Of Emerald Eyes and Happenstance Part 11
For those of you who have been with me from the beginning, I offer my apologies for making you wait. Life, work, writer’s block, all are excuses that I could use for the delay. But it mainly comes down to the fact that I struggled with this section. I wrote it and started over probably 8 times. Part 10 is a bit pivotal in that it sets the tone for the rest of the book, so I refused to publish something that wasn’t my BEST effort and quality. I’m guessing that there will be another 5 or 6 sections, so look for those to come quickly due to the fact that I have a goal to complete the book by June 1, 2022. That will mean that I completed a novel in ONE YEAR.
Now, for those of you who are new to this story, you will need to go back to the beginning. At the end of May of 2021, I embarked on a journey to write a “serial novella” and to release a new section every 2 weeks. I did ok for the first 9 sections, but as you read above, part 10 has been a while coming. Click on the links below to find them.
**** THE FOLLOWING IS A WORK OF FICTION. Any semblance to a person, place, or experience is 98.8% fabricated.
**** Also, I’d like to call attention to the featured image, by the very talented, Chelsea McKenzie.
Breakups, Dancing, and No Regrets
Change comes as it comes. Often, in an instant, as in the case of the unnamed wife of Lot of Biblical fame. She failed to heed the instruction of Angels, briefly turning back to view the destruction of the doomed city of Sodom, and was instantly turned into a pillar of salt. Other times, change comes to the world over the ages like the forming of mountains; eons, it seems, like the Grand Canyon, forged through the constant exposure to wind and rain, rain and wind, until a fraction of a millimeter of rock wears, deteriorates and is gone, never again to be seen. Then there is change as seen in the relationship between two people. The initial sign is there, subtle, maybe, but the signs were there, just the same. In the eye of a student of life, one who has his or her head in the game, the change is recognized instantly, but to those driven by the wind, those easily misled, purchasers of a cleverly disguised bill of goods, the change may be seen, but the interpretation of such a change is where the error occurs.
Then there was me. Me when I looked into her eyes the following day when we met at the agreed-upon time on her way out of town. I could see that the tides had changed, and knew in an instant that there was no option going forward that included me. Something happened between the previous night and that afternoon. I braced myself for whatever justification she would give to support her decisions. I could read the proverbial writing on the wall. A change had already taken root with only formalities left.
It seemed her parents had rallied their resolve to stand united against me. Helpless to affect change, I tried to understand the tactics they used to lure her away from the “white trash from across the river.” I felt sure that certain promises were made to “sweeten the deal” as it were, and though she stopped short of ending it right then and there, I knew the score. I would be relegated to the “if it is meant to be,” category and there might be references to “Devine intervention” and “If it is God’s will.” The argument lacked specifics, but I knew.
Perhaps as a measure of self-preservation, I beat her to the punch. It was not at all what I wanted, but as if I were witnessing a tragedy being performed before me, I heard words being spoken. Words in my exact voice. Words that seemed so foreign to what I would have expected to hear escape my lips at such a time. But as some eavesdropper, actively listening in on a conversation, I heard myself say, “Well I just need to step aside. I need to get out of your way. I’m only hindering you from choices that need to be made. Choices that have already been made.”
She didn’t disagree, and I appreciated her honesty, and just as it started, the ending was in motion. She said, “However, I don’t have a date for the party next weekend,” referring to an event that we had both been looking forward to. I replied, “Will you accompany me, mam, to the party coming up next weekend?” She smiled and answered, “I thought you would never ask, sir.” It was the most bizarre breakup of all time and believing that she was about to be equally as heartbroken as me, I felt like we had both made a mature decision. I remember thinking that there may be hope for us in the future.
We both looked forward to the party, if for no other reason than to go out and have a good time. The remarks of her father were still fresh on my mind, I insisted that I pick her up on the following Friday night.
