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Message-ID: <47553asstr$1082495403@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Frank Downey <fabfour.fan@verizon.net>
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Subject: {ASSM} Rewind 02, by Frank Downey (02/25) (mf teen slow time-travel)
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Date: Tue, 20 Apr 2004 17:10:03 -0400
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Copyright 2004 by Frank Downey. All rights reserved. Personal archiving 
is fine, all other uses require the permission of the author. Do not 
repost.

This is erotica. That means, well, it's supposed to be for adults only. 
Or something like that <G>.

*

REWIND
CHAPTER TWO
"WASH AWAY MY TROUBLES, WASH AWAY MY PAIN"

NOVEMBER 4^th , 1977

*

The next day, I was still reeling.

Beth, you see, had leukemia. She was going to die. I'd lived through it 
once before, and did *not* handle it well at *all*. Now I was going to 
live through it again.

I didn't see any way to change it. I didn't have a cure for leukemia in 
my back pocket--it still hadn't been cured in my `time'. There were 
better treatments--bone marrow transplants and all that--but there were 
two problems with that. First of all, how would a 12 year old kid get 
away with suggesting, to an oncologist, a treatment that hadn't been 
invented yet? And, second of all, Beth had one of the more virulent 
forms of leukemia. Even in 2007, bone marrow transplants didn't always 
work.

And I'd started to get excited. I'd started to think I'd been `sent 
back' to change things, fix my life, make things better.

Some things can't be changed. No matter what you do. Beth was going to 
die again, and I was going to have to live through it again.

At that moment, if whoever it was that was responsible for me going back 
had shown up in my room, I'd have strangled him

Yeah, of course, a glimmer of hope. Maybe this wasn't the same 
`universe' or time-track or whatever you call it, yadda yadda--but I 
didn't think so. Too much had happened that was just predictable. It 
seemed that *I* could change things that I was directly involved in--the 
conversation about female body parts, or my conversation with Cyndi 
about kissing--but I had no cure for leukemia handy.

I took this day, November 4^th , off from school, pleading illness. 
Since I hardly ever missed school, Mom let me get away with it.

I stayed in my room all day, listening to my new Beatles and Bruce 
Springsteen albums, thinking. This was one of the things I'd thought 
about anyhow--trying to figure out the difference between what I could 
change and what I couldn't. Beth's illness made me more aware of that.

She was going to die. Period. Couldn't be changed. Christ, I even knew 
the date.

What I *could* change is how *I* dealt with it.

One thing you have to understand--Beth *knew*. She was strong-willed, 
and smart, and not the type of person who would sit well with 
platitudes. She knew exactly what was wrong with her. She demanded to be 
told, and she knew what the prognosis was for this strain of 
leukemia--95% fatality rate within 5 years. 75% within two years. 50% 
within one. It was a death sentence, and she knew it.

Which explains how *she* acted. I saw her off and on in eighth grade. I 
went to the Prep for ninth, didn't see her as much. But then, we had a 
Christmas semi-formal dance at the Prep, and I took her. We had a great 
time. I saw her a couple weeks later, when we went to the mall to do 
some Christmas shopping.

Then--nothing. I'd call, and she'd hang up with some excuse. I'd leave a 
message and she wouldn't call back. Look, in adulthood, I realized what 
had happened. She, knowing the end was coming, was trying to distance 
herself from me. She was either getting too close, or figured that *I* 
was getting too close. She, I think, was trying to save me pain.

It didn't work--because I did not see or talk to her for the last 8 
months of her life. That has haunted me forever. I didn't say goodbye. I 
never told her I loved her. It wasn't her fault--I let it happen. I was 
a stupid kid. I don't think the true meaning of her prognosis *really* 
sunk in to me until she was dead.

Speaking of things I could *damn* well change--hadn't I just hit on one?

Yes, I had. Damn *right* I had. No doubt about it.

Knowing that, well--it didn't make everything better. How could it? But 
it made things clearer to me. I loved Beth. Not romantically--we were 
both too young when she was diagnosed to even start to think about 
that--but I loved her. I'd say as a sister, but I loved her more than I 
loved my sister, horrible as that might be to admit! And it had haunted 
me for almost 30 years that I never *told* her that. You can say, "Oh, 
she knew," but I've never been sure.

Knowing I could change *that*, at least, helped enormously. But, it was 
strange--I was looking for other things to change. I guess I wanted to 
balance the scales.

I found one--well, one I could *try*, anyhow. That night, after supper, 
I was sitting with my Dad. He asked me if I was feeling better and I 
told him I was. Which I was, a little, though it was all mental. Then I 
gave him a hint.

"Hey, Dad, while I was napping I had this really strange dream."

"Really?" Dad said.

"Yeah, and I'd better tell you about it, just in case I'm clairvoyant."

"OK," he laughed.

"Well, it was kind of murky, but the message I got from it was--eye 
protection."

"Eye protection?" he asked.

"Yeah. Basically, if you even have a glimmer of a thought that you might 
need eye protection, get some. Don't take a chance. Hey, I told you it 
was a dream."

"Yeah. Eye protection, huh?"

"Yeah. You lost an eye in the dream. Not sure how, but it was in a 
situation where you might have shrugged off eye protection."

"OK," he said, "I'll keep that in mind."

Good. There you go. When it came true, he might think I was nuts or 
something, but I didn't really plan on making a habit of this, so, if it 
was only one clairvoyant dream...

Of course, it was no dream. What had happened was, he was in Chuck's 
Bar, one of his favorite taverns, getting a cold one after work. At 
Chuck's--and he'd taken me in there many times--they had these strange 
floor mats. They were rubber, but surrounding them on the outside was a 
thin strip of metal.

On the day in question, one of the metal strips had come loose and was 
sticking up in the air. Chuck, the owner, a friend of Dad's, said to 
Dad, "Hey, Jimmy, can you go get your wire cutters and cut that thing? 
The waitresses keep tripping on it." Dad was a plumber, and had all 
sorts of those tools in his truck. He got his wire cutters--didn't get 
his goggles. You can figure the rest. He cut that piece of metal and it 
sprung straight up.

He had nine operations trying to re-attach his retina. They didn't work. 
After that, he rushed back to work--and quickly developed degenerative 
arthritis and had to have both hips replaced. There was no *proof* that 
the rushing back to work--and 14 hour days-- after two years of idleness 
had caused the hip problems, but all the doctors thought so.

Dad was self-employed, and had *just* decided to do that, so there was 
no `business' yet. That series of medical events meant financial 
disaster for the family. Mom was only working part-time at the time. We 
even ended up on welfare for a while. Dad was basically out of work for 
four years.

If I had just prevented *that*, I'd be a happy camper. I just hope Dad 
remembered when the time came. I knew it was sometime in eighth grade 
that this happened, but couldn't remember exactly when.

*

NOVEMBER 6^th , 1977

*

Another Saturday, and I was running. Besides keeping me in shape, I 
found running good for thinking. I just wish the Walkman had been invented!

On this particular Saturday I had pushed myself. It was a good day for 
running, just about 50 degrees--cool, not too hot, but not frigid, 
either. I'd gone longer than usual and when I wound my way through 
Morris Park, I was winded.

I came down the hill on Williams Road, basically walking. I'd overdone 
it a wee bit.

"Hey, it's Running Man! But he's walking!" I looked over, and on Kelly 
Cullinane's porch sat Kelly and Kara, chatting. Kelly was the one who 
had called.

"Yeah, hi girls. I over did it a wee bit today."

"Sit," Kara said, grinning, pointing to the steps next to her. "Rest a bit."

"I guess I should," I grinned, and sat next to her.

"Hold on," Kelly said, and ran into her house. She came right back out 
with a glass of lemonade.

"Kelly, you're a doll," I grinned, and happily accepted it.

"We've been talking, Kelly and I, about you," Kara said.

