Part Seven: On Saying Goodbye
The Final Chapter - a short story - in which the 13-year-old me imagines what it will be like to be the 17-year-old me.
I found my junior high diary.
This is what's in it:
The dim porch light seems to dare me as it flickers in the moonlight. I look at your legs, then to your side, removing the hair from my eyes. I glance at your eyes, looking back at me, and then at your red lips. Your bottom lip presses against your top lip. Just then you grab my left hand gently, holding it firmly. I advance, gently touching your lower back, as I kiss you slowly.
The porch light goes out but I don’t notice, and you don’t either. I know you don’t. For that moment, that kiss, you become a part of me.
Just then your brother pulls up in his red 1978 Chevy Convertible. We both pull away as he slams his keys down on the dash. You whisper, “goodnight,” with a smile as I walk away. I tip my derby-style hat at your brother. He naturally flips me off. I can distinctly smell a mixture of strong perfume and liquor on him. I make no response. I don’t know why he despises me so much; maybe it’s because he’s 18 and I’m 17 or maybe it’s just because I’m in love with his younger sister. I don’t really know; nor do I care.
I look forward trying to seem cool as I walk down the long driveway to my car. I step into a foot deep puddle of mud, water and probably used motor oil.
“Dammit, my good black loafers,” I think to myself. “Oh my God, my khakis are soaked to my knee.”
I step into my car pretending not to notice.
The author attempts to attract girls in his best outfit: