Authors: R.D. Power
“You will never see him again! Is that understood?” asserted Bill. She ran out of the house. Lisa and Bill looked at each other uncomfortably. This had the potential to ruin their superb relationship with their daughter, they knew.
Kristen went to Robert’s. He smiled upon seeing Kristen. “Hey. Come in,” he greeted.
They went to his room.
She didn’t know how to broach the issue of her parents’ edict, so she opened with small talk. “God, Bobby, it looks like a bomb exploded in here.” She started to tidy up to expend some of her anxiety and anger. Amongst the rubbish was a pencil drawing he’d done for art in eighth grade. She looked at it, chortled and said, “You’re quite the artist. What is this?”
“Um, it’s either a combine harvesting a field of wheat waving in the breeze under a majestic prairie sunset on a lazy September evening, or a hammer.”
She laughed.
“What did you intend it to be?” she asked. “A few scattered letters?”
“It’s an island.”
She turned the paper to different aspects to see if she could make out an island. “Oh, I think I see. The big circle in the middle isn’t a cockeyed O, it’s your island.” He nodded. “And the little O on it?”
“A rock.”
“It’s quite a desolate island. And these three Ws?”
“Waves.”
“I see. And these Vs are birds, I suppose?”
“Now you’re starting to see it as the artist intended.”
“Artist?” she said, tittering. “This A; I can’t figure out what it is.”
“Tail of a plane sticking out of the water.”
She smiled sadly at him. “And this red F?”
“My grade.”
Kristen howled at that. “May I have your drawing?” she asked.
“Sure,” he said.
She went on, “I find it astounding how your brain can be so advanced in intelligence, common sense, and humor, but so retarded concerning art and emotion.”
“I also stink at poetry, making friends, remembering people’s names, fixing things—” he confessed.
She interrupted with more: “Picking out clothes, socializing, understanding girls—”
“All right, all right. I suck, I know. I’m kind of surprised to see you. I would’ve thought your parents would forbid you to see the instrument of Jenny’s fall from grace.”
“They have.”
“Wow. Miss Goodie-Two-Shoes disobeying her parents. I’m impressed.”
“If we’re to see each other, it has to be on the sly.”
“Just come here whenever you want.”
“You need to know that I’m not like Jenny. To me, making love is a wonderful experience reserved for a man and woman who love each other passionately,” she said. “I will not consider having sex without that. Do you accept that?”
“I don’t question your right to decide when you’ll have sex.”
“Good …” she said, but switched her train of thought upon spotting something new on his dresser. “Where did you get the mini stereo? You can’t afford that.”
“I hear that Jenny’s grounded.”
“You stole it, didn’t you?”
“Stuck in the house with that creep.”
“Answer my question!”
“I didn’t steal it,” Robert said, looking culpable. “I bought it.”
“Where did you get the money? Steal it?”
“No. I paid for it with my own money.”
“How much?”
“Fifty bucks.”
“Oh, you bought it off the back of a truck.”
“I didn’t ask where it came from.”
“Stop playing stupid, genius. It’s not as if you have a conscience anyway. Return it!”
“No way. I paid for it. It’s not as if it’ll go back to the original owner.”
“Why are you like this? You have so much going for you. Mark my words: if you don’t stop this crooked behavior, it will be your downfall. It’s the one thing that can stop you from being an enormous success.”
“I’m keeping it, Taylor. I spent fifty dollars on it, just about every cent I had.”
“Maybe my parents were right. Take it back or else!”
“Or else what?”
“Or else …” She stopped for a moment to mull over the threat she was about to make, then went ahead. “You’ll be enjoying your stereo mono.” She awaited his response with worried eyes.
He thought it over for a few moments. He decided it wasn’t worth the loss of his one friend. “Okay. I’ll take it back, but at least let me play one song on it for you. May I have this dance, milady?” he said with a smile.
She smiled and nodded as he put on a slow song. Kristen not only permitted him to hold her close, she embraced him, resting her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes. When the song ended, he kissed her. She enjoyed the kiss, but afterward pushed his hips away from hers chiding, “You’re bulging, Mr. Owens.”