"Oh, *really*," I replied with a grin--something I never would've been 
capable of the first time around.

"Yes, really," Kara grinned back. "You've changed. A lot. In like the 
last month."

"I'm trying to," I admitted. "I haven't been happy."

"Is it better?" Kelly asked.

"Some. Some things can't be changed, though."

"Yeah," Kara said, somewhat sadly.

"Hey, I've been meaning to ask you. I've seen you talking to Beth 
Trovini, so obviously you know her," Kelly asked. "Is she sick?"

Damn, I'd been feeling better for a minute there. "Yes, she's sick." 
Beth wasn't keeping it a secret, she'd told me that. "Beth has leukemia."

"Oh," Kelly said. "Is she going to...."

"Most likely," I replied. "The prognosis isn't good at all."

"Oh, damn. I was right that you know her?" Kelly asked.

I took a deep breath. "You girls have known me for a long time. You know 
the list of people I consider friends is very short. Beth's at the top 
of it. I've known her since I was born. She's like a sister."

"Oh, damn, Eddie," Kara said, lightly laying a hand on my shoulder. "I'm 
so sorry."

My mind was whirling. Kara was being so nice to me! And that's when I 
had another revelation--she always *had* been. For all the years I'd 
known her, she was one of the nicest, sweetest girls in school, 
especially to me. She'd *never* treated me like the outcast that I 
usually was.

Until I made the mistake of falling for her, and acting like a complete 
brain-dead lovesick idiot around her.

Only, now, I wasn't. And she was back to being her sweet self. "Thanks," 
I said, "to both of you. It means a lot." I stood up, and forced a 
smile. "Back to running. Thanks for the lemonade, Kelly, it really hit 
the spot."

"Anytime," she grinned. I took off.

*DECEMBER 12^th , 1977

*

I was adjusting, more and more, to my situation. I'd been back for over 
two months, and, except for the Beth dilemma, I found myself able to 
adjust to things better and better.

However, one of the `events' I had been waiting for happened last week.

Roger Herren, the guy from the `cunt' discussion, was involved. It was 
in metal shop. He was sitting behind me. He thought it would be fun to 
take a strip of metal, heat it up with his lighter, and then grab my 
hand and slap the hot metal on my hand.

Giving me second-degree burns on my hand. This was just the way I was 
treated the first time around.

And it had happened again *this* time. Roger Herren's an asshole in any 
timeline I guess. What had happened next, in both times, is that, juiced 
with adrenaline from the pain, I had gotten out of my seat and *wailed* 
on him. First fight I ever won in my life.

The last time around I'd talked about it too much. People would ask and 
I'd say, "Yeah, I kicked the shit out of him." Of course, *that* got 
back to Roger and he got his revenge. Without that shot of adrenaline, I 
was no match for him--he was bigger than I was. I'd evened the scales 
some with the weightlifting, but he was still bigger than I was. I was 
hoping to avoid the revenge beating this time around.

And no, nothing happened to him--no suspensions, no nothing. The 
administration of Cabot East were a bunch of spineless assholes, in 
either timeline.

This time, I didn't talk. Anyone asked me about it, I just waved it off. 
But that didn't seem to change things. Roger, I had heard, still wanted 
his revenge. He got his opportunity, just like last time, in gym--we 
were all waiting in a `side gym', I forget what for. So, there were no 
teachers *and* an audience, just what Roger wanted.

Anyhow, I'd been warned this was the time and place. Now, I knew I still 
wasn't much of a fighter. But all that running and weightlifting over 
the past two months had definitely made a change--I was stronger, and in 
better shape. I thought I could hold my own. Plus, one thing I'd 
learned, was that assholes like Roger smelled fear. As I said, first 
time around, I was a walking bundle of fear. This time I wasn't.

I didn't wait for him. I walked right over to him. "Hey, Roger, I hear 
you want another go-round." He looked at me. "I hear you plan to beat 
the shit out of me today, for `revenge.' You know, I think fucking 
second-degree burns on my hand would be enough for you, but if you want 
to go again, we can go again."

