Saturday, July 07, 2007
She Is Still Cute
Excerpt from a novel in progress.
“Brian, can I tell you something?”
“What, Marty?”
We were at our 20th high school reunion dance-- GHS Class Of ’78, the two of us sitting at a table after dinner, a little toasted but not plowed-- and, over by the edge of the dancefloor, Margo and Christy were standing talking to Liz Stocker, one of Margo’s old softball teammates. Liz LeDoux, actually... Margo’s sister-in-law. Back in high school, unbeknownst to everyone but Margo, Liz had a crush on Margo’s brother John-Paul. “Blew my mind, Bri: she goes ‘Margo, can I tell you something? From the moment I met your brother, I thought “Oh... my... God.” I mean, you’re his sister, so you don’t see it, but he is so cute. And a sweetie-pie.’ And I said ‘Well?’ And she starts into the buts: ‘But he’s your brother.’ ‘So?’ ‘But he’s your little brother.’ ‘So?’ ‘But he’s a freshman and I’m a junior.’ ‘So?’ And it was kind of a joke with us that spring, you know?”
But the next year, sophomore John-Paul LeDoux asked senior Liz Stocker to the prom. “And I don’t know if any statutory rape occurred that night or not,” Margo said. “All I know is, the next two years, they’d see each other when Liz came back on break from Pitt, and when Jompaw went off to college, Liz had the apartment all... picked... out. He was, like, ‘I’ll still live in the dorms!’ and I was, like, ‘Right!’ I guess he didn’t want to let on to Mom and Dad.
“Anyway, his first break of the semester, he comes back home, and I remember I was in the car with him and Mom... I’d been playing dumb around Mom, you know: I know nnnnnothinnng... I see nnnnnothinnng! As far as I was concerned, he lived in the dorms. Anyway, the Saturday afternoon he came back, we went to Hanover Mall, the three of us, and Mom's driving, and I'm asking him how his classes were, how he liked the city, did he make it to any Pirates games, you know... just trying to tiptoe around the godawful truth. I figured, you know, if I directed the line of questioning, maybe Mom would, you know... anyway, we're there in the car, and she's driving, listening to all this small talk, not saying a word, and Jompaw didn't mention Liz or apartments or anything like that... well, we pull in the driveway, and I swear, just as I'm thinking Phew! Made it! Mom goes ‘Jompaw’ --en Francais-- ‘Jompaw, one question: if you are going to spend all of your time at Liz Stocker’s apartment, then why are we spending money for you to live in the dormitory?’
"And next semester, they moved in together. And now, they’re married going on 16 years. And it all started with Liz going ‘Margo, can I tell you something?’”
So... when Marty started in with “Brian, can I tell you something?” it kind of resonated, especially as I sat there watching Liz and Margo and Christy chatting... and since Marty had an avowed (paralyzing) high school crush on Margo “from the moment I saw her” in fourth grade (he finally got up the nerve to ask her to the prom after I badgered him for a year), and since I was still Margo’s best friend, I figured I knew where he was going, and I started to get my answers ready...
Well, Margo’s seeing this guy Ernie, Marty, but as you can see, he’s not here...
Look, if you want to ask Margo to dance, just ask her to dance...
You know, you’re exactly the same as you were in high school...
Never mind that I, too, was exactly the same as I was in high school: sitting and watching Margo from the sideline, content to be (or afraid to move beyond) “just friends.” This was about Marty, and “could he tell me something?”
“Yeah,” I said. “What?”
“Just...” He had his eyes on the three of them, and I figured I knew which one he was focused on. “...I always loved Margo back then, you know? Always had a crush on her... but she was your best friend... you were seeing Christy...”
I nodded my head. “Yeah. Well, it’s twenty years later, Marty.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” He’s still looking. “So you... you know... you two... you two... you’re not seeing each other...”
“Margo and me?”
“No, you and Christy.”
Me and Christy?!
I took a sip of whatever melted-ice-has-now-watered-down-the-mixed-drink drink I’d been drinking. “No, no,” I said. “No, we were... you know... kind of intense up until a couple months ago...”
“Intense?”
