Through the trees

'See you later.'

I walked away, leaving the tennis ball in the short grass of Smiths's lawn.

The next day, I woke up at seven, under the influence of a nightmare whose content I couldn't quite recall when I awoke. Without eating breakfast or brushing my scruffy brown hair, I went out to the back yard--a long, thin field of grass, bordered by honeysuckle, that seemed to go back and back. I came here when I needed to think.

But this time, before I had gotten more than twenty feet into the yard, a voice said from the bush, 'Ha! Alfie!'

The words seemed to be coming from a mulberry tree that had pushed its way up through the surrounding honeysuckle. 'What? Who is it? Helen? Rebecca? Brunita?'

'I'll give you a hint,' the voice said. '"If you knew half the things I want to do to you. . ."'

'Samantha!' said I. 'What are you doing here?'

'No need to ask,' said she. 'Come in to this tree with me, Alfie. Come inside this tree, and I'll tell you more about those things I want to do to you.'

'Well,' said I. . .

A perfect triangle

Then, as if on cue, Sharon came walking down the street. Her thick auburn hair streamed in the wind.

'Hello, sexy,' said she, approaching.

'Hello, precious darling,' Smiths said. He embraced Sharon and began stroking her silky auburn hair.

Sharon eyed me conspicuously over Smiths's shoulder. It was a look that screamed, 'You could have your arms around me and be stroking my silky auburn hair right now, but you screwed it all up, you loser!'

I cleared my throat.

As long as it's not Sharon

Smiths and I spent a lot of time together that summer. Smiths ate peanut butter sandwiches and spoke of Russian history while I smashed a tennis ball against his garage.

'I have a girlfriend,' Smiths told me one day.

I turned around in such shock that the ball I had just whacked came back and hit me in the cheek.

'You're not supposed to be that surprised, Alfie,' said he. 'Come on.'

'Sorry, man,' said I. I well knew it shouldn't have come as such a shock; but Smiths was pasty, reclusive, and in the habit of snarfing sandwiches. How could he have a girlfriend and I not?

Of course, there was Samantha. We hadn't had a tryst in at least five days, though; I was burning for her, and she always seemed occupied.

'I'm happy for you,' I told Smiths. 'It was about time you got a girl.'

'Thanks,' Smiths said.

But I stopped. . .my blood suddenly ran cold. . .I turned my gaze back on Smiths.

I said, 'As long as it's not Sharon, that is.'

Summer's coming

After parting ways with Samantha, I stumbled home and snuck quietly into the house, only to find my mother perched near the doorway, reading a novel in the light of a reading-lamp.

'You're still awake, Mum?' said I.

'Yes, Alfie. Why's your hair so mussed?'

'Um. . .it's the style now, mother. Yes. . .it's square to look groomed. Ostentatiously casual is in.'

She looked up from the book. 'I understand, Alfie.'

I pretended not to notice the knowing quality of the look. She'd known about the dance, she'd once been sixteen herself, she understood young men in a sly way. I said, 'We danced good-naturedly for an hour and a half, drank non-alcoholic beverages such as water and V8, and split ways in the parking lot, well before any lascivious behavior had a chance to occur.'

The crickets chirped loud outside my window that night.

Tryst II

A small wooded path opened almost imperceptibly in the otherwise dense forest on the right side of the lane. We glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then plunged deep into the trees.

'I think you're going to like this, Alfie.'

'I do already,' I said, and she turned back and kissed me.

After traveling about fifty yards down the path, we came into a sort of clearing. It wasn't as dramatic, certainly, as it would have been in the daylight, but it was still almost thrilling.

'Here I show you the Abandoned House.'

'That's magnificent,' said I. 'Might there also be an Abandoned Bed somewhere within?'

'Not on a first date,' Sam said.

'I was kidding, Samantha.'

'I wouldn't mind any other activities we might do in a dark, abandoned house on a mysterious night, though,' she said, with a naughty look in my direction. 'We enter here.'

Tryst

'. . .would like to go back to your house with you.'

If Samantha's eyes gaped a little wider at this, her quick mind soon recovered from the surprise. 'But my parents would be home, Alfie. C'mon. . .I've got a better idea.'

She grabbed me by the hand, slinging her other arm around my waist, and we walked down Goosefluff Lane in the shimmering moonlight.

'The night is splendid,' I said, '. . .but where are we going?'

'Don't you worry about that,' said she, quietly. 'I have a place.'

I didn't know if that's what I had meant.

As we neared the far end of Goosefluff Lane, the houses grew larger, statelier, and more heavily shrouded in shrubbery. Around the houses a forest grew tall and wild; the architecture was, of course, Victorian; and the night was saturated with an air of mystery normally reserved for films based on books by Steven King.

'This way,' Sam said.

A walk in moonlight

'So. . .did you have a good time, Alfie?' Sam said.

'Spectacular,' I said, rubbing my cheeks with cold fingers. The cool night spread out around us. . . stars twinkled down. . .the entire galaxy was dripping with light. For a moment I almost let myself think, 'it really could have been.'