He stood up--reluctantly, it seemed to me. "I have to keep my rep," he said.

"As what? The school asshole?" I snorted.

"Better than being the school wimp," he spat at me.

I glared at him. "If you think I'm still the school wimp, then this 
might be a very interesting exercise." I glared *right* into his eyes. 
No fucking fear, not this time. I could take him, I convinced myself.

Well, as it turned out--not quite. But I held my own. It was, more or 
less, a draw. He got a few good licks in, but I did too, until a couple 
of the gym teachers came in and broke it up.

Of course, I got sent to the unit director--in my case, Mr. Legerre, a 
complete asshole who blamed *me* for getting beat up. He started in on 
me for this one, and I said, "So, tell me--why don't students that give 
other students second-degree burns get suspended? Maybe if you'd clamp 
down on some of this shit, I wouldn't have to keep constantly defending 
myself." Legerre sputtered and fumed--but, hell, I hadn't been scared of 
that slimeball the *first* time around.

*

DECEMBER 17^th , 1977

*

It was a Saturday, and I was spending it with Cyndi. We were at her 
house. Her mother was home, but we were allowed to be in her bedroom. 
Her mother trusted us. Of course, her mother wasn't more than 20 feet 
away either, even if she was in another room! Cyndi's mom also liked me, 
a lot.

We'd been getting along just fine. I hadn't really pushed the kissing 
issue. I had, however, made jokes about it. I had another one planned. 
It was a week before Christmas, right? So, I had a good one planned.

We were sitting side-by-side on her bed--really, the only place to sit 
in that room were her and Dina's beds--just chatting. During a lull in 
the conversation, I reached into my pocket.

"Look what I've got!" I said, dangling it over my head. "Mistletoe! You 
know what you're supposed to do under the mistletoe, right?" I grinned 
at her.

She cracked up laughing. "You are *such* a brat," she said.

"Ah, come on, you're no fun," I said, still grinning, as I dangled the 
mistletoe over her head.

"No," she said, though she was still laughing.

"How about a compromise?" I said. She looked at me. "Your cheek. Let me 
kiss your cheek."

"Well, I suppose that would be OK," she said, and turned her head, 
giving me access to her cheek.

OK, so I'm a devious blankety-blank. I kissed her cheek, very softly, 
very slowly. But I didn't stop there. "Hmmm. Would this be considered 
close enough to a cheek?" I asked--and then, very lightly, kissed her 
neck. She hissed out a breath, but didn't say anything. "And this is 
part of the cheek, isn't it?" I said, and then gave one little soft 
nibble on her earlobe. That was accompanied by a loud gasp on her part. 
After that, I backed away.

We chatted for a while after that, but she was distracted. The look in 
her eyes was unfathomable. However, the chat was interesting--I did 
remember this from the first time. It was the `fag' thing.

That was the rumor in eighth grade--that I was gay. I got called `fag' 
more often than I care to remember. I'd gotten picked on less this time 
than the first time--but it hadn't disappeared completely, and the `Ed's 
gay' thing was still around. Now, yeah, I know the Seinfeld line: "Not 
that there's anything wrong with that." And in theory, I agree. In 
practice? Well, I don't care what anybody says, being thought of as gay? 
In eighth grade? In 1977? It *sucked*. I *do* have empathy for people 
who really *are* gay who had to go through this crap. But it was *not* a 
whole lot of fucking fun. It got me beat up, and it got me taunted. 
Tolerance is a wonderful thing--but when the rest of the world doesn't 
have any, it's hard to find. And, I'm sorry, but the fact that I 
*wasn't* gay didn't help. Being called `gay' shouldn't be a slander, 
something to be ashamed of, I *know* that--but tell that to my eighth 
grade classmates.

One of the more painful incidents was the one I was reliving--Cyndi, my 
freakin' *girlfriend*, asking me, "Ed--are you gay?"

