to feel free. Plus, her rather pert forbidden fruits pressed against his ribcage are a sensation one does not relish while his mother is watching.

She relents, “Sorry, sorry Nick,” and reaches up to peck his cheek, which sends half his face into a tingly flutter, again, in front of Mom. “You know she’s in God’s hands, we hope for good news today.”

“Yeah definitely.”

Geena heads back to the piano and they pick up as Nick seeks refuge in the kitchen for some late brefkist. Sometimes surrealism becomes a buoyant, sustaining matter in and of itself. 

He figures the call will come sometime around mid-day, so there’s a little time for something, but nothing sounds good. 

After cereal and some peanut-butter toast he heads upstairs and gets his acoustic out, seems appropriate to bang out some Smoke On The Water in C, but then that’s never been his favorite riff, so it becomes a meditation in some minor chords, Am, Dm, Em, and seems G and C fit in there, all derived from a Mel Bay book.

Nick sets it down to just listen to the piano churning out the familiar bible school standards that they used to sing in the sanctuary amid the crafts, lessons, punch and cookies. One year the aging Mrs. Wallace was handing out the cookies on a napkin and made sure Nick held his with both hands, barking, grab a hold if it! - evidently one little hand wasn’t enough. Nick mentioned that to Irene in recent years and she admitted that Mrs. Wallace wasn’t very pleasant to be around, but then, why the hell did he nearly get decapitated for pointing that out back then?

He may have dozed off again but awakens to some repeated chord phrases that Geena must be working through, so he picks up the guitar again and picks up where he left off. At one point she yells up the stairs, 

“That’s pretty, can I come up there?”

Nick gets chills. “Yeah sure.”

The footfalls get closer and she emerges.

Nick keeps the guitar in hand and motions for her to sit on the bed (damn), then asks, 

“Are you finished?”

“Taking a break, almost ready for prime time.”

“You sound really good.”

She just smiles.

Nick goes on with his chords, been trying arpeggio and sometimes it comes together, sometimes just a pile of notes, but then he doesn’t do this every day.

“I always wanted to play guitar.”

“Same here.”

She giggles.

“Yeah I just mess around with it, wanted to do metal but that seems lame now.”

“Someone loaned me a Stryper tape one time and it was too much.”

Nick just smirks and keeps strumming, then thinks, why not, 

“Do you have time to take a walk? There’s the playground down the street.”

He looks up to find her evidently surprised and maybe delighted.

“I’ve got time, sounds really nice.”

What do girls mean by that? Oh yeah, he uses that word too.

“Cool.”

She shifts her position a couple times, then gets up, “Well she’s probably about ready to keep going, I’ll, umm….”

“Okay.”

Nick watches her leave and notes she smells wonderful, kinda floral, and her white shorts are not revealing but just package her well. The thought of sniffing where she sat makes him chuckle on the inside but he’ll probably turn the bed cover over since it would be like invading her privacy. 

He shakes his head, but then, Sab is all about finding fun little distractions wherever she goes, and so…yeah.

* * * * * 

“So what do you listen to these days if not metal?”

“Mostly stuff from the library or on 106, found a lot of stuff form the early 70s, Yes, Mott the Hoople, Bad Company, Zeppelin of course, and some newer stuff here and there. I try to tape stuff I like.”

Geena just holds a gaze, an expectant gaze as they stroll to the playground.

“So yeah, mostly rock, starting to like the bluesier stuff.”

She looks forward, time to bring her into it, 

“Howbout you?”

After a pause, “You can probably guess, Amy Grant, Sandi Patty, Carman.”

“Why would I guess that?”

“I’m lame.”

“Geena.”

“Nick…how do you feel free…to listen to whatever you want, didn’t you challenge your old church - I mean, sorry if that’s a sore subject.”

“You’re fine, and I just…well, it’s like American history, you have to fight for freedom.”

She sighs heavily.

Nick lets her ponder.

“I’m not sure I want to be that free.”

For some reason a line from Star Trek comes to mind, not that he knows the episodes well, but one time Ned pointed out the one with Khan from the movie. So he offers this, 

“Do you watch Star Trek?”