“Yeah, you know.” (“Brian, why don’t you just say Hooking up every other Friday night or so and fucking each other silly?”) “But we had a talk, and just... for a lot of reasons, we decided we’d better back off.”
“But you came with Christy, right?”
“Not recently,” I said, and as I could have anticipated if I hadn’t had three drinks, it went right... over... his... head. Straight face. Not that what I said was particularly funny or clever... just...
“No,” I regrouped, a little embarrassed, “no, technically, no... I mean... Margo, me and Christy came together, Marty.”
“Oh.”
We sat there for a couple seconds, wordless, the music (can’t remember what the song was) blaring loud. “So...” I finally said, “what did you want to tell me.”
“Just...” Marty sat forward, leaning in so he could lower his voice. “You know Christy and I both went to Penn State, right?” I nodded my head. “And we’d run into each other every so often on campus. And it was a big campus, but still...” He takes a breath. “Were you still seeing her when she dyed her hair purple?”
“No,” I said. “No, we... we broke up basically after graduation. I think she was seeing Tom Stewart.”
Marty nods. “Tom Stewart. Yeah.” He takes a breath. “Anyway... this one day... this friend of mine, Ron, and me were comin’ out of the library, and I see Christy coming down the walk, you know... hair all purple... and as we pass, she smiles... and I go ‘Hi, Christy,’ and she goes ‘Hi, Marty,’ just polite, you know. And we get a few steps past each other and Ron is, like, turnin’ around, scopin’ her. So he goes ‘Damn! You know her?’ And I said, ‘Yeah, that’s Christy Kelly. We went to high school. Her dad’s a senator.’ And he said ‘So you know her?’ And I said ‘Yeah, my best friend went out with her. She used to be really cute in high school.’ Well, Ron goes ‘Used to be cute??!! She’s cute now!’ And I said, ‘Well, you know, she used to have brown hair,’ and he said ‘Hair! You see her face? Her mouth? That ass? Damn... I’d--” Marty made his voice go almost silent “--fuck her.’” He brought his voice back up to normal volume. “Which was kind of rude. But he got me thinking. And next time I saw her and said hi, and she smiled, I thought, ‘Damn, he’s right. She is really cute. I’d...’” He smiled. Same old Marty. Too polite to say it. He looked over at the dance floor. “But then... like you said, she got in with that guy Tom... then two semesters later, I saw her and she was pregnant, so...” He’s still eying the three women, except now I can tell which one his gaze is fixed on. “But she’s still cute. You know?”
I nod my head.
I know... shit. I know.
“And you two aren’t... you know... you’re not seeing each other anymore?”
“No, no... we just...” I looked at Christy and felt a little sad, wishing it weren’t so, but... “We just decided to cool it a little.”
“Why? I mean, is she seeing someone else?”
The answer to Why? became clear later to both of us, and, in case I missed it, Christy articulated it:
“I guess that a part of me realized that it was time to let you go free so you could go for it with Margo.”
Which I did. I didn’t realize it while I was sitting there at that table, but that was the reason, for both of us... couched in We don’t really want to keep doing this, do we? and We can still be friends... which, amazingly, we still are. There’s just too much glue (or perhaps too much history and too many strands of web) for it to be otherwise. Besides that, we just like each other.
As for Is she seeing someone else?...
“No, Marty,” I said. “No, as far as I know, she’s single.”
Marty nodded. “Single.” He sat up straight and shot down the rest of his drink so dramatically that I coughed out a laugh. “What,” I said, “are you gonna go get the girl?”
Marty snatched a cocktail napkin from the inch-high stack next to his ice-only highball glass, and wiped his mouth. “Brian,” he said, standing up, “she is still cute,” and he balled the napkin up and spiked it on the tabletop; it bounced once and hit the side of his glass (I realize it would have been more dramatic if he’d bounced it into the glass, but...), and before I could really process what was happening, Marty was stalking across the dining hall floor, to Liz, Margo, and Christy... saying something... Christy was smiling, looking down, and then looking up with that sweet smile, and I could read her lips from my seat:
Sure, Marty.
And they stepped together out onto the dance floor.
And that, Maggie Kay, was when your Mom and Dad fell in love.
