Authors: Tom Winton
When our lips separated, our faces remained close, and she held my eyes with hers. Her breath, quickened from the exchange of passion, was sweet and warm on my face. But she didn't say anything. Silently, she waited for my reaction to her pleas for patience.
When I smiled and said, "Fine … take your time, Theresa. Tell me about your family when you're ready," her desperate look vanished, her mouth widened into a gleaming smile, and she pecked me on the lips, twice. And on that park bench, that glorious spring day so long ago, Theresa and I became one. After that, when we were apart, separated at school, at home, or anywhere else, no matter the distance, we were still together. Nothing would ever separate us, ever. Or so I thought.
By the time I walked Theresa home late that afternoon, the sun's rays had lost much of their heat. Sparrows chirped and hopped on lawns no bigger than area rugs. Small children played on sidewalks, while bigger kids had a stickball game going, out in the street. Their working-stiff fathers sat on stoops like urban kings, drinking Rheingold beer with neighbors, waiting for their wives to finish cooking dinner. And what dinners, scrumptious Sunday meals we could smell wafting from so many open windows, a cornucopia of delicious aromas that intensified my hunger, and surely Theresa’s, too. Boiling corn beef and cabbage, kielbasa and of course, from the Italian kitchens, the ambrosial all-day sauce, drifted out on to the street.
Not saying much now, just taking in the sights, sounds, smells of her neighborhood, our bellies empty but our young hearts full, Theresa and I strolled ever-so contentedly toward her place. But my half of this peaceful, easy feeling quickly vanished, when I recognized a guy from school coming up the sidewalk toward us. It was Mike Trueblood, disgustingly-handsome, Mike Trueblood. Just what I needed, when things had been going so well with Theresa. Every girl at Flushing High had a crush on him. Not only was he a terrific looking guy, but he also worked out with weights and had the super physique to prove it. It was bad enough that he had all those attributes, but he was conceited as all hell on top of it. Trueblood was forever peeking into mirrors, windows, hell probably even puddles. Anywhere he could cop a reflection of himself, he would. It was almost comical. He'd stop any time he thought somebody might be watching, dig on himself awhile, then run a comb through his impeccable, beach-boy-blonde hair, all the while tensing his goddamn phenomenal biceps for affect. I knew who he was alright, but I didn't know him. Never wanting to give him the satisfaction the slightest gesture of recognition might bring, I’d always gone out of my way not to even make eye contact with him.
As he approached us, a most excruciating silence seemed to separate Theresa and I. This creep, Trueblood, had desecrated the greatest day of my life in a matter of seconds. Heat rose in my face as it flushed. You can't imagine how much I hated myself for this. For sure, Theresa would swoon over the sight of Trueblood now, just like all the girls at school. Maybe she'd make a comment after he passed, maybe the uncomfortable silence between us would simply linger. Maybe she'd loosen her grip on my hip. Surely she'd show some sign of being zapped by
the
Michael Trueblood's genetic gifts. I felt like an intruder. For one gut-wrenching, ego-mortifying moment, I felt more inadequate than ever before. Like an idiot. Like some lame poser with a huge zit on his head who had just realized he'd been a fool to think he could ever have had a future with a girl so far out of his league.
With Trueblood only three struts away from us now, I braced myself for disappointment, inevitable, monumental disappointment. Prepared for the annihilation of all my pride, battling the true pull of my emotions, trying my best to hide my humility, my eyes met Mike Trueblood's.
I wanted to disappear, just wither away, somehow dissolve into the cement sidewalk.
But the weirdest thing happened. Trueblood actually nodded at me, said, "What's happenin'?" It was the first time either of us had ever shown the other any sign of recognition. He acted like he respected me, like we knew each other. But that wasn't all. What happened next really blew me away. Trueblood shifted his eyes to Theresa, and he said, "How ya doin' Theresa?"
Holy cow!
I thought.
They know each other!
How could it be? How could two such extraordinarily good-looking kids know each other and
not
hook up.
Hate to admit it, but he's the goddamn best lookin' guy in school. And Theresa, shit, she's the best-looking girl I've ever seen. They're made for each other.
But Theresa tightened her hold on my waist. Her head a little higher now, obviously proud to be with me, almost like she was showing me off, she greeted Trueblood. Her tone casual, yet polite, almost like an adult speaking to a child, she said, "Fine, Michael. How are you?"
His trademark confident smile seemed actually bashful now. I swear! And his face reddened too! Even Mike Trueblood, my school's biggest playboy, every girl's dream-guy, was stupefied by Theresa's beauty. Let me tell you, I felt like King Kong. Had I been on a basketball court at that moment, I could have dunked two hands backwards. My biceps felt two inches bigger than Trueblood's and I was a full foot taller. Lord, I was wild about this girl. What guy wouldn't be? Hell, everywhere we'd gone that day, the park, the ice cream parlor for Cokes, walking down Broadway, as well as all those side streets, male eyes of all ages had ogled at Theresa.
Long shadows trailed us as we approached her front steps. She asked me inside for the second time that day. Again, I had to pass. It was already crowding six o'clock and I was running late for my job at Saint Leo’s rectory. On the front stoop, we shared a long goodbye-kiss, a smile, and then two quick pecks. When I said goodbye, though a brick hunkered down in my gut, I was ecstatic; ecstatic about having found her, ecstatic that my
eighteen-year solitary confinement had finally come to an end. I was more alive than I'd ever been.
H
Chapter 4
The week that followed, felt more like three. Since Theresa and I both worked after school and, as luck would have it, our days off didn't coincide, we couldn't see each other until the following weekend. Every day ground by grudgingly. At school, my attention span was even shorter than usual. I couldn't concentrate on anything other than Theresa Wayman. Classes seemed longer and more boring than ever. Some days I cut a few with Jimmy Curtin, and we'd hang out at the pizza joint across from school where we’d nurse Cokes and listen to the jukebox.