'Are you. . .feeling. . .all right,' Sam said. . .and, as if I had spoken the sentiment out loud, shot me a conspicuously knowing glance.

Glib young men, though, are utterly impervious to such looks. 'Wipe that conspicuously knowing glance,' said I, 'off that visage.'

'Say "face," Alfie,' Samantha said. 'And, darling. . .can you tell why mine's so flushed?'

'I honestly have no guess.'

'Let me help.'

Sam grabbed my hand, kissed it twice or thrice, and drew it to her chest. Despite myself, I felt a twinge in my stomach. In the moonlight she looked almost beautiful.

'Sam, I. . .'

The heat is on

'Well, here we are,' Samantha said, nudging me hard in the ribs. It hurt, but I pretended it didn't. As I was striving to maintain this husk of toughness, she leaned in and kissed me on the mouth, right in front of the chaperones stationed at the entrance.

'Stop it, Samantha!' protested I. 'Cut it out!'

'Ah, if you knew half the things I'd like to do to you,' she said, shooting me a flirtatious look that almost made up for her pimples, but not quite.

As we entered the dance hall, the buoyant rhythms of Glenn Frey's "The Heat is On" pumped through the darkened room. Samantha and I slipped our way into the thick crowd, fighting through the mass of writhing bodies, saxophone riffs, and the flashing lights that pulsed through the surrounding darkness.

Finally, we found a pocket of empty space amid the chaos. In this strangely intimate setting, Sam suddenly drew me forcefully toward her, breathing hot breath against my neck as she pulled me to her bosom. At this point, an impassioned kiss was inevitable.

At the end of the song, the room grew lighter for an instant; and, as I pulled away from Sam's kiss, I glanced across the room, only to set eyes on an utterly dumbfounded Sharon. Her green eyes were pulled as wide as I'd ever seen them; she stood there, drop-jawed, as if she had completely forgotten Claude Reeves's arm around her waist.

Banter

With Samantha's clammy hand in mine, the two-mile walk to the school was disturbing. Nonetheless, we did maintain some semblance of conversation.

'So, Samantha, do you take showers often?'

'I'd like to take one with you,' she said, licking her lips.

'That's nice,' I said, as calm and unruffled as if she'd been discussing philately. 'So how is advanced geometry?'

She seemed inflamed by this inquiry. Arching her back and thrusting her large chest forward, she said, 'It would be much better if you were in it.'

I straightened my tie with my free hand, and coughed twice or thrice. 'Look, Sam. . .could we please talk about something other than how fervently you desire me?'

'Well,' replied Sam, 'we could talk about how cute you are.'

'I suppose,' I said, despondently, 'that that's an entirely different matter.'

'Yes,' Samantha said. 'Your cuteness, and my visceral desire for you, are totally unrelated.'

'Thanks for clearing that up,' said I.

A hot night. . .

'You're late,' Samantha yelled up the stairs.

'It's a matter of policy,' I said, adjusting my tie as I descended them.

'Policy?'

'Yes,' said I. 'I always make it a point to be late for dates I shall not enjoy.'

The girl tore at her greasy mop of brown hair. 'Alfie,' she said, 'you may be cute, but you're so mean!'

'Be fair, now, Sam,' said I. 'I haven't mistreated you. I've only implied that I do not see myself enjoying our forthcoming date. That is all.'

At this, my mother entered the front hallway to adjust my collar. Then, after a short and awkward attempt at frivolous conversation between the three of us, Samantha and I left hand-in-hand.

The dance

When the sophomore dance rolled around, I didn't go with Sharon. I was asked by Samantha Beesley, a greasy-haired brunette, a real noodle of a girl. I said 'yes' right away, before I had time to think about it.

'You're going with Samantha?' Smiths said to me at lunch.

'Yes,' I said. 'Sadly, yes.'

Smiths bit deep into his peanut-butter-and-tofu sandwich. 'I just don't get it. Why wouldn't you just ask Sharon, like a normal guy? I even think she might be into you.'

I bit into a section of my orange. 'I thought about it, Smiths--I really did. Claude Reeves beat me to it, man.'

'Well, you're a fool,' Smiths told me. 'Timing is everything. You've got to go right out and grab a woman or she'll slip away.'

'At least I've got Sandra,' I said.

Smiths looked at me as if I belonged in a sanitarium.

'I sure do dislike that Claude, though. . .'

Chilly Debby departs

I awoke to find I'd coated my pillow in drool. The harsh light of my room glared into my eyes, quickly giving rise to a headache that would last all day.

'Sleep well?' my father wondered from the hall.

'Wonderfully,' said I. 'When is Chilly Debby visiting?'

'You slept through the visit,' said he.

'I may be a heavy sleeper,' said I, 'but this is ridiculous.'

'Of course,' clarified he, 'she only stayed for an hour.'

'An hour? That's ridiculous. She lives in Houston.' Even my relief that I would not have to spend endless hours in the same room as Chilly Debby was, admittedly, a bit dampened by the insult.

Mona, our cat, wandered into the room, swishing her furry white tail. 'Chilly Debby has her ways,' she seemed to say, 'Chilly Debby has her ways.'

