I'm back! With a new story. For those of you who have not read my stories before, let me start by saying that you can read this new story on its own, it will stand on its own. But if you want to place this in my "Gordo Series" this comes at the end, right after "The Graduate." (If you're interested in reading the whole series, see my Profile for the Gordo Series stories listed in order.) I still have a few holes to fill in to make the series complete, but here is another piece of the puzzle.
This is a one-shot. I apologize in advance for the length, but this story is one event, and I didn't think it would be right to break it up into chapters. It is what it is. And I hope you like it. Thank you for reading.
-christylee
o
o
BLUE 'STANG
o
According to MapQuest, a mere 455 miles separates me from everything I've ever known…and the rest of my life.
MapQuest also suggests the trip should take seven and a half hours. But I plan to get to Berkeley in a lot less time than that.
For one thing, this is the first time in my life that I---the practical, reasonable, always-do-right son of the Dr.'s Gordon---have a fast car. My own car. A really fast car. A 2001 eight-cylinder Mustang GT Coupe. In sonic metallic blue. And I have a fuzz-buster, courtesy of Larry Tudgeman on my last birthday, when he heard the kind of car I was planning to buy. Good ol' Larry. His thoughtfulness is going to help catapult me into my new life.
So the car is one thing. But the other thing, the other reason why I'm planning this jettison up the state of California, is that last night, as I was packing all my belongings into the 'Stang, and thinking about unloading it all in my new room in my cousin Adam's rented house in Berkeley, I began to get a really strong feeling that this chapter of my life is finally over, and a new one is beginning.
And when I woke up this morning and suddenly remembered what lies ahead for me, I decided I couldn't get out of this podunk town fast enough.
Eat my dust, Hillridge!!
I am so done with this place.
Well….sort of. I feel no attachment to Hillridge anymore, but there are, in fact, a few people I'm kind of having a hard time leaving. My parents, of course, but I know I'll see them again, and often. My mom did the crying thing when I pulled out of the driveway this morning. So that was tough. But not as tough as what happened next.
You see, at long last, I sort of made my peace with Lizzie McGuire. The making peace part was not really as tough as I always imagined it would be. It was the "breaking the ice" part that surprised me. Because for the last couple of years, Lizzie has really be a…well, an Ice Princess. Towards me, you have to understand, not towards anyone else. And then with all that Mrs. Robinson stuff that just happened with me and her mom this summer, she only got colder. Much colder. Dead cold.
Man, did that girl hate me! Growing up with her as my best friend, I would have never thought it possible that sweet little Lizzie McGuire could hate anyone as much as she hated me. And I never thought she would ever forgive me for…for all the things that she'd imagined I'd done. And some things I actually had done. Yet, there we were, not two minutes ago, standing on the curb outside her house, and somehow we were talking, and then somehow her eyes were kind of tearing up, and at last she threw her arms around my neck, and I heard us both promising to keep in touch. It was like a dream…it was like a scene from a movie. I still can't believe it actually happened.
So yeah…it's kind of tough to leave Lizzie, just when we're finally getting back on track. I mean, what if this reconciliation had happened…a year ago? What if somehow Lizzie and I could have made our peace back in our junior or senior year of high school? Might there have been any chance that we could have gotten back together, "Lizzie and Gordo Forever," just like everyone's always known it should be? And then, instead of Lizzie and that Neanderthal idiot Josh being part of Kate and Ethan's "Royal Court" at Prom last May, maybe it would have been Lizzie and Gordo, Prom Queen and King.
Ha! Me as Prom King. I repeat…Ha! But still….it boggles the mind to think what might have happened.