All week, the anticipation of the coming weekend filled not only my waking moments but my subconscious thoughts and dreams as well. Given the circumstances that we were for all intents and purposes, no longer a couple, I realized that an accurate glimpse into the days to come was impossible, but possibilities I imagined, just the same. I wondered if we were still technically together until after the party, or if we were finished and just keeping a date. She had not argued or put up any objection to my “getting out of her way” statements. The more I thought about it all, I began to feel like she had somehow manipulated me into doing it so that she wouldn’t have to. But I was sure that wasn’t it. I believed then and I believe now that she was in turmoil as was I. She was young and the influence of her parents and her dependence on them gave her little choice but to yield to their opinions. I never saw evidence of it, but I always suspected that there were promises made, bribes offered, like a carrot on a stick to ease her away from me. In my mind, I guess I thought my backing away might elicit a different response, but at the same time, I’d hoped that she might draw the conclusion that she’d chosen badly. Sadly, I found that I was merely pinning hope on some future ideal. One that may or may not come to fruition. I joked that we were “expiration dating,” as a method of self-preservation, to save face for one, but also to leave the door partially open and leave room for a change of heart, though none came.
The middle of the week came and I began to get nervous. Afraid that I’d lost what grip I held on the situation. After all, I was fighting against powers greater than I could overcome. I knew it was truth, for better or worse, but I gave it a shot. I spoke to her on the phone that night, and regardless of the expense of the call, I gave my all to keep everything positive and not say anything that might derail our plans for the weekend. I wanted to remind her of how her body responded when my hands found bare skin, charged and electric, quickening her pulse, prompting a shiver and a short gasp. But that would have been counter to the stance I had taken. I admitted to her that I could no more prognosticate the future than a man on the moon. But I hoped she and I could at least continue to be close friends in the future. The week continued, and I was left anticipating the time that we would have together, … my last chance.
Fate is often a capricious mistress, given to unexpected changes that bring about unanticipated results. The changes and the results though are not necessarily always bad, often, the result is a pleasant surprise. I could have written 10 essays describing the party, and none of the 10 would have been close to how it all went down. While I had spent the week trying to imagine it, the results were typical of every single moment I’d spent with the green-eyed girl and the polar opposite of what I expected.
My truck was spit-shined and polished. The interior was vacuumed, wiped down, and looked like it was fresh from the showroom floor. I’d spent hours on it, fueled by the comments her father had made about me not being able to afford my own way to go. The Pioneer cassette stereo was sounding fine through the Jenson Triax II speakers and the white letter tires were shining. The Cherry Bomb Glass Packs may have served up a point for the opposition, but hell, I was 20, and I had to be afforded a little slack. My presence couldn’t be denied in her subdivision, but in my opinion, I chalked that up in the “win column” in the pissing match that her father had started.
She had repeatedly attempted to convince me that it was ok for her to meet me at the party, but I would hear nothing of it. I called before I left, giving her a 20-minute estimated time of arrival, and that I’d be coming to collect her at her door and in proper fashion. I arrived, confidently rang the doorbell, and her mother answered the door. The bastard couldn’t even man up enough to show his face, but while I was making small talk with her mother, I caught a glimpse of him through a mirror that reflected from another room. I took the high road, knowing that he was the coward for not having balls enough to face me. He had won, he knew it but still lacked the stones to be civil.
I caught motion in the corner of my eye, turned, and there she was, casually dressed, yet, “made up” more than I’d seen her, and for a minute, I lost the ability to speak. She looked exquisite and I searched for words to adequately address her. Finally, I just said, “Wow, you look fantastic.” She entered the room with a slight smile and I believe that for the first time, I wondered if her usual confident demeanor was only a façade. She surveyed the room and upon the realization that her father was absent, she lifted her shoulders, smiled big, and kissed her mother goodbye, confidence restored. The shift was ever so slight, but I saw it and I felt an inky blackness cover my soul with this momentary glimpse into the doleful feel that existed within those walls. As soon as it hit though, the feeling left when she clutched my hand, and started for the door.