I replied pretty much as I had the last time. "Oh, yes, Cyndi, that must 
be it. Sure. Last time I checked, you were a girl--and I'm doing my 
damndest to get you to let me kiss you. Yup, I must be gay."

"I'm sorry," she said, "but I hear it so often...."

I'll admit, I was more upset about it than I was the first time. "You 
believe everything you hear? Cyndi, I'm a fucking punching bag. This is 
just one more weapon for those assholes to get me. And my *girlfriend* 
is asking me if it's true!"

"I really am sorry," she said in a small voice.

"OK, you're forgiven."

I wonder if that's what prompted what happened next. It might have been 
part of it, but I think the neck-and-earlobe nibbling was most of it. 
Anyway, when it was time to go, she walked me out her front door. She 
lived on the second floor, and there was a landing there. We walked out 
onto the landing, and, before I could head down the stairs, she said, 
"Where's that mistletoe?"

"Right here," I dug it out of my pocket and, grinning, placed it over my 
head.

She grabbed my shoulders, leaned in, and kissed me. On the lips, I mean. 
My very first kiss--well, in this body, anyhow. It was closed-mouth--but 
it wasn't quick. It, frankly, had me reeling--and I could see in her 
eyes that she was too. She pulled away, her eyes hooded, and whispered, 
"Merry Christmas." Then she disappeared through the door.

Hot damn!

*

JANUARY 13^th , 1978

*

It's funny. A week that ended with the dreaded Friday the Thirteenth 
ended up being the week that changed my life. Even I didn't know the 
extent of it until later, but this week set it all up.

The other funny thing is that it didn't start out that way. On that 
Monday, Cyndi dumped me. This was right around the time *I* had dumped 
*her* the first time around. I didn't really have any intentions of 
dumping her this time--but she did it for me.

We'd kissed a few times since that first one. And, frankly, I really was 
happy with that, for the time being. I figured we had plenty of time for 
anything else--and, having gotten past the kissing barrier was 
satisfying to me. Unfortunately, it spooked Cyndi. We were "moving too 
fast" so she wanted to "cool things down."

I was disappointed, but not devastated.

Especially since, on Tuesday, things *really* started looking up.

It started right in the morning. I got up and Dad was there. "Hey, Ed, 
you'll never believe what happened."

"What, Dad?"

He told me--the Eye. It happened exactly as it had happened the first 
time, except--when he went out to get his wire cutters, he remembered my 
`dream' and grabbed his goggles.

"I couldn't believe it," he told me, "that wire came right up into my 
face. If I hadn't had the goggles on, it would've gone right through my 
eye."

"Wow," I said, in mock-surprise. "Maybe my dreams are clairvoyant," I 
kidded.

"Good. If you have any dreams about the Super Bowl, let me know," he 
laughed.

"Dallas and Denver," I said, having had watched the championship games. 
I combed my memory. "Bet on the Cowboys."

"OK," he laughed.

I got to school, and heard some scuttlebutt--evidently, I wasn't the 
only person who got dumped. Kara had broken up with Don Nixon. Well, 
hmmmm--wasn't *that* interesting!

I got through the morning, then went to English. English was the class 
right after lunch.

I hadn't really thought about it, but that English class was stocked 
with talent. Cabot East JHS didn't track--except in math, I was taking 
algebra because I had passed a test to do so--but somehow, our English 
class had the kids ranked one through four in the eighth grade class. My 
erstwhile first girlfriend Christine Seneca was first. Kara was fourth. 
I was second. Third was a girl named Michelle Pepper.

Michelle was probably the `catch' of the eighth grade class. Not only 
was she brilliant, she was gorgeous, including being one of those girls 
that `sprouted' early--you know what I mean. She might be in 8^th grade, 
but she had 12^th grade tits, no doubt about it. However, because of all 
this, Michelle was sort of aloof. Plus, with *those* tits and *those* 
brains, not to mention her stunning face, she intimidated guys like you 
wouldn't believe. The first time around, she certainly had intimidated 
me, I'll tell you that. And I wasn't even interested in her that 
way--not when she sat behind Kara!