She muses, “Here and there, that's mainly my dad’s thing, why?”

“One time Khan is talking to the woman, she’s part of the crew but they fall in love, he says, stay or go, but do it because you want to.”

After a few steps, “So…”

“Well, to me it’s like, if you find a home in the church, then stay…”

“Oh…and you didn’t?”

“Damn right.”

She giggles.

“Yeah it never made sense to me, and I saw things that seemed wrong, and no one else seemed to care or wanted to fix it.”

She looks over, “You’re an idealist.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

She smiles and takes his arm, and this unlikely pair hits the swings, and she picks it up.

“So you don’t think I’m a square?”

“Actually you’re a babe.”

“WHAT?”

“Did I stutter?” He smiles to soften it up a bit.

“Nick.”

“What?”

“I didn’t expect a complement.”

“How about honesty?”

“I know but you have a girlfriend!” This is in a very emphatic tone, reminds him of Natalie on Facts of Life.

“She’s a friend that happens to be a girl. We just hang out and goof off. It’s like a cartoon.”

They lock eyes through several head-turning cycles of the swings at near-opposite phase, until she looks away and shakes her head. Nick notices her eyes are not brown but a dark suede blue, like that Cars song, but he’s not about to point that out right now.

Finally she continues, “Nick I hope I’m not leading you on, this is really nice, and I didn’t think about starting anything.”

“This is really nice, and I’m in no condition to start anything either, wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Weren’t you seeing someone last year?”

“Yeah, until the apocalypse happened.”

“Oh, yeah, did you stop talking?”

“I got a letter, it messed her up, everyone asking her about it…umm…” Nick trails off.

After a pause she looks at him, “So you haven’t spoken since?”

“The world changed and, well, water under the bridge, you know.”

“What’s her name?”

“Danni Eversole.”

“OH yeah Danni, wow, she’s….wow, if I’m a babe by your standards that really is a complement. We were at the same school till my junior year. Doesn’t she play sports?”

“Best pitcher I’ve ever seen, she’s magic.”

“I could probably get a message to her, you know, if you wanted.”

Nick pauses and looks forward, “We’ll see.”

She keeps looking at him, “Well, the world didn’t completely end did it?”

“No I guess not.”

She keeps looking at him, then, “Nick this is really unexpected, I didn’t think you’d want much to do with me.”

“You’re very sweet.”

“Nick.”

He looks over to find her still gazing but flushed, and instinctively hops off his swing and offers his arm. He has no idea what’s happening. But, he picks it up,

“So you’re doing the crusade thingy soon?”

“Next week, over toward Indy, someone’s putting me up until the dorms open up.”

“Ahh.”

She sighs. “Nick I…”

For some reason he interjects, “Are you seeing anyone?”

She looks at him as if relieved. “Just dates here and there, mostly group things.”

“That’s safe.”

“Yes…yes it is,” with a very knowing emphasis.

“Do you stay with your folks in town then?”

“Yeah, my old room feels smaller and more foreign every time I come home. Didn’t your brother just go into the army? I bet his room will feel strange when he comes back.”

“Still smells like him unfortunately.”

She doubles over laughing and has to stop walking.

He gives her a second to recover, then, “Are you blessed with siblings?”

“I’m the youngest of three, actually I was a surprise, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah I try to avoid surprises.”

She looks over with a very loaded expression and shaking her head. “I need to pray for your mother.”

“I get that a lot.”

She leans on his shoulder and giggles to herself. Girls.

They stroll on, just taking in the day then head back to the house, but Irene has a sober expression.

“Marci called and left her number.”

Once again his limbs feel like those of a mannequins. As he grabs the cordless Irene and Geena exchange glances and head into the living room, Nick dials the number. First try is busy, so he steps out onto the patio and tries again after a few numb, endless minutes.

“Hello?”

“Marci?”

“Yes, Nick?”

“Yes.”

She draws a breath, “I think you know, do I have to say it?”

“I won’t make you say it if you won’t make me believe it.”

She pauses. “I think it’s gonna take time to believe it.”

