Dichotomy

But I didn't see Johnny. Instead, I saw Sammy, the fellow who had beaten up our jr. high school principal. And he was pissed.

He had fallen for a girl with Jane Mansfield breasts, only she didn't look like Jane Mansfield at all. She had dirty blonde hair and was heavy with stubby legs. But somehow, one night, I ended up with her in a vacant house where a bunch of us had gone to fool around. I didn't want to be with her preferring any of the other three girls. But what I got was Jane.

Everyone was in one room or another hugging and munching, so there wasn't much else to do but the same. And so I kissed Jane and tried to explore her very big breasts which were really much larger than my mother's whose own breasts were ample. I tried slipping my fingers beneath the tight band at the bottom of the brassiere, but she didn't help. Indeed, she was resisting. And so I tried harder, kissing her more and breathing deep, hot breaths into her ear canal hoping to drive her wild with desire. And she was going crazy, moving and moaning right there on the carpet when she suddenly stopped and grabbed my hand and looked deeply into my eyes. She was trying to say something with those eyes, I thought, and I was pretty sure I knew what it was. What the fuck. I'd seen it in bad movies before.

"I love you," I heard myself say hollowly, and with that the bra was free, as was I, able to explore to my heart's content the largest breasts I would ever see in my life. 

And that was it. In a little while, we all left the house and went up the street to a fast food hang out where a little bit later I said goodbye.

Now I was faced with Sammy. I had to think fast, that was certain. It was midday and there was nowhere to run. He would kill me for sure.

"I don't like Jane," I pleaded, but as soon as I said it, I realized it would sound like an insult to a man in love.

"I mean, she's a nice girl, I like her as a friend, but I don't like her for a girlfriend." I didn't know what I was saying. I just figured the longer I talked, the better chance I had of getting out of this alive. I'd seen Sammy hit a fellow once before, and I was dead certain that if he hit me like that, my head would just explode.

"Did you feel her up?" he shouted.

"NO!" I said. "Absolutely not."

"She says you did."

What the fuck kind of girl was she, I wondered, telling him that. Was she trying to get me killed? Sure she was, I thought. That is what I get for not calling her. Then another thought came to me.

"She's just trying to make you jealous," I said. "She likes you. She just wants to see what you will do."

I could tell he liked that, but it was not certain that it would keep me from taking a beating. She couldn't like him, I thought. That is why she told him. But Jesus H. Christ, why rat on me?

"I don't want you around her any more, you hear me?" Sammy said, still puffed up but less revved. "If I hear you've called her or gone over there, I'll make you piss blood."

"No way, no way. I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't. You're my friend. I wouldn't do that to a friend."

That one is easy, I thought. That was an easy promise to keep.

Another night, same thing, only different.  This time, it was Dwayne.  Dwayne was a maniac redhead who wore a Mohawk until some of the fellows who had to cut their hair had complained that they, too, should be allowed to wear their hair the way they wanted.  After that, Dwayne just shaved his head.  It was hideous.  He was hideous.  He was two years older than I but only one grade ahead.  He was the size of a grown man with the mind of a moron.  He was either laughing or scowling, mostly the latter.  His face was incapable of any other expression.  He looked as if life puzzled him and that pissed him off.  His brow was wrinkled in angry befuddlement except when confronted with an easy task like eating a favorite food or taking a pee. 

I was standing around the burger place across the street from the high school one night when he charged up to me.  He was angry but happy that I was there, I could tell, for he was going to thump me right in front of his buddies.  It would not simply be a thumping--it would be an extended embarrassment.  And this time, I would not be able to talk my way out of it, for I had done nothing.  He was mad because his girlfriend said I was cute.  I had been at a party one night and talked to her for maybe a minute.  And that was it.  There was no defense to be made, no appeal to higher sensibilities.  For him, this was just going to be pure fun.  

A fellow I knew came over and said, "You'd better get out of here.  Dwayne's over there telling everybody he's going to kick your ass."  And so, without a moment's hesitation, I turned and began walking across a dirt lot toward the road that would take me to my house.  I was already breathing hard with embarrassment and anxiety.  I just wanted to get home.  But halfway across the darkened lot, I heard somebody yell, "Look out," and as I turned, I saw Dwayne running at me.  What was I to do?  Quickly, I broke into a sprint not knowing if I could get away, and seeing this, Dwayne made a dive at my legs.  And as he dove, the right heel of my hard shoe caught him between the eyes.  It wasn't planned, but it felt calculated, a good thump that would surely leave a lump.  I ran a few steps ahead before I turned around and pleaded, "Dwayne, I didn't mean to. . . " but he was already getting up from the sand screaming like a pillaging pirate.  This had gone wrong for him in front of his friends who were hooting in the distance, so without thinking, all my glands pumping chemicals into my system at once, I turned and ran.  I didn't know if I could outrun him, but fear had made me more than human, I think, for when I dared look back over my shoulder, he was far behind.  I didn't quit running until I was halfway home.  

Sitting in the entranceway of a church in the shadows where I could not be seen, sweaty and crashing from the aftereffects of my adrenaline overdose, I breathed the humid air and looked out on the stream of cars that passed by on the road before me.  This was bad, I thought.  I had gotten away tonight, but how long could I avoid Dwayne?  It wasn't like this would just slip his mind, that he would just forget about it and it would be done.  Everyone would be talking about it at school.  I would be humiliated.  I didn't want to go back.  Every time I got into trouble like this, I thought, it was because of some girl.  It was a pattern.  I was beginning to think that this was the part they liked.  Not the romance, not the kissing and the humping, but this--The Trouble.  Maybe they hated guys, I thought, and this was their revenge, the thumping and stomping and the crunching of bone.  

But that was not how it felt when I thought about them or when I looked at them or held their hands.  Then they were like angels who would take you to the promised land where they would nurture you and heal your wounds.  They were like all the music I had ever heard, like beautiful melodies calling from the distance.  

But I wasn't so sure just now, sitting in the darkened hallway of a church, sweaty and spent, alien and alone on a Friday night.