Copyright c 2007 Max Harrick Shenk
“Brian, can I tell you something?”
“What, Marty?”
We were at our 20th high school reunion dance-- GHS Class Of ’78, the two of us sitting at a table after dinner, a little toasted but not plowed-- and, over by the edge of the dancefloor, Margo and Christy were standing talking to Liz Stocker, one of Margo’s old softball teammates. Liz LeDoux, actually... Margo’s sister-in-law. Back in high school, unbeknownst to everyone but Margo, Liz had a crush on Margo’s brother John-Paul. “Blew my mind, Bri: she goes ‘Margo, can I tell you something? From the moment I met your brother, I thought “Oh... my... God.” I mean, you’re his sister, so you don’t see it, but he is so cute. And a sweetie-pie.’ And I said ‘Well?’ And she starts into the buts: ‘But he’s your brother.’ ‘So?’ ‘But he’s your little brother.’ ‘So?’ ‘But he’s a freshman and I’m a junior.’ ‘So?’ And it was kind of a joke with us that spring, you know?”
But the next year, sophomore John-Paul LeDoux asked senior Liz Stocker to the prom. “And I don’t know if any statutory rape occurred that night or not,” Margo said. “All I know is, the next two years, they’d see each other when Liz came back on break from Pitt, and when Jompaw went off to college, Liz had the apartment all... picked... out. He was, like, ‘I’ll still live in the dorms!’ and I was, like, ‘Right!’ I guess he didn’t want to let on to Mom and Dad.
“Anyway, his first break of the semester, he comes back home, and I remember I was in the car with him and Mom... I’d been playing dumb around Mom, you know: I know nnnnnothinnng... I see nnnnnothinnng! As far as I was concerned, he lived in the dorms. Anyway, the Saturday afternoon he came back, we went to Hanover Mall, the three of us, and Mom's driving, and I'm asking him how his classes were, how he liked the city, did he make it to any Pirates games, you know... just trying to tiptoe around the godawful truth. I figured, you know, if I directed the line of questioning, maybe Mom would, you know... anyway, we're there in the car, and she's driving, listening to all this small talk, not saying a word, and Jompaw didn't mention Liz or apartments or anything like that... well, we pull in the driveway, and I swear, just as I'm thinking Phew! Made it! Mom goes ‘Jompaw’ --en Francais-- ‘Jompaw, one question: if you are going to spend all of your time at Liz Stocker’s apartment, then why are we spending money for you to live in the dormitory?’
"And next semester, they moved in together. And now, they’re married going on 16 years. And it all started with Liz going ‘Margo, can I tell you something?’”
So... when Marty started in with “Brian, can I tell you something?” it kind of resonated, especially as I sat there watching Liz and Margo and Christy chatting... and since Marty had an avowed (paralyzing) high school crush on Margo “from the moment I saw her” in fourth grade (he finally got up the nerve to ask her to the prom after I badgered him for a year), and since I was still Margo’s best friend, I figured I knew where he was going, and I started to get my answers ready...
Well, Margo’s seeing this guy Ernie, Marty, but as you can see, he’s not here...
Look, if you want to ask Margo to dance, just ask her to dance...
You know, you’re exactly the same as you were in high school...
Never mind that I, too, was exactly the same as I was in high school: sitting and watching Margo from the sideline, content to be (or afraid to move beyond) “just friends.” This was about Marty, and “could he tell me something?”
“Yeah,” I said. “What?”
“Just...” He had his eyes on the three of them, and I figured I knew which one he was focused on. “...I always loved Margo back then, you know? Always had a crush on her... but she was your best friend... you were seeing Christy...”
I nodded my head. “Yeah. Well, it’s twenty years later, Marty.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” He’s still looking. “So you... you know... you two... you two... you’re not seeing each other...”
“Margo and me?”
“No, you and Christy.”
Me and Christy?!
I took a sip of whatever melted-ice-has-now-watered-down-the-mixed-drink drink I’d been drinking. “No, no,” I said. “No, we were... you know... kind of intense up until a couple months ago...”
“Intense?”
“Yeah, you know.” (“Brian, why don’t you just say Hooking up every other Friday night or so and fucking each other silly?”) “But we had a talk, and just... for a lot of reasons, we decided we’d better back off.”