Well, never mind what might have happened. Here I am, now, on the entrance ramp to I-5, Hillridge growing smaller and smaller in my rear view mirror. I check my side view, find a clear path, and peal out on to the open highway, pedal to the medal. Let's see what this baby can do…
It can do a lot. I'm zooming along at 85 miles an hour, nearing 90, and cast a quick glance at the fuzz-buster. Completely quiet. Hey! Is this thing working? I wonder, giving it a shake. What if…
All right. Maybe I'm not completely the hot shot I'd like to imagine I am. I bring it down to 70 miles an hour, still fast, but less mangling if I get in a crash. In a few minutes, I start to relax. Yeah, this is good. I'm passing Hondas and Toyotas left and right, thinking Damn! My car looks so much hotter than any of them! I'm weaving in and out small clumps of traffic until there's nothing but the open road ahead of me.
Up ahead I see the Hollywood exit sign. This is it. Once I pass this sign, I'm on the road by myself, further than I've ever been. I've been past this exit many times, of course, as a passenger in my parent's car. And I even drove as far as Hollywood that time Evelyn convinced me to take her to Spago for our three month anniversary. But I've never been any further than this on my own.
And now I am.
I have to pay really close attention to the road until I get past the whole Los Angeles hub, but once I do, the traffic thins out just past Santa Clarita, and then I'm back up to full speed. Well, as fast as I feel comfortable going, not knowing whether or not my fuzz-buster is actually working.
Up till now I've just had the radio playing softly in the background, I haven't even realized it was on. But now, virtually alone on the open road, I need music, good rip-roaring adventure music, for my very own rip-roaring adventure. I've packed a case of CD's, and at first glance I know exactly what I need: the soundtrack from Pirates of the Carribean! Haha! Ahoy maties! Shiver me timbers, and here I come! Captain Gordo! On my way to conquer your ships and villages, and have a scallywaggin' good drunken pirate time in your---
Whatever.
I pop in the CD and enjoy the music.
And as I'm enjoying the music, and the open road, once again my mind begins to roam, thinking of all the people I'm leaving behind. And of course, I can't help but think about Jo.
Jo…yeah…
What was all that about, huh?
I mean, Jo McGuire…such a great lady, and such a good friend. She was really "there for me," when I needed someone, know what I mean? It was a tough time in my life, all my friends already gone off to college, and me all alone, needing…something… someone, even if it was just a pal to hang out with. But….Lizzie's mother? What was I thinking? How did that all happen, anyway? And how, and why, did it all get so weird towards the end? I repeat…what was I thinking?
I sigh, thinking….Jo McGuire…
Yeah, well…But you have to admit. She was hot. For an older lady, I mean. All that stuff she'd done to herself lately, losing the weird eyeglasses, and getting that boob job. Oh! The boob job! (I sort of shiver.) And the clothes she was wearing now…and the way she could give a backrub…Wow…yeah…
See what a pig I am? Last night I'd made the decision that all that was all in my past, it had to be, there was no good in even thinking about it anymore. Besides, she and Sam are back together now, really together. It's going to work out for them, I feel sure of it. She's moving on in her life, and I, obviously, am moving on in mine. It's all in the past. Right?
But…but…she was going to have sex with me! Yes, she was. There was a time, there was a moment, and not that long ago, when she wanted it as bad as I did. And it almost happened. It was only a matter of circumstances that prevented it. We just couldn't get on the same page at the same time, and there were too many interfering factors. Factors like Lizzie, her buttinski daughter. And of course Sam…her husband…
Sigh…
So I have to remind myself again that Jo and Sam are patching things up, and that's the way it should be. And I'm moving on…I'm really moving on…
I drive a little more, an hour or so in complete silence, except for the music, not really thinking about Jo, but somehow feeling sad…blue…
"Blue as my 'Stang…" I hear myself say out loud, breaking the silence.
Okay. Now I'm losing it. Talking to myself. But I know what this is about. It's not about Jo, necessarily. I'm not mourning the loss of her in my life. I'm mourning the loss of yet another opportunity. I mean (did I happen to mention?)…she was going to have SEX with me!! At last I was going to lose this awful burden of my virginity. It would have been so awesome if I could be making this drive to my new college town, this journey into the very beginning of my adult life, without this awful cloud of virginity hanging over my head. But it is hanging over my head (in exactly the same way that bricks don't), and knowing my luck, probably still will be, well past my college graduation.
Not that I haven't had my share of girlfriends. I have. I've had plenty of girlfriends all throughout high school, and girls in general really seem to like me, but somehow, that never quite happened for me. I don't know why. I mean, I guess I could sit here and psychoanalyze it, like I'm a case study in one of my parents' books, but what good would it do?
Besides, right now, driving along the highway in this great car, all at once I feel like I'm looking down on myself from above and I can see how pathetic I look, and I realize what a loser I am. I'm such a phony. Who do I think I'm kidding, driving around in this totally tricked-out machine? I'm just this brainiac, this nerd, one step away from having a Star Fleet Command uniform hanging in my closet, and if any girls ever seemed to like me, it was probably only because they were taking pity on me.
When Jo first saw my 'Stang, she predicted that this car was going to help me get a girlfriend. Ha! Yeah, right. Knowing me, I'll probably get a flat tire, and some girl will have to stop on the road to help me change it, since I don't know the first thing about changing a tire. I'm helpless. I'm worthless. They all saw it. They all knew. Nicole, Meryl, Miranda, even Lizzie…especially Lizzie! And her mom too, I'm sure. The pity vote. And oh! Don't even get me started on Evelyn!
Cymbals crash, and I feel so incredibly annoyed at the noise that I reach out and punch the CD player into utter silence. What is going on with me here? Why am I getting so down on myself? I'm not reverting back into one of my junior high bouts of low-self esteem, am I? Here I am, trying to grow up, driving myself into adulthood, and yet---
I'm just outside Wheeler Ridge when it hits me. I see the bright blue freeway sign ahead on the left, informing me that McDonald's, Burger King, Taco Bell, Subway and Wendy's are all only two miles ahead. I'm hungry! I only had a pop tart for breakfast, and it's now well past lunchtime. With so much to choose from, my stomach is grumbling at the very thought of all these different kinds of food.
Yep, this has happened to me before. Can't leave the Gordo without his daily sustenance for too long, he gets a little…shall we say…cranky. So that's all it is. I'm not experiencing a psychological lapse of maturity. I'm just hungry. McDonald's, or Burger King, I think. McDonalds, I think, they have better fries. But Burger King! They have onion rings, and that special sauce---
I lick my lips. It's official. I'm starving, and can barely stand to drive the two miles to the exit and the promise of food, glorious food.
o
o
So here I am, sitting in a Burger King and wolfing down a Whopper and two large orders of onion rings. You would never know what a voracious appetite I have, just to look at me. Sure, I've shot up about six inches since junior high but I'm still fairly skinny. My physique has never been my selling point. Though Jo did seem rather impressed with my hairy chest that day it rained and---
But no, I'm not going there. I'm not thinking about Jo any more, I tell myself. That chapter of my life is over. It's all about the future now.
But if it's all about the future, why is it, as I absently dip onion ring after onion ring into the awesome horseradishy sauce, that all my thoughts are traveling back…back…
All the way back to Nicole, my first "official" girlfriend. I was a freshman in high school, pining after Lizzie, but Lizzie wouldn't have me. But at the same time, there was this beautiful girl, Nicole, who was right there, and amazingly she liked me, and I liked her, and I think for the first time in my life it occurred to me that there were other girls in the world besides Lizzie McGuire.
Of course, in the very middle of our grand romance, at the very worst possible moment, Nicole had to move away. And for a while, it felt like the end of the earth. I should have known right then and there that this love stuff was bound to be fraught with all kinds of discomfort and sorrow. I should have sworn off women right then. But did I? No. For as smart of a kid as I've always been, in some ways I've also always been sort of dumb. At least when it came to girls.
It was like…like I just couldn't help myself, like I had no control over falling in love, over and over again. After Nicole, somehow, miraculously, Lizzie did indeed come around to liking me as much as I liked her. And we were a hot item. For about four whole months. Those were the best four months of my life. But we never did it, we never had sex. I think we were starting to get close, I think Lizzie was starting to feel more ready to give in to my persistent demands (Damn! I was such a pig with her, wasn't I?), but then, again, at precisely the worst possible moment, the bottom fell out when---well, that's another story. I don't want to talk about it now, or even think about it.
But after that, I really did swear off women. For all the good it did me. Because before very long, I was right back at it. There was Meryl, that sweet little redhead. And Carlie, very briefly after Meryl, she was really just my rebound girl. And for a little while, good ol' Miranda Sanchez and I even gave it a try, but pretty much ended up giggling hysterically every time we tried to kiss, and decided it was really better just being friends, like we'd always been.
Of course, last of all was Evelyn.
I guess I came closest with Evelyn. If you don't count what happened with Jo, I mean. Evelyn had a very…strong personality, shall we say. She could be a bit…domineering. It was really weird, with her, because she was the one who kept wanting to do it, and I was the one who kept putting her off. I'm not really sure why. I think, deep down, I was afraid…well, I was afraid of a lot of things with that girl. I just didn't want to admit to anyone, especially to myself, that I could be scared by a girl. I didn't choose her, she chose me, and I was never quite sure why. I didn't really…trust her. And I just didn't want the memory of my first time to be what I was afraid it might be, if I ever let her have her way with me. No, I want that memory to be something good, something special, something…
With Jo, it would have been good. Yes, it would have.
But I'm not going to think about that anymore. Right?
I finish my onion rings, refill my drink, and bus my tray on the way out the door. Time to get back on the road. I'm fingering my keys in my pocket as I come into the parking lot, and there she is…my 'Stang. Looking like a true beauty. There's a Toyota Camry parked right beside her. It's blue, but kind of a "Boring Blue," nothing like my baby. Absolutely no comparison.
A few spots down, I see another 'Stang. It's newer than mine, I'm certain, but it's white. White!? Why in the world would anybody choose white for a 'Stang? White is the color of old people's cars. White and silver and "champagne." No, a 'Stang should be red. Or black. Or sonic metallic blue.
Like mine.
I smile as I slip back into the driver's seat.
Before I put the key in the ignition, it's time to change up the tunes. I pop in Steppenwolf: Born to be Wild. That's me! After all, I'm going to be living with Adam, so it's time to revive all the old rock and roll tunes. The Stones. The Doors. The Beatles. The Eagles. Aerosmith. Metallica. I have it all, right here at my fingertips.
Revived by my meal, my ego firmly back in place, I spend the afternoon cruising down the vast emptiness of I-5, jammin' to tunes.
I'm not thinking about much except my car and my new life and all the awesome music I've collected over the years, when I suddenly realize that all that orange soda I drank back at Burger King is catching up with my bladder, and I've got to make a bathroom stop.
Now, a real man would just pull off the side of the road and piss in the bushes, but knowing my luck, a cop would come by at that very moment and arrest me for indecent exposure and intent to destroy public property, so I hold it until I can get to the next exit, which is this very little town in the middle of nowhere called Lost Hills.
I park in the rear of the first gas station I see, right next to the restroom, but it's locked, so I have to run around to the store to ask for the key. The cashier is an ancient curmudgeon who looks like he's been smoking cigarettes since he's been eight years old. "Restroom for paying customers only!" he barks at me.
So I grab a stick of gum and pay for it with change in my pocket, and take the key and run back to the restroom and unlock it and relieve myself in the filthiest place I've ever seen. I'm really careful not to touch anything I don't have to, and I especially don't want to touch the handle of the sink in order to wash my hands. But it wouldn't matter anyway, because there's no soap and no paper towels.
Somehow I manage to open the door without touching the knob (so that's what elbows are for!) but after being in that place, I feel compelled to go back into the store to buy some…I don't know…soap…tissues…Listerine…anything clean.
Yep. That's me. Born to be Wild. And Clean.
Back in the little store, I drop the key on the counter, then immediately begin to look around for cleaning products. My eyes quickly pass over the candy bars and chewing tobacco and cans of Beanie Weenies and at last come to rest on a plastic canister of Lysol Citrus Scented Sanitizing Wet Wipes. And I know it's stupid, because I haven't even been away from home one whole day yet, but my Mom loves these things, she uses them all the time, and the whole house always smells like someone has just busted open a crate of lemons and run over them with a lawnmower. So now, as I'm picking this round plastic canister off the shelf, I feel a little misty-eyed.
As I step up to the counter and reach into my pocket for money, I'm fully prepared for another look at the wizened old face of the Cigarette-Smoking Man, but instead, I am treated to a vision in pink. A teenage girl, with long, wavy, blonde hair, is looking back at me, smiling underneath her cotton candy scented lip gloss. Her hair is super-blonde, like Dolly Parton's, and her chest is almost as ample. Her tiny pink tank top sports a picture of Betty Boop, stretched almost beyond recognition. (Boop on boobs, I find myself thinking). She keeps smiling at me, bigger and bigger, leaning back against the cigarette shelf as she chews gum and throws back a stray strand of hair.
"That your 'Stang back there?" she asks with a slight twang on the word "Stang."
"Why…yes," I answer in my deepest voice, trying to keep my eyes on her face, and not her chest.
It's not really that difficult, though, because she has a surprisingly pretty face. Her eyes are really blue, almost as blue as mine, but best of all, her cotton candy lips have that little upwards curl at the corners that all but cry out "You're cute! Please flirt with me!"
"You're not from around here," pretty teenage girl observes.
"No, I'm…just passing through," I say, mysteriously.
"Got time to take me for a little spin in your 'Stang?" she asks hopefully.
Floored by her boldness, I open my mouth to speak, not exactly sure what I'm going to say, but Grandpa beats me to it, coming out of the back room and grumbling "Brittney! Stop flirting with the customers!"
"Oh, Homer…" she whines, rolling her eyes.
"No, I'm serious, you young whippersnapper! You know no good never comes of it. You don't want the sheriff havin' to come 'round here again now, do ya?"
Brittney pouts prettily and I shrug my shoulders, apologizing, "Well, I gotta get back on the road, anyway. Maybe next time. Keep the change!"
And I'm out of there. When Jo predicted my Mustang would help me get a girlfriend, I don't really think this was what she had in mind.
As I peal out of the gas station, I catch a glimpse of Brittney standing in the road behind me, waving me off, Betty Boop bouncing up and down in her excitement over the handsome and mysterious stranger who rode in and out of town so quickly.
I smile as I find my way back onto the highway. No, I reflect, I don't think this was at all what Jo had in mind for me. I squeeze the canister of wet wipes between my legs and pop open the top, pulling out the first one and using it to wipe my hands, my face, my arms, the steering wheel, everything in sight.
All to the background music of the Styx classic, Renegade.
o
o
It's been a long day, I've been on the road a long, long time now, and the sun is starting to come down in the west. With Lost Hills firmly behind me, and Led Zeppelin's Whole Lotta Love blasting through my most excellent sound system, I see a sign ahead. Berkeley is now only double digits away. Little more than an hour, and I'll be there.
It suddenly occurs to me that I've spent way too much time on this trip thinking about my old girlfriends. It's been fun, very nostalgic and melancholy, in a pleasant sort of way, but with my future now staring me in the face, I realize it's time to get serious and come to a decision. A drastic decision. A life-altering decision. And quick! Before I get into town.
Sure, Jo predicted that my 'Stang would be my "Love-Mobile," helping me to get a girlfriend, and she also said, if I recall this correctly, that I was going to go off to college and meet someone who would "light up my world." But this is my decision, right here, right now: I don't want that. I don't need that. I'm not going to look for that.