“Yeah, a long time.”

She takes a couple more deep breaths. “Did you go fishing?”

“No but we took a trip and I had a walk with someone.”

“Good, good.”

“How about you?”

“About the same. Well, there’s more, if you’re ready.”

He blurts out “Go,” and nearly becomes distracted at the succinctness of that command.

“Ok, she asked to be cremated, you know, if she didn’t pull through, so after that they’ll come back and have a memorial service next week. Hopefully I’ll see you then?”

“You can count on it.”

“Thanks Nick. You will always be her friend, remember that.”

“Do the same, hang in there.”

“I will, take care.”

Time to find comfort in the other room, where he relayed the news and the ladies wept, one under each of his arms, somehow, in a calculus he’ll never comprehend, this was very cathartic.

Geena declines an offer to stay for lunch, not wanting to intrude, and when Nick saw her to her car where they exchange a mutual cheek peck.

Irene suggests they go get some flowers to lay on the family’s porch, and so they do that after somber sandwiches, with a note.

Once they get back home Nick tries to reach Deke and finally does at home, and nearly breaks down in the process.

“Nicky we’ll stop by together when they get back, how’s that?”

Other than that he spends a lot of time on the little front steps or the back patio, sometimes you can’t be comfortable in your own skin.

After work Ned sits with him a while and sighs a few times. 

“Nick I don’t have to say it, this just ain’t fair.”

“Yeah.”

Then pats his shoulder and heads in.

A bit of wanderlust sets in and he heads out on the bike to ride past the Staas household, and lo and behold, several other bouquets have popped up. This sets the tone for the week, to see how this does.

As the sun sets, classical radio for the save.

Unspoken

Sunday July 18, 1988

Nick spent the morning catching up on world news and a vast array of international miscellany on the shortwave bands. This time of year is kind for sky wave in the shorter wavelengths and so Europe and the various Caribbean relay sites come booming in. 

He had found a listening guide at the library in town and blew a couple bucks making copies since periodicals can’t be loaned out. Actually that was back in late winter, and so this became his new Sunday morning ritual with the help of a Heath receiver that Paps found at a hamfest last year and it became Nick’s Christmas from them (Tim the senior got an old sock full of change and crumpled  bills, which he had to count three times to get right…)

There’s also some English service from the Far East that comes in certain times, and he’s even caught Australia on occasion, thanks to that wire strung out into the tree outside his window that he keeps unplugged (and sometimes puts the end in an old Alka Seltzer jar) when not in use. Sometimes the signals drift in an out, and at night you’ll drift off listening to something only to awake to static or else a strong signal about 10 kHz away buzzing for attention.

Nick had slept well after fishing with Ned up at the usual spot, sandwiches for lunch in the rented boat, not many bites but it got them out of the house. 

Friday was a good day to chill out after Sabrina, that girl never stops. At one point she got out her trombone (something he’d never seen a girl play) and when her folks got home they were playing Smoke On The Water with Nick on bass as she lay on her back and worked the slide with a bare foot. Then after some excellent tacos she wants to see his room, despite the fact that she kept her door closed and always ran in to get things but hadn’t invited him to see it. At one point he’s pretty sure she left the door open to take a pee break while rehearsing their ensemble, although it’s not a huge deal since the jug is right next to the hinge side of the door.

On the way to his house he bugged her about seeing her room but she plays it off, oh it’s a shambles, or otherwise out of sorts from packing. This seemed like another one of her fun quirks, who knows, but she wanted to see the infamous tape machine and messed with his guitar some. This was the first time since grade school he’d had a non-related female in his room and his folks didn’t seem fazed by it, just glad he’s spending time with another human being for once.

“Wow this is so…Watergate,” she observes, which immediately prods Nick to bone up on Watergate at the liberry.

Another human being had been haunting his mind this weekend, and Nick was gradually coming to terms with why he tends to avoid Geena. After a couple more brief encounters in the past week he caught on to a few facts. First, her near perfection is not practiced nor engineered, it’s simply genuine and natural. This girl is simply gorgeous, not in a threatening way of course, respectfully, more of a Mary Lou Retton, very well made and doesn’t wear much makeup, just enough to highlight what’s already there, especially those rich eyebrows. She also has a fine petite figure hidden in plain sight by sound taste and a modest fashion sense. All that’s topped off by what always looks like a fresh haircut, reddish brown, short but done nicely, not one strand out of place.