“But you came with Christy, right?”
“Not recently,” I said, and as I could have anticipated if I hadn’t had three drinks, it went right... over... his... head. Straight face. Not that what I said was particularly funny or clever... just...
“No,” I regrouped, a little embarrassed, “no, technically, no... I mean... Margo, me and Christy came together, Marty.”
“Oh.”
We sat there for a couple seconds, wordless, the music (can’t remember what the song was) blaring loud. “So...” I finally said, “what did you want to tell me.”
“Just...” Marty sat forward, leaning in so he could lower his voice. “You know Christy and I both went to Penn State, right?” I nodded my head. “And we’d run into each other every so often on campus. And it was a big campus, but still...” He takes a breath. “Were you still seeing her when she dyed her hair purple?”
“No,” I said. “No, we... we broke up basically after graduation. I think she was seeing Tom Stewart.”
Marty nods. “Tom Stewart. Yeah.” He takes a breath. “Anyway... this one day... this friend of mine, Ron, and me were comin’ out of the library, and I see Christy coming down the walk, you know... hair all purple... and as we pass, she smiles... and I go ‘Hi, Christy,’ and she goes ‘Hi, Marty,’ just polite, you know. And we get a few steps past each other and Ron is, like, turnin’ around, scopin’ her. So he goes ‘Damn! You know her?’ And I said, ‘Yeah, that’s Christy Kelly. We went to high school. Her dad’s a senator.’ And he said ‘So you know her?’ And I said ‘Yeah, my best friend went out with her. She used to be really cute in high school.’ Well, Ron goes ‘Used to be cute??!! She’s cute now!’ And I said, ‘Well, you know, she used to have brown hair,’ and he said ‘Hair! You see her face? Her mouth? That ass? Damn... I’d--” Marty made his voice go almost silent “--fuck her.’” He brought his voice back up to normal volume. “Which was kind of rude. But he got me thinking. And next time I saw her and said hi, and she smiled, I thought, ‘Damn, he’s right. She is really cute. I’d...’” He smiled. Same old Marty. Too polite to say it. He looked over at the dance floor. “But then... like you said, she got in with that guy Tom... then two semesters later, I saw her and she was pregnant, so...” He’s still eying the three women, except now I can tell which one his gaze is fixed on. “But she’s still cute. You know?”
I nod my head.
I know... shit. I know.
“And you two aren’t... you know... you’re not seeing each other anymore?”
“No, no... we just...” I looked at Christy and felt a little sad, wishing it weren’t so, but... “We just decided to cool it a little.”
“Why? I mean, is she seeing someone else?”
The answer to Why? became clear later to both of us, and, in case I missed it, Christy articulated it:
“I guess that a part of me realized that it was time to let you go free so you could go for it with Margo.”
Which I did. I didn’t realize it while I was sitting there at that table, but that was the reason, for both of us... couched in We don’t really want to keep doing this, do we? and We can still be friends... which, amazingly, we still are. There’s just too much glue (or perhaps too much history and too many strands of web) for it to be otherwise. Besides that, we just like each other.
As for Is she seeing someone else?...
“No, Marty,” I said. “No, as far as I know, she’s single.”
Marty nodded. “Single.” He sat up straight and shot down the rest of his drink so dramatically that I coughed out a laugh. “What,” I said, “are you gonna go get the girl?”
Marty snatched a cocktail napkin from the inch-high stack next to his ice-only highball glass, and wiped his mouth. “Brian,” he said, standing up, “she is still cute,” and he balled the napkin up and spiked it on the tabletop; it bounced once and hit the side of his glass (I realize it would have been more dramatic if he’d bounced it into the glass, but...), and before I could really process what was happening, Marty was stalking across the dining hall floor, to Liz, Margo, and Christy... saying something... Christy was smiling, looking down, and then looking up with that sweet smile, and I could read her lips from my seat:
Sure, Marty.
And they stepped together out onto the dance floor.
And that, Maggie Kay, was when your Mom and Dad fell in love.
Copyright c 2007 Max Harrick Shenk
# posted by Max @ 8:26 AM 