I don't want anybody lighting up my world.
Yes. That's it. That's the best plan of action. I'm laying off women. Again. And this time I mean it! No girlfriends messing with my head, monopolizing my time, taking me away from my studies. I'm going to college to study. This is all about advancing my career path. I've got big plans for my life, and girls just seem to always be messing me up.
The last couple of times I made the decision to lay off women it didn't really work out so well. But now I'm older, more mature, more experienced…well, sort of. But I think I can do it this time. I take a deep breath. This feels better. So much better. I'm glad I've made this decision.
This close to town, traffic is heavier, and I really need to concentrate on looking for my exit. Here it is! I'm here! I'm here! I'm actually heading into Berkeley. As I come off the highway ramp, it all looks so familiar. I've been here before, a couple of times, with my mom and dad, visiting Adam. I picked up the lay of the land pretty good, when I was here before. And I've been studying Mapquest for months now. But I don't need Mapquest anymore. I know exactly where I am. Three miles into the center of town, and Adam's house will be just down Hasty Street, three blocks south of the campus baseball field.
But before I go there, I swing by the campus, and I'm getting pretty excited about it. There are people everywhere! Old, strong brick and stone buildings are interspaced with the cleaner lines of modern architecture, all dotting a multitude of expansive lawns. When I was here before, this was Adam's school. Now it's my school too. High school seemed to go on forever and ever, but now---can you believe it?---I'm actually in freakin' college! At last!
Yes. I have arrived.
I just want to soak this all in a little before I head on over to Hasty Street. I made good time on my trip, and Adam's not expecting me till eight, so I have some time to kill, if I want to. I decide to drive around campus a bit, getting a feel for the streets and the traffic patterns. Dusk is just starting to set in, and there really are people all over, especially around the dorms. Everywhere I look, people are moving in, carrying suitcases and boxes from the curb to the stairs. Some have friends helping them, and others are obviously are getting a hand from their families. But there's this one girl, this really cute girl, in denim overalls, and what I think girls call a "tube top"…she doesn't seem to have anybody helping her…
Okay. Okay. I know. What did I just tell myself? No more girls, right? But her being cute doesn't really have anything to do with it. Honestly! She just looks like she could use some help, and me being such a gentleman and all…
Well, maybe I'm painting a picture of myself as being way more altruistic than I actually am. If she weren't so damn cute I might not stop at all. If she was just wearing jeans and a tee shirt, I might not stop at all. I don't know why, but I've always thought there's something exceptionally appealing about a girl in denim overalls. Is that weird? I don't know. If she looked any different than she looks right now, I might not stop. I might feel bad about not stopping, but still…I might not stop.
Maybe. I don't know.
But as it is, I stop. Not right away, though. The first time I go around the block, she's struggling with trying to pick up two suitcases and her laptop. That first time around, I only glance at her through my rear view mirror, and I see her stick out her lower lip and blow a "poof" of frustration that lifts her bangs straight up into the air. Know what I mean? That's when I realized I was going to have to come around the block again for a second look.
Her hair is long and sort of reddish-blondish, but not red like Meryl's, and not blonde like Lizzie's. It's somewhere in between. But her bangs are pretty long, Zooey Deschanel-type bangs, framing her eyes. And she kind of rolls her eyes as she blows her bangs up off her forehead. And then I think I see her looking at me.
Well, not at me, of course, because I'm already halfway down the street, but through my rear view mirror I'm pretty sure I see her staring at my car. I'm pretty sure she's digging my car.
So I go around the block again.
This time, as I come around to the front of the dorm building, I see her loading two knapsacks onto her back and trying to grab a giant pink beanbag chair under her left arm. Just as she swings around to get a better grip on the bean bag chair, she stops…and yes, now she is definitely looking at me. This time she's looking at me, looking right into my car at me, and I'm looking back at her, and I swear, we connect.