“Well, Taylor,” he said, “I may not say this as often as I should, but nothing says I want you like my bulge poking you in the belly button.”
“You should submit that one to Hallmark,” she joshed.
“We shouldn’t let my bulge go to waste. It’s not something that comes along every day.”
“Oh, I’m guessing it does. But it won’t with me around without a commitment.”
“Y’know, the greatest irony is how women look down their snouts at men for wanting only one thing. Yet, all we want from women is a few minutes, whereas women demand a lifetime of us. So which is the unreasonable sex?”
“And if I gave any boy I was attracted to that few minutes, would you want me as a girlfriend?” she said. “No, because you, like all boys, have that galling double standard. I’d be a slut in your eyes.”
“I am what evolution has wrought. My instinct is to shop around to find the best set of genes to join with mine.”
“I am much more than a set of genes. Women are not merely vessels for your children.”
“Actually, I think of women as vessels for my semen.”
“Aren’t you droll?” she said. “You referred to evolution. Marriage, too, evolved in every human society, because that is the best way to ensure the survival of the species.”
“Maybe with six billion of us it’s outlived its usefulness. The institution of marriage has been crumbling for years because it imposes unnatural chains on both man and woman.”
“Well, far be it from me to place you in fetters, Robert, though you do belong in an institution … Do you know what last words dying men most often say on the battlefield?” she asked.
“There’s an out-of-the-blue question. Oh, I don’t know, maybe, ‘Do me a favor buddy, take the movie I rented back to the corner store before I get charged for another day. Oh, and if you don’t mind, stuff my intestines back in, will you?’”
“Wrong,” she said. “Dying men most often say, ‘Tell my wife I love her.’ So, you see, men really do love their wives.”
“Actually, they die before finishing what they wanted to say.” He pretended to be a man dying on the battlefield. Clutching the top of Kristen’s sweater, he said, “Tell my wife …” He paused for a breath, and continued, “I love her …” He gulped and finished with “cousin!” before pretending to die.
She laughed and hit him on the shoulder. Feeling particularly close to him and optimistic that he listened to her demand to get rid of the stereo, she decided to take the risk of declaring her feelings for him. “Where do we stand? Am I just a friend to you? What can I do to draw you closer?”
“I’m getting closer to you all the time.”
“Come off it, Robert. Continents drift faster.”
“Are you saying a boy and a girl can’t be best friends?”
“Of course not. I’m saying I can’t be just best friends with you.”
“Why?”
Her heart now his ineluctable captive, she declared, “Because … I love you! There I said it. I love you.” She was looking deep into his eyes, hoping against hope he would admit same, but he didn’t. Not knowing what to say, he stepped up to her and hugged her. “Don’t you have anything to say?” she asked.
“I, I … Taylor, this is hard for me. I have strong feelings for you. But love? At seventeen? It scares me.”
“Well, I’m sorry to scare you,” said the distraught young lady with a big pout. He tried hugging her again. “I just wish I knew whether you’re afraid to love anyone or simply incapable of it,” she added. “Are we still friends or did I make an unforgivable mistake admitting my feelings for you?”
“Of course not,” he said. “I really like you, Kristen. I want to see you as often as you can.” She kissed him on the cheek and left, still dismayed at his refusal to say he loved her.
A
ny parent knows teenagers go through money faster than a spendthrift government. Fortunately, they can’t borrow money from their children and grandchildren to pay for everything they want. Robert’s one hundred-dollar stipend sufficed to keep him poorly clothed, and to pay for baseball fees and equipment, but that was about it. He was ready and willing to work to earn spending money, though opportunities were limited in the immediate area. He managed to get a part-time job, his first, at an Italian restaurant in London. As hitchhiking proved unreliable, he needed a method of transportation, so he found an unguarded bike in downtown London and absconded with it.
Kristen, who was preparing for another summer at the cottage, came by to say goodbye. With the garage door open and his new acquisition in clear view, the anxious boy walked down the driveway to meet her and stood so she’d have to look away from the garage to talk to him. She stepped up to kiss him goodbye for a few weeks. When she turned her head, she glimpsed his new mountain bike in the garage.
