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:
3.17.96
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:
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