My Beatles-loving pal Stan Murvetsin--an outgoing, chummy sort who 
didn't like to let anyone get away with aloofness--teased her 
mercilessly. Of course he did--look at what her last name was! He'd 
nicknamed her "Sarge" almost immediately. Michelle Pepper, Sergeant 
Pepper, Sarge--get it? Michelle was alternately bemused and annoyed by 
Stan's teasing. She *mostly* took it with good grace. I think, deep 
down, she appreciated that a boy was teasing and joking with her, 
instead of stammering and looking at her tits.

On this day, some of us had gotten into class. Class itself hadn't 
really started yet, but some of us were there early from lunch. Mrs. 
Sinclair was also there.

Stan started in on "Sarge". She, laughing, told him to knock it off. 
That's when I butted in.

"You'd better watch out, Michelle. He's been sticking to your last name. 
He hasn't glommed on to your *first* name, yet. Lucky you, named after 
*two* Beatles songs."

"I was waiting to deal with the first name," Stan said, "until I had the 
opportunity to serenade her with it."

"Oh, please, do *not* sing!" I told him. Stan and I had been friends on 
the first go-round, but were even better friends this time, and I could 
tease him. "I've heard you sing. It sounds like cats being strangled." 
Michelle--and Kara, who was there--giggled at this.

"Not true!" Stan protested.

"You'll scare away *all* the girls if you start singing."

This is when Mrs. Sinclair, the bitch, decided to butt in. I swear, that 
woman just hated me. "Mr. Bovilas, you shouldn't say nasty things about 
your classmates."

"Ah, Stan's my friend, he knows I'm just giving him a hard time." Stan 
*wasn't* upset, this was banter. "And he knows he can't sing."

"I suppose you can do better?" Mrs. Sinclair spat.

"Yup. I *can* sing."

"Put your money where your mouth is," Mrs. Sinclair said nastily. "Get 
up in front of class, favor us all with a tune."

"Need my guitar," I said.

"Then bring it in tomorrow, Mr. Bovilas. I'm sure we'd all like to see 
how good you are, considering how you disparage other people."

"Fine, you're on," I said, "as long as I can come up here before first 
period and drop my guitar off with you--I don't want to lug it around."

"Fine," she said, clearly expecting me not to show up on Wednesday with 
my guitar.

After class, Kara caught up to me. "Are you really going to do it?"

"You bet your ass," I told her.

Stan was with me. "He *can* sing, I've heard him. I've never heard him 
play, though."

"I can play," I told both of them. "I'm no Eric Clapton, but I hold my 
own. And I want to shove it down Sinclair's throat."

"I know, what *is* her problem?" Stan asked. "You weren't bothering me." 
He grinned at Kara. "It's true, I *can't* sing."

"Her problem is that she hates boys. She especially hates *smart* boys. 
I'm both. She hates my guts."

"She picked on you whole class after that," Kara said.

"Yeah, I know. And on my birthday."

"Really? Happy birthday!" Kara said. That's right, it was my 13^th 
birthday. Time to give myself a slightly late birthday present.

Wednesday morning, I walked into Mrs. Sinclair's room with my guitar. 
"See you after lunch," I said with a smile.

I had pumped myself up about this. I could play. And, though my voice 
didn't quite have the resonance at 13 that it would gain in adulthood, I 
*could* sing. I just had to remember to be uninhibited and go for it.

So, we got to English and she called me up, still expecting for me to 
fall on my face. I got my guitar out and made sure it was in tune. I was 
going to have fun with this. I'd never done anything like this the first 
time around--too scary, of course. This time, I wasn't scared.