Okay. I've made the decision. I have to stop and help her. At least meet her! But there's nowhere to park! So here I go again, around the block one more time, and just before I turn that last corner, I'm feeling a good deal of anxiety, wondering what I'm going to do if she's disappeared.
But she hasn't. She's still there, now trying to balance the laptop between the flattened top of the beanbag chair, and her chin. I can see that this maneuver is bound to end in disaster, and I make a bold decision. I can't wait for a parking spot. I come to a screeching halt in the middle of the street and jump out of my car, calling, "Whoa! Hold on! Wait, wait, wait!"
She turns to look at look at me from under those long bangs, still balancing her laptop with her chin. I walk right up and grab her laptop before it tumbles to the ground.
"Are you trying to rob me?" she asks, one side of her mouth going up in an unsuccessful effort to keep from smiling as she eyes my hands around her laptop.
"No, I'm trying to help you," I say, unable to hold back a laugh as I secure the laptop under my arm. "You kinda look like you could use some help."
"So then…" she replies, still struggling not to smile, "would you be my Prince Charming, my White Knight, gallantly riding up in your noble Mustang to rescue this Damsel in Distress?"
And there's something about the way she says this. It's not sarcastic at all, but kind of flippant and witty in a way that I find utterly appealing. If there's such a thing as Love at First Sight, I think it's just happened to me.
"Sort of," I answer, now completely unable to keep the smile off my face either. "Can I…uh… help you bring your stuff somewhere?"
"Sure!" she answers gratefully. "But first…don't you think you ought to park?"
For a moment, I've completely forgotten about my car. But now I turn around and see it, and exclaim, "D'oh! Yeah, I think I ought to."
"And look!" my Damsel in Distress says, pointing excitedly down the street. "There's a spot that just opening up! Quick! Go grab it!"
I hurriedly hand her back her laptop, and race around to the driver's door, looking back at her once to plead, "Don't go anywhere! I'll be right back!" I swing the Mustang into the freshly vacated parking spot, grateful for all the parallel parking practice Dad insisted upon during driving lessons. What grace! What finesse! If she's watching this, she's got to be impressed.
I swagger out of the driver's seat, remembering to lock the door, then head back down the sidewalk towards… towards…
"I'm Jenny, by the way," she says, advancing a few steps to meet me in the middle.
"I'm David," I say.
"It's nice to meet you," Jenny says, switching her laptop to her left arm so she can shake my hand. "Very nice! Can you believe not a single other person has stopped to even ask if I needed help?"
"No. I can't believe that," I answer, taking the laptop from her. "I can't speak for the girls, but all the guys around here must be complete jerks not to want to stop and help you."
Yep. That's me, flirting. And not too badly, I guess, cos Jenny kind of smiles, and blushes, and looks away. So I know she got it. (But truthfully, I think I've surprised myself even more than I've surprised her.)
"Well, everyone is really kind of busy with their own stuff, I guess," Jenny answers as we head back down the sidewalks towards her pile of belongings. She's a bit shorter than me, and a few steps ahead, so I'm at a disadvantage right now, since I can't see her face.
But then she turns and looks at me full-on and says, "I like your car."
"Thanks!" I say.
"I really love Mustangs," she adds, almost dreamily. "Is that an 02?"
"01," I clarify.
"Eight cylinder?"
"Yeah."
"4.6 Liter?"
"Umm...Yeah, sure."
"Had it long?"
I hesitate, then answer, "Not long." Somehow I think it would sound stupid to admit "Since Saturday," when this is only Tuesday.
Jenny sighs, gazing down the street at the pretty blue rump of my 'Stang.
"Did you…Do you…" I begin, eyeing her cautiously, then decide Oh, what the hell! And I spit it out: "Does your boyfriend have one?"
She snaps out of her reverie and look at me. "One what?"
"A 'Stang. A Mustang."