Obviously, that whole scene had played out differently than I had planned. I had imagined portraying myself as a confident and well-spoken young man who was aware of the world and more importantly, someone who was “upwardly mobile.” In the end, it all worked out for the best because I knew that I was in over my head and nothing short of a long Southern pedigree would have made any difference when it came to her asshole father.
I opened the door to my truck and she climbed in. As I was closing the door behind her, she slid across the bench seat, an act I will go to my grave believing that she did as an “up yours” to her father. We drove through town, all business now and in party mode, the stereo blasting. She was comfortable enough with me to take over the stereo and select her favorite song. I turned it up, and we blasted our way through the main section of town. The traffic light turned green as the sun began to set, and I made a beeline for the Sonic Drive-in. I ordered 2 route 44 cokes, and 2 route 44 cups of ice. The carhops at Sonic understood this request. This particular order was universal code in our town for two Route 44 cups with coke, no ice, and two Route 44 cups of ice. They also knew that a generous tip came when this order was delivered. Back on the road, I asked if she’d like for me to fix her a drink and she responded, “Hell yeah!” We pulled over in the stall of a self-service car wash heading out of town, and I extracted a bottle of Seagram’s 7 from behind the back seat, and with the Sonic Coke and Ice, we were good to go. From there, I took my own sweet time getting to the party. Driving around on the outskirts of town with her at my side, the music blaring, allowing time for the whiskey and Coke to take effect.
For the most part, the artificial boundary created by the river was a “parent thing,” not recognized or understood by the teens from either side, so no such boundaries were recognized at the party. Occasionally, an “Eastside” boy would take exception to a “Westside” boy dating one of “their” girls, and vice versa, but those issues were normally handled on a case-by-case basis. We arrived at the party, and I admit, to be there with her on my arm, I walked a bit taller and stuck my chest out some, and was genuinely proud to be the guy I was there with her as my date. My guy friends may not have been jealous of me, but they were at least envious.
The eighties were fascinating times, especially in the Bible belt. The party we were attending was exemplary of this fact. Basically, it was like two parties in one. First, there was the party that we were attending, with young “adults” ranging in age from, let’s say, 18 to 23. But the other contingency was the parents of the younger group. The whole affair was in strict opposition to the standard “outward” mores of the nowhere small town in South Mississippi, where the First Baptist Church set and silently enforced the rules, and the big United Pentecostal presence, backed them up. Quietly though, rebellious factions existed that refused to conform, and surprisingly, but not surprisingly, were comprised of representatives from both of the above-mentioned groups. These were the parents of the person hosting the party this night. So, from the start, there was no doubt that the party that we were attending would be one of those that would permanently award attendees the right to say, “I was at that party,” because we knew that before the night was over, something noteworthy or even scandalous might happen.
We arrived with Sonic cups in hand, made the appropriate pleasantries to the adults inside the house, and were directed to the backyard. The area outside was more spacious than I would have expected. A few pickup trucks were backed in with tailgates down. There were hanging lights strung around a concrete patio that served as a dance floor and a DJ was completing his setup. There was plenty of food and soft drinks, and I only imagined what was “smuggled”, inside the beds of those trucks. We had gotten there a little early, and there were already 15 or so of our friends there and some were even dancing to music blaring from truck stereos. There figured to be a steady stream of partiers coming and going throughout the night.
The adults inside could not have cared less about what was going on in the backyard, as long as we didn’t get too stupid or interfere with the goings-on inside. As young adults, we were afforded a view into our hosts’ way of life. We all thought they were really cool, as they were substantially more progressive than we were accustomed to. We also saw a few of the townspeople who might have been accused of being a little on the hypocritical side, but there was kind of an unspoken rule that all attendees would keep certain things quiet. After all, it served the youth too because chaperones were mostly absent from our party. As for me, I soaked in the affluence of the hosts, in awe a little, as the lifestyle was foreign from all that I had known. In the days and weeks following that weekend, I revisited that night often, envious of what I had seen, and more than a little depressed, because I couldn’t even imagine myself having a life like that.