At long last, Friday rolled around, and I would finally see Theresa again. I had no work after school, so I jumped the Q-12 bus up to Main Street and hung out at Kress' soda fountain for awhile. Kress’ was where kids from a number of local schools gathered around 3:30 every weekday. There was an empty stool next to Eileen Dolan, one of the girls I knew who went to Saint Agnes. She told me all the girls at school had started calling me "Dyno Deano" because all week long they'd heard so much about me from Theresa. How wonderful I was. How sensitive … and handsome. Dean this, Dean that ...
Sure, I knew she liked me. But I didn't realize just how much. Needless to say, this news was not only a reassuring surprise, but it blew me away also.
Eileen also told me to expect another surprise when I saw Theresa that night. I prodded the freckly redhead for more, but the most she'd give away was that I'd know what she meant when I saw Theresa that night.
We'd made plans to meet under the clock on Main Street at seven-thirty. Theresa was to take the bus in from 'The Point' alone, to save me one trip out and back. As it was, I'd be taking her home at the end of our date and then still have to take the bus back to Flushing again. Besides, there were two movie theaters on Main Street and none at all in College Point.
By quarter to seven, I'd already taken a bath, shaved, slapped on some Jade East, brushed my teeth and swished around a double dose of Listerine. I dressed real sharp and blow-dried my hair with my 'Hot Comb'. After brushing every follicle in its proper place, I topped it off with the last of my mother's Aqua Net. Ma wouldn't mind anyway since she never went out anymore, never even left the apartment. Hell, she never even got out of her pajamas and robe anymore. Anyway, after all the preparations were complete, I had to check myself out at least a half-dozen times in the bedroom mirror, that mirror of my childhood, a Grant's $1.89 special, full-length, circus-fun-house-quality mirror that Ma (in her better days) had bought and nailed to the back of the closet door. Despite the usual waves and bulges in my reflection, I had to admit I looked pretty good. Even that pimple above my eyebrow was gone now.
Still running early, brimming with excitement and anticipation, I hoofed the six blocks to Main Street and still arrived at the clock fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. Flushing's busiest corner was abuzz with typical Friday evening activity. Work-week-weary over-timers trudged up subway steps onto the street, re-entering their urban world. Up and down Main and Roosevelt, buses - most green, some orange - rushed off in every direction, shuttling fares on the last leg of their commute home. Despite their best efforts, brisk-walking, side-stepping pedestrians brushed by one another on the crowded sidewalks. Across Roosevelt Avenue in front of the subway exit by Woolworth’s, the Hare Krishnas shook their tambourines and chanted like there’d be no tomorrow. In a single whiff, I smelled souvlaki, pizza, carbon monoxide and, on a passing lady, fresh perfume. The store lights grew brighter as dusk gave way to darkness, and the sun, already set behind the Manhattan skyline, painted pink the western sky.
Under the clock, a pair of dead-eyed junkies leaned against the two most coveted waiting places - the mailboxes. Both of them were dismal sights in tired clothes and drab skin, their drooping backs supported by the local and the out-of-town mailboxes, both of them quick with the dirty looks each time they had to move to let some 'citizen' deposit a letter. On each side of the letter boxes were doors to a tiny cigar store and, as always, the place was hopping, an endless stream of customers filing in an out of both doors. Other folks waiting for friends, lovers, their connections, whoever, leaned idly along the old iron railing that skirted the pit of stone stairs that lead to the subway. When a long-haired college student with granny-glasses abandoned his spot to greet two book-carrying friends, I took over his space. Leaning back, one foot up against the rail, trying to look cool, I fired up a nervous smoke with my Zippo, as I continued to watch the Friday-frantic rush of humanity before me.
But my expectant eyes kept pulling to the other side of Main, to the empty bus stop in front of a coffee shop over there. Each time I dragged on my cigarette, my anxious eyes clicked from the clock overhead, to the coffee shop, back to the clock. I could have sworn the minute hand was creeping backwards.
But finally, at seven-thirty-five, an orange bus labored to a stop across the street, and I watched a dozen faceless people climb out before I spotted Theresa. She strode to the corner and joined a small herd of pedestrians already waiting for the light to change. As they cheat off the curb, they're all painted red by the neon light outside the Main Tavern. Theresa doesn't see me yet but I see her, standing out from all the others like a perfect diamond. I'm thinking again just how lucky I'd been to have met her, when it suddenly becomes clear what Eileen Dolan had been hinting about. Theresa had on a new outfit, collegiate clothes, all of it brand new--a burgundy, man-tailored shirt, its button-down collar rising high from the v-neck of a white tennis sweater and a pair of female-tight, beige jeans. She even had on cute little shoes, scaled-down versions of the size eleven chukka boots on my own feet. WOW! She'd actually gone out and bought all these clothes, just to make me happy. Hot-damn!
When the light turned green, traffic stopped and the cluster of people on the corner scurried, urban-cautiously, across the wide street. The closer the group got, the more conspicuous Theresa became. She looked like a starlet making an entrance on Oscar night. She held her head high, delicate chin uplifted just a bit, not cocky by design, just an innate display of confidence and stand-offishness, mandatory deportment for someone so young, so pretty, so oh-too-sexually alluring for her years.
Stepping toward the curb in her queenly gait, she saw me through the passing throngs in fractured glimpses. Her natural defenses simply melted away, and she beamed like the school girl she was.
"Hi handsome," she said, coming up to me, reaching out for both my hands. I gave her a quick peck on the lips.