Will He Like Me?

Will He Like Me?

            Liz, my neighbor and friend since kindergarten, had a new boyfriend.

 Liz was the first friend I ever had.  As a little girl, she was a tomboy with long stringy hair, skinny legs, and knobble knees.  Throughout our friendship, she taught me the lyrics to “Harper Valley PTA”, shot me with a BB gun, broke the sad but true news about Santa Claus, and told me what a twat looked like.  She lived up the street from us with her parents, her grandmother, and her loser older brother.  Their yard was a junkyard, literally.  The shell of an old Volkswagon sat out front.  A rusted dune buggy was falling apart out back.  There was a dilapidated playhouse full of wasps and dirt dobbers that sat next to a rotten wood swing set.  Grass did not grow in their yard.  Only weeds, rocks, and dirt. 

            Her parents were quite stern but generally nice to me, even though her mother made me eat brussels sprouts.  Her brother graduated high school in the seventies but never went to college.  He bounced around from job to job, wife to wife, woman to woman, bottle to bottle.  He was a hot mess.  Every time I was over there, no matter what time of day, he was sitting on the couch drinking a beer.  Most of the time, shirtless with his fat belly sagging below his belt.  Her grandmother was ancient.  She was a tiny frail creature, and they yelled at the poor thing all the time.  MeeMaw was in everybody’s business, and they never were shy about telling her to shut the fuck up.  She would usually shut the fuck up and sit there, scratching her face nervously until the skin peeled off.  Liz’s mom would then take her to the doctor, and the cycle would continue.  I never saw that woman in anything but a housecoat and slippers.  She was always murmuring under her breath and looked like she needed to shave.  In truth, she creeped me out, but I identified with her in a strange way.  Surrounded by people, she still seemed sad and lonely.

            The day they dug their swimming pool was the most thrilling day in our young lives.  I started to spend even more time at Liz’s house after the pool was finished, and whenever Mom would tell me that I couldn’t go swimming, Liz would simply push me into the pool.  Easy.  I was forced to go swimming.  Liz constantly got into trouble, whether it be shooting me with a BB gun—“What did she think you were?  A bird?” Mom angrily asked—or the day her mom caught us under a picnic table in the yard.  We were sitting “Indian style” facing each other.  Liz already ran through her repertoire of dirty jokes and was preparing to show me, through the magic of hand puppets what a vagina looked like.  Until her mom walked outside and overheard her.  Liz was forced to go and pick off a switch from a tree so her dad could whip her ass with it.  We always managed to find the flimsiest switches which pissed him off even more.

            Liz blossomed from a skinny little tomboy to a beautiful teenager—outgoing, popular, and a cheerleader!  I unequivocally adored her.  And she never acted like she didn’t know me.  After she turned sixteen, she had her first steady boyfriend.  His name was Joe.  He didn’t play football, but he was quite popular.  His best friend was one Steve Avery.  One Saturday evening in early December, Liz called me to come over and watch scary movies.

            “Mama and Daddy are taking MeeMaw to see my aunt and uncle, and they’re spending the night.  Come stay with me,” she instructed.

            I was ecstatic.  I was in eighth grade, and Liz was a sophomore.  Besides riding with her to school everyday, there had become too little interaction between us, and I missed her.  I hurriedly agreed.

            “Joe is coming over, and he’s bringing Steve Avery.”

            My heart palpitated.

            “My parents don’t want me alone in the house with boys.”

            “Well, I’m a boy,” I protested.

            “You don’t count,” she replied, a little too nonchalantly.  I didn’t care.  I was about to spend an entire evening with Steve Avery whom I hadn’t gotten to blow since October.

            I picked out my favorite pair of Guess jeans, my brand new green and white Coca-Cola shirt and my new Asahi sneakers.  High-top Converse shoes and a tie-dyed sweater wouldn’t do for tonight.  I put a heavy splash of Obsession cologne behind each ear.  I wanted the women’s perfume, but Mom didn’t think it a wise idea.  I fastened my new opaque Swatch watch to my bony wrist and headed for the door.

            “Why in the world are you getting so dressed up just to go to Liz’s house?” Mom inquired.

            “She’s having company, and I don’t wanna look like a kid.  Don’t be so nosy!”

            “Don’t you talk like that to me, or you’re not going anywhere!” she yelled.  “And there had better not be any beer!”

            “There’s not!  Geez.  Bye.”

            I practically skipped all the way up the street to Liz’s.  I knocked on the door, and Steve answered.  To my delight, he seemed genuinely pleased to see me. 

            “Hey,” he grinned.

            I nodded nervously, trying to play it cool, but somehow managed a sheepish grin.  I wondered aloud where Liz and Joe were.

            “They went to get beer from Joe’s brother,” he replied.

            Oh well.  What Mom doesn’t know…

            He motioned for me to follow him into the living room where we sat together on the sofa.  Before I could even ask how mid-terms were going to be for him, he softly kissed me on the lips—my first kiss.  It was the most romantic moment of my young life.

            “I wish I could talk to you more at school, but people would start to think stuff,” he offered.  “I liked it a lot when we used to hang out in the locker room.”

            That was because your cock was down my throat.

            “Uh-huh, me too.”

            “Maybe we could hang out more, if you want?”

            My mouth was dry.

            “I mean, I could come pick you up one night, and we could ride around and talk about stuff.  Drink a few beers.  I get so bored in this town.  I don’t have much in common with anybody at school.  They’re all boring with nothing funny to say.  You always cracked me up in the locker room.”

            Before I licked your balls.

            “Thanks,” I croaked.

            “You’re really cool for an eighth grader.”

            I wanted to marry him.  I wanted to throw my arms around him and profess my undying love.  I really wanted to write his name on my shoes.

            “So over Christmas break,” he continued, “I’ll pick you up one night and we’ll ride the back roads and talk.  Cool?”

            I was beside myself with excitement.  And thrilled at the prospect of hanging out with someone besides my brother.

            “That sounds like fun” was all I could mutter before Liz and Joe burst through the door, carrying a case of Budweiser.

            The night played out like a movie.  I was the lead character of course.  And since I wasn’t gay, I thought of myself as Molly Ringwald with Rob Lowe seated beside me.  Except Steve was a lot more muscular than Rob Lowe, and I’m quite sure Molly didn’t have a dick.  We watched five installments of the “Friday the 13^th” series, and the more Budweiser that was consumed, the closer Steve sat to me.  Liz and Joe started making out right around the time Jason was resurrected for the third time, so Steve took advantage of their liplock and put his hand on my leg.  I smiled nervously and kept one eye on the movie and the other eye on Liz. 

            Where in the hell did she learn to French kiss like that?

            After they finally nodded off, Steve pulled a blanket down from the hall closet and covered us with it.  He rubbed my leg, and my head nuzzled perfectly under his arm.  I fell asleep with the smell of his aftershave fresh in my nose.

            I woke up the next morning with a pounding headache, feeling like I had socks in my mouth. 

And Steve was gone.