Later, the backyard was crowded, all of our friends were there, and we played the role, acting as if we were a perfect couple, willing to play along with any of the festivities planned for the night. Nothing that we had spoken of or pre-planned, instinctively, we just rode each other’s vibe, playing off of each other as if we had known each other in another life. Looking back, I find it difficult to understand that I so easily allowed her to leave my world, my universe. For whatever reason, I thought it was the more accepted ploy. That alas, was at the time, the correct way. In the end, though, unanticipated results arrived, and I had to accept that I’d played it all wrong. Not that I was afforded an alternate play, but I was the jester, in the end, I was the fool. I knew that for as long as I lived, that night would be in my mind.
The party lived up to all of the hype, everything that we had imagined. Ultimately, the party was one of those events in the life of a person that only comes around once. I took it as such and I felt like every soul in attendance felt the same. At that age, just being invited to such a party was an honor, but actually being there meant some serious bragging rights the following week, especially if something scandalous came to pass. The party changed gears as those partaking of the adult beverages began to feel a little buzzed. The music got better, as the DJ gained a better feel for the music that we all preferred, sometimes repeating a crowd favorite a time or two every half hour.
The night was perfect, and time passed quickly, then seemed to accelerate at a geometric rate, and each time I looked at my watch, my soul sank a bit more, like dangling off of a ledge with only a small rope to grasp, hands slipping, and the rope tearing and unraveling as it slid over an abrasive rock. I had to push down nausea in my gut, take deep breaths to slow the rate of my pulse, and force a smile when I took in those green eyes. The guests began to thin out as curfews had to be met and soon, it would be time for us to make our exit. I had not given thought to what might happen after the party, assuming only that I would drive her home and leave her with a kiss on the cheek before saying our final goodbyes. As midnight approached, the DJ queued up more slow songs and couples began to pair off. A single note sounded, she recognized it immediately and drug me towards the dance floor. She pulled me close and we swayed back and forth slightly, dancing, but not really, not caring if anyone was looking, or anything beyond the moment, for that matter. The music played and we were there, her face buried in my neck until I felt movement and she raised and whispered, “Let’s go.”
She climbed into my truck and I closed the passenger door. By the time I had walked around to the driver’s side, she had slid across and was practically sitting underneath the steering wheel. I looked at her, she smiled back and I caught a devilish glint in her eyes. Confused, I stood there for an instant, I stared at her, captivated by her face. Strangely, I focused on one of the large hoop earrings she was wearing, lit by the dashboard lights and I wondered why I had not noticed her earrings before. I didn’t know what to expect as I was on unfamiliar ground and had no idea of what to say or what to do next. She must have recognized the perplexed look on my face, and she said, “Get in, you aren’t going to forget me that easily. You know where to go.” I did, and fired off the engine, found drive, and I made my way out of town, then in about 7 miles, I made a right and then a left.
I eased down the dirt lane towards our semi-hidden parking spot. Rounding the slight bend in the road at the bottom of the hill, the headlights of the truck caught something that I couldn’t immediately explain. There were 4 beer cans standing in a line which was perplexing at first, then I realized the gig, I knew immediately that she had the whole of the evening set up in advance. Admittedly, I questioned in my mind if I was that easily controlled by the wiles of a provocative woman. Knowing without asking, the more pertinent question might have been, “Should I be? Or maybe even, “Is it wise to allow me to be?”
I stopped, killed the engine, and doused the headlights. Momentarily, we were in complete darkness until our eyes adjusted and reminded the brain that while a change had occurred, we weren’t completely absent of light. By the same token, I might have thought that without the sound of the truck stereo or the rumbling of the engine, we were not completely in the absence of sound. There was an instant difference, but we were neither left in total blackness nor were we without sound. There was a moment there though that I’ve contemplated over the years that, when sound was no more, and light seemed to be totally dissipated before the senses of seeing and of hearing were restored, I felt the infinite solitude of a life without her.