And so, her gaze is burned into his brain and at times hovers before his minds eye, even though he only looks over in passing when she greets him from the piano. This causes some curiosity, even though she’s behind several walls, being older, in a vastly different life space, and seemingly devoted to some sort of ministry. Could his own gaze have lingered longer than he realizes?

At least this summer is shaping up to be more than it has been so far, there’s been more rain here and there at least.

Ned and Irene have settled into a new church here in town, very low drama and, at least at the moment, no assholes on the board.  Nick still has breakfast with them most weeks before they head out and it’s understood he’ll have some kind of reflective, restorative time – hopefully a bike ride if weather permits.

Now that the heat has broken some he might try to find a new local fishing hole some morning, if nothing else try a tightline to see if any bottom dwellers will drag him in. Legend has it someone pulled a cat out of that river with one eye, an anchor tattoo, and... and a lit cigar in its mouth - and then tried to steal the guy’s truck keys.

Nick takes a ride, without a watch, but times it well enough to get back just as his folks arrive with a box of fried chicken and tater salad, which always works.

They spread out in the living room with plates and Nick is nearly finished when the phone rings, Irene answers, then hands it to him with a shrug, mouthing, “Female voice.”

Nick takes the phone, “Hello?”

“Nick, this is Marci Dell, from school?”

Nick pauses. Marci had seemed indifferent to him at school, evading eye contact and seemed annoyed and somewhat prickly in his presence. And so, this didn’t seem right for more reasons than he could count.

“Hey…what’s up?”

“Bad news I’m afraid. I got a call from Tish Staas this morning…umm…*sniff*...sorry, this is hard.”

“It’s OK.”

“Umm, they took an early hike and Sabrina, you know how impulsive she can be, well, she…I think there was a flower in a bush, and there was a rattlesnake in it.”

Nick’s blood turned ice cold.

“Are you still there?”

“Yeah, just…man.”

“I know I know, you’re the first one I called, Sab’s very sick but gave them a list for me to contact.”

“Thanks for letting me know, we’ll hope for the best of course.”

He hears sobbing and nearly tears up himself.

“You OK?” Such a silly question but didn’t want to just let her cry in silence.

He hears a sigh, then, “Nick, her folks did the best they could, you know, try to draw it out, but they had to practically carry her a mile then drive to a phone, so it was at least 45 minutes before she got to a clinic.”

“Oh man.”

“Yeah.”

They both go silent for a few seconds.

Nick finally gets a few wits, “Marci I really appreciate you letting me know, if you want to take a walk or something…I might go fishing though.”  

“Thanks Nick, well, I’ll keep busy but the fishing sounds nice, I should hear more tomorrow, hopefully good news.”

Nick sighs, then semi-voices a “yeah.”

“Go fish or something, take care, Nick.”

“You too, talk soon.”

Nick had wondered over to the patio door with the cordless and felt like a walking mannequin when taking the phone back.

Irene looks up first, “Nick, you’re white as a sheet, what’s wrong?”

He sits on the couch, still in a daze. Finally he draws a deep breath and manages, 

“Sabrina was bitten by a rattlesnake.”

Ned puts down his paper and looks over, Irene joins him on the couch, “Oh sweetie.”

“Yeah.”

“Were they able to get the antidote?”

“Sounds like it took about an hour to get to a clinic.”

“Oh no.”

Nick lets that float.

Irene takes a deep breath, “Do you think it would be OK to put it on the prayer chain?”

Nick rests his face in his hands, draws a breath, “I get the feeling they might be Buddhist or something, can it be like, anonymous?”

“How about, an unspoken urgent healing need?”

Nick looks up, finding hope in the concern, “Yeah that would be it.”

“Okay.” Irene pecks him on the cheek then grabs the phone to get the wheels rolling.