“Whose bike is that? My brother wanted one of those, but my parents said no because they cost almost a thousand dollars,” stated the surprised young lady. He could never lie to Kristen for some reason. He just looked down, and she knew what happened. “Robert Owens! Not this again. I don’t understand you. I know you know right from wrong. What possessed you to steal someone’s property like that?”
“I needed a bike to get to my job, but I had no money yet.”
“So borrow some money from me until you get your first paycheck. There is never a good excuse to steal. Just think how bad the boy must feel whose bike you stole. Return it, Robert.”
“I wouldn’t know where. I took it from the front of a store.”
“Let me take it to my father. He’ll return it to the rightful owner. I’ll lend you some money to buy a new one. Pay me back when you can.” He nodded. “Listen, Bobby, I’m not interested in a criminal. Do you understand?” He again nodded submissively. “Stop breaking the law. You’re much better than that. Do this again, and we’re through.” With that she left, taking the bicycle. She returned later with two hundred dollars and a kiss. “See you in a few weeks, and be good,” she warned. Later that day, she went up north for the summer.
Robert bought a new bike and worked two or three days a week at the restaurant throughout the summer.
He also mowed Kim Arnold’s lawn—not so much for the money as for the view. He’d zip through the front yard and tarry through the back with Kim traipsing about her garden in her bathing suit. He was more often than not invited to stay for a swim.
For the last two weeks of July, he also got to ogle her older sister who was visiting from BC with her children. A thirty-four-year-old divorcee, Molly Thorpe was as lovely as Kim. She’d lost none of her beauty to time and offspring as yet. Four years ago, her husband had left her and their children in favor of his accountant, Bruce; they’d moved to Saskatchewan together. We might wish for him to burn in hell for such a merciless deed, but life in Moose Jaw with a gay accountant is worse.
Robert swam with her children that day, much to the delight of the women, who were sitting by the pool sipping on slushes. The children had fun climbing on him, being thrown across the pool, getting away from the horrific floating head of death, pretending to be on lifesavers in the ocean and knocking each other off them, and so on. “He’ll make a great father some day,” Molly mentioned. Kim nodded, but gave it little thought then. Noticing her younger sister gaze longingly at the young man, Molly added, “He’s really cute, don’t you think?” Kim nodded and smiled. “A bit young for you though.”
“Well, I don’t plan on marrying him, Molly.”
“You’re not seriously thinking about … You are, aren’t you? How old is he?”
“He’ll be eighteen soon,” Kim answered, blushing.
“Have you been with a man since Brian died?”
“No.”
“He keeps staring at you, too, when you’re not looking.”
“I know.”
“Well, sis, what harm could it do? Just a fun diversion until you find a nice man to marry.”
“I’m not going to get married again.”
“Oh, come on, Kim. You’re only twenty-six. You can’t spend the rest of your life alone.” Seeing her sister was upset, Molly ended the conversation with: “I just don’t want you to be lonely. I’m worried about you. You’re all alone here, and you seem so sad.”
On a hot August Saturday afternoon, Kim, who was trimming her trees and shrubs in the backyard as Robert mowed her lawn, wore nothing but a skimpy bikini bottom and a halter top that hung loose over her chest. The effect was tantalizing, rather like a mini dress that had shrunk to exactly the right size, exposing her ribcage, her flat midriff, and everything beneath except for the bit covered by the bikini bottom. He studied the small of her back and the wonderful way it arched; the flawless curves of her backside; the bottoms of her firm breasts when she reached up to prune a tree; the way the straps of her bikini bottom hugged her hips and went enticingly over her slightly protruding pelvic bones; how her smooth thighs joined at … oh, it was too much.
She was enjoying the attention as much as he was enjoying attending. “Do you know what this tree is called?” she asked him when he finished mowing.
“Stephanie?” he guessed.
Chuckling, she said, “No, silly, this is a cultivar of the southern magnolia. It grows this far north. Isn’t it delightful?”
“Yes, it’s magnificent,” he said, while running his eyes up and down the gardener. Doing the same to her assistant, she could see the full extent of his appreciation for nature at its finest.
“Do you want to join me for a swim?” she asked, while gazing into his eyes.