The scene

'Hello, Sharon.'

'Hello, Alfie.'

'I've been fantasizing about you.'

'I've been fantasizing about you, too.'

I approach her slowly. I've been smoking a cigar in the shadows of my office. I am Alfie Norton, private eye.

'You look really handsome in that fedora,' Sharon says.

'You look sexy in those heels,' I say.

I blow the smoke casually into the shadowy room. Everything is silent. And then. . .

Desire

Every day when I came home from school, I sat in my room and desired Sharon. I would imagine that we were in a basement, crowded onto a loveseat, watching an old thriller. Then, without warning, Sharon would take my warm hand in hers; I would reach over and run my fingers slowly through her silky hair; and we'd lean closer, closer, finally pulling together for a passionate kiss. She would place her hand at the back of my head and pull me closer, as if she were feeding and could not get enough. Afterwards, we'd discuss biology and chemistry and the history of Western thought, and. . .

Then I'd scold myself: 'God, Alfie. . .Even your fantasies are nerdy.' And, of course, they could never come true. A little, wiry, greasy-haired geek like me could never hope to lock lips with a beautiful woman with silky auburn hair. Beautiful women with silky auburn hair liked the captain of the football team, other assorted Hercules-types, and billionaires. Then I'd realize I had been drooling on my biology homework, with my right hand clutching a ball of Play-Doh so hard that it was squeezing through the cracks of my fingers. My grades were starting to slip; I'd better forget Sharon until summer. Then I'd call her.

The visit

'Alfie,' my mother said, 'stop reading The Fountainhead and do your math homework!' I looked up from my perch at the window, dazed. 'And, by the way,' continued she, 'Chilly Debby is coming to visit.'

A deep shudder ran down the length of my spine, but I kept a calm exterior. 'Is that right,' said I, 'is that right.'

'Um. . .yes. She's coming in May, with Cousin Dirk.'

'I'll remember to come down with the flu, then,' said I.

Mother stopped short. 'What's wrong with Chilly Debby?'.

'She doesn't like Oasis,' said I, 'and her eyes are frosted with. . .' (a pause for drama) '. . .the Winter of the Soul.'

'You're silly,' Mother said, and left the room.

I returned to my book, where I had seen visions of Sharon's mane in every word. Now my mind had frozen stiff, like a shallow pond in the cold of December. There would be no rest on this night.

Sharon and Alfie

'Hello, Sharon,' said I, staring at her lush auburn hair and glossy lips.

'Oh, Alfie!' said she. 'You said 'hi' back! I'm so relieved; I was so worried as popular a boy as you would simply ignore me.'

Inside, I screamed, 'Earth to Sharon! Earth to Sharon! You are the most beautiful, most widely-admired girl in the tenth grade, and I am a total reject!' Outside, I said calmly, 'Indeed.'

'So, Alfie,' she crooned, leaning close and breathing her hot breath against my exposed neck, 'do you know you're so attractive, I can hardly resist myself?'

'Is that so?' said I.

'Yes, Alford--yes!' said she.

Now my world started to spin. 'Uh, hold on, Sharon. . .let me get my inhaler,' said I, teetering.

'Actually,' said she, 'on second thought, I have a math class to get to.'

By this time I had passed out and was lying sprawled on the stone floor of the hallway, mouth open. But I was to return. . .

Girls

I was still awkward with girls. On the rare occasions when a nice-looking one happened to look at me--and perhaps even smile--I generally managed to prove myself a geek pretty quickly. My growth spurt, I noticed, had lately given me more opportunities to exercise my nerdiness. Sharon, a beautiful, popular girl with auburn hair, even said 'hi' to me once in the hall.

High school

But I had friends--a few. They were a bit odd; I don't think Chilly Debby would have approved. My friend Smiths ate tofu-and-peanut-butter sandwiches and talked about how dumb vegetarians were. Terry came from a farm. Cindy worshipped her own cerebral cortex. And I sat there and patiently listened to everything they had to say. I myself had nothing. I wanted a second girlfriend, I suppose. . .but fat chance of that coming to pass. . .

Solitude

I was alone, and now I realized just how cold the world--against which her warmth had buffered me--had always been. Before, men had been expected to be urbane, and perhaps a bit handsome, if that was feasible--I always think of Fitzwilliam Darcy, somehow. But now we were expected to be a lot more, and at the same time a lot less. I wanted to be Kurt Cobain, Arnold Schwarzenegger, and Tom Cruise, all rolled into one. Instead, I was a wiry teenager who bore a strong resemblance to anemia, personified.

Adolescence

My adolescence was fraught with difficulty. It was hard to tell what view Chilly Debby took of this; she was busy sitting on couches reading books on economics and social history. And I--I was cute once. . .I was adorable once. Even at fifteen I might have been adorable. My girlfriend sure thought so. She was soon to dump me, however. I was possessed with the desire to explore her in ways only a man can explore. Unfortunately, I was still a boy. She peeled my arms back from around her neck and threw them back at me, like so much rubber.