"OK," I said, "since this whole thing started because Mrs. Sinclair was 
*eavesdropping* onto a conversation between Stan, Michelle, and myself, 
I guess I've got to start off with this one." So I played--of 
course--"Michelle". Sailed right through it. It was one of my favorite 
songs to play throughout life, so I knew it cold. And I sang it *right* 
to Michelle--with a smile on my face, of course, letting her know I was 
just playing around. I leaned right at her desk for the "I love you, I 
love you, I loooooove you," part, and she gave me a huge smile. I didn't 
miss a note, singing or playing. When I was done, I got raucous 
applause--and it felt *damn* good

They called for another, Mrs. Sinclair--stunned out of her tiny 
mind--acquiesced. "OK, since I'm playing acoustic--James Taylor's not 
too wimpy is it?" Everyone laughed. "I love playing this song," and I 
went into "Shower The People." It went over well.

They called for one more. Mrs. Sinclair--who, by now, looked like she 
wanted to cry--said, "OK, but this is the last one."

"All right, I'm going to try to rock out on an acoustic." Hell, I'd done 
it plenty times before. I even saw Melissa Ethredge do it--of course, 
that wouldn't happen for 23 years. Bruce himself would do it 10 years 
hence, though he'd rearrange it. So I knew I could pull it off. Yes, you 
*can* play "Born to Run" on an acoustic guitar. Well, as long as you can 
*sing* it. I wasn't as good at 13 as I would be at 33, but I could sing it.

I'd always regretted not doing this--playing and singing in front of 
these people, many of whom had written me off as worthless. Well, part 
of it was I didn't realize how good I was until much later. I *was* 
pretty good at 13, especially with singing--hell, I won on a local TV 
talent show when I was *six*. My pubescent voice change--and my voice 
didn't really change all that much--didn't kill the talent. But I was 
inhibited and scared to really `go for it' when I was 13. I didn't have 
any confidence in my talent. That's what I could draw on, because of the 
recycling--I *knew* I was good. I just had to let go, lose my 
inhibitions, go for it--and since I was singing Bruce, I had to belt.

I belted. Jaws were hitting desks before I got halfway through the first 
verse. I just let it *all* out. And then I got gutsy.

While vamping the riff between the first verse and the second, I said, 
"Hey I don't know anyone named Wendy . Should I change the name? What do 
you think? I should sing it to someone, change the name, huh?" A few 
people yelled, "Yeah, change the name!"

I looked right at her. She didn't even see it coming. I sang it right to 
her. "Kara, let me in, I wanna be your friend, I wanna guard your dreams 
and visions..." I don't ever remember, in *either* life, seeing Kara 
Pocharsky blush. It was beautiful! And it deepened when I got to the 
line at the end of the middle part: "I wanna die with you, Kara, on the 
streets tonight, in an everlasting kiss!"

When I got done, three things happened. First, the class just *erupted*. 
Second, Kara blushed the color of cranberry juice--and grinned at me. 
And third, Mrs. Sinclair looked like she had eaten 43 lemons. Of course, 
I had to rub *that* one in--after putting my guitar back in its case, I 
grinned at her and said, "Satisfied?" She didn't look satisfied at all. 
Which made me *very* satisfied!

Walking out of class, Kara--still grinning and blushing--came up to me 
and said, quoting the song, "Strap your hands cross my engines?"

"Hey, I didn't write the lyrics!" I protested.

"No, you just sang them to *me*. With *my* name in them!" And then she 
walked away. Funny, she looked remarkably *not* upset about the whole thing!

So, that was Wednesday. What a great day. Thursday, I was eating with 
Stan and his gang. I was surprised to see Beth plop down next to me.

I hadn't seen a lot of Beth. It wasn't like I was avoiding her. Well, 
maybe it was, a little. It was still hard for me to deal with. I was 
still kind of feeling my way through things in my mind. But, on this 
day, she came and sat down with us for lunch.

"Hey," she said, "you don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not," I said. Stan and the gang nodded approval. "You guys 
all know Beth?" I made some quick introductions.

"I had to come talk to you," she said, grinning. "I heard about your 
little show in English yesterday. Good for you! I wish I