I shook my head as if the act might erase the emptiness and drown the thoughts of moving forward without her. I asked, “So what is the deal with the cans?” She replied, “I thought we would play a little game.” I said, “Oh, you did, did you?” “Yeah,” she said, stretching out her hand to mine. She produced 4 rocks and let them drop into my palm, and explained, “For each can, you can knock over with these rocks, I will reveal something personal about myself.” “OK,” I said, “but what if I miss?” With that, she took the rocks from my hand, threw them off into the darkness, and grabbed both of my hands. She led me towards the cans, kicked them over, and said, “You win. I have to tell you some very personal stuff.”
I looked off into the sky, noticing the stars and the treetops, and the flashing lights from a soundless airplane traveling to some distant location. A fleeting thought flashed through my mind, more of a rhetorical interrogatory really, but I thought it strange that at that moment, I wondered if I’d ever visit far-off places in this world. She gave me a light shove, and said, “Isn’t there anything personal that you would like to ask? Here is your chance.” “What?” I said, as her voice brought me back from the oddly timed personal query about far-away places. “Haven’t you been paying attention?” She asked. “Yeah, yeah, sure I have. Personal stuff, beer cans, and such,” I stammered, but I had still not fully returned from my trip out into the darkness, with the plane and far-away sights. She grabbed both of my shoulders and gave me another little jerk. “Well,” she asked, “Is there anything personal that you want to ask?” I stepped back a step, and looked at her, highlighted in the shimmering rays of light peeking through the trees. I said, “No,” pivoted, and started toward the truck. She stood there, momentarily transfixed, and then rushed to catch up. The fall night was cool and I walked with my hands in my pockets. I felt her hand slide along my ribs and we covered the rest of the distance arm-in-arm and in silence.
This time I only opened the driver’s side door and she slid in and I followed. I fiddled around with the radio in an attempt to buy time to summon my next words. After what seemed an eternity, I began to speak. “I know you had plans for this entire evening, and I’m sorry for not playing along, but I just can’t.” She leaned against me and put her head on my shoulder. I faced straight ahead and spoke. “I suppose I’ll get over you in time, but I think it will be a long time.” I knew that things were set into motion at least a year or two prior as she started to plan for college and for her future. Her parents had a design for her life as well, and nowhere was there a plan that included me. “In spite of it all,” I continued, “I wouldn’t trade any of it, not one minute of it. Not even the rest of this night.” I turned and kissed her on her cheek. The stereo played. “I just didn’t want tonight to be sad,” she said with a sigh. Then she turned and pulled back slightly to make room to slide her left hand behind my back then put her head back down on my shoulder and she stretched her right arm around my neck.
We made love that night, softly, slowly and deliberate, so much different than our previous encounter. I remember thinking that each time together had been completely different than the time before and we moved together as if we had been a couple in a previous life. Ultimately, I believe that it was the thoughts of reincarnation that helped me get over her. I adopted the fantasy in my mind that we had been together in many prior lives and the possibility that in some future plane, we would eventually get it right.
At some point, we drifted off. I awoke just before the sun began to rise. I extricated myself from her and eased out of the truck to relieve myself, wearing nothing but underwear and shoes. The truck door opened and closed behind me and she passed by me totally nude and carrying a handful of McDonald’s napkins. Again I was amazed at how totally uninhibited she was, while I still felt a little weird about the whole “naked” thing.
Back inside the truck, we found our clothes and began to dress. There were no words; just a gravid gloominess that seemed to just hang in the cab of the truck. We both exited the truck once more to finish tucking and straightening our clothes. She wrapped her arms around my neck, rose on her toes, and we kissed our last kiss. She told me that it probably wouldn’t be wise for me to walk her to her door, given that the sun would likely be rising by the time we returned to her house. I didn’t argue. She hugged me again, and we started for home. Her last words to me came, almost in a whisper, “Always remember me.”
LOVE LOVE LOVE ❤️ ❤️❤️❤️ As always. I can not wait to hold your book in my hand !!!!