She looks at me for what seems a very long time then, a big grin slowly breaking out across her entire face. She raises her eyebrows playfully as she proclaims, "Boys are not the only ones who can own groovy cars, you know."
"Then…then you…?"
"Yes," she says. "But I don't anymore. I had to sell it, to have money for college. And I had to sell it to my brother! Gah! Well, I guess it's not really that bad, since I'll still get to see it and drive it when I go back home for Break. But I don't think he'll ever take care of her as good as I did."
We are standing in the midst of her stuff, and both begin bending down to pick things up. I take the two suitcases, one in each hand. She grabs a box under one arm, and with the laptop under the other arm, attempts to get a hold of the beanbag chair.
"Here," I say, holding out my right arm, and she instantly understands that I'm offering a secure place for the beanbag. She puts down the box and positions the beanbag under my arm.
"Got it?"
"A little higher," I say, squeezing the beanbag under my arm.
"Like that?"
"Yeah."
She's facing me, and we're both thinking about the beanbag under my arm…until she suddenly looks up directly into my eyes and says, "Oh. And just for the record, David…there is no boyfriend. Not anymore. With or without Mustang."
I look at her, and begin to smile, and it's so obvious that something is happening here, that I feel no embarrassment in replying, "…Good."
"Of course," she says, turning away, suddenly shy once again, "that might not always be the case. Boyfriend with Mustang, I mean. That could happen one day. I guess."
I smile. "Well….things are always changing, life is always changing. Right?"
"We're in college now," Jenny adds philosophically. "That's what college is all about. Change. Right?"
"It sure is," I agree. "So you're a freshman?"
"Yeah."
"Me too."
"My room is right here, right up the stairs. But there's an elevator…" she says as we begin walking towards the building together.
"So tell me how it is," I wonder, "that you're on the curb, all by yourself, with all your belongings…"
She groans. "The aforementioned brother. He graduated last year. My parents made him drive me --- in MY 'Stang!--- and he dropped me off here, and was supposed to help, but then he saw some old friends and took off. He said he'd be right back, but that was probably a half hour ago. I could call him on his cell, but…"
"That's okay," I say, making my most valiant effort to open the side door of the building for her with a couple of fingers loosened from the grip of a suitcase handle. "I'm here now. You and I can do this together."
"Yeah. I guess we can," she says, triumphantly grinning at me.
As we stand in the hallway, waiting for the elevator, she turns to me and says, "Where's your dorm, David?"
"I'm not in a dorm. I'm staying with my cousin, over on Hasty Street."
"Is that all your stuff I saw in your 'Stang?"
"Yeah, I haven't been to Adam's house yet. That's my next stop."
"Well, as soon as we finish up here with my stuff, how 'bout we go over and move you in next?"
Amazing. It's the most amazing thing in the world, to hear how easily and naturally she speaks the word "we." Already I feel like I've known this girl forever. Standing in the hallway with her, in front of the elevator, laden down with all her earthly possessions, I'm getting that tingly feeling all over.
"Yeah. Great!" I agree, smiling at her. "Hey…thanks, Jenny," I add, trying out her name for the first time.
"No, thank you, David," she says. "You're my Knight in Shining Armor. I really mean that."
Now I really think I must be blushing. I feel like I am. That hot tingly sensation is overwhelming.
I don't know if I agree with her that I'm a Knight in Shining Armor, but I'll play along. "Well then, M'lady," I say bowing grandly as the elevator doors open before us. "Shall we?"
She curtseys, as best she can with everything she's carrying, and answers, "Yes, M'lord. Shall we?"
I step aside to let her on the elevator first, gentleman that I am, and she says "Two," and I push the button.
"No, really," Jenny says, "poofing" her bangs out of her eyes as the doors begin to close. "I'm serious, David. You rescued me. You really did."
I look across at her and smile. I'm here. I'm in college. I've met a girl. And I no longer feel sad and blue.
I think I'm the one that's been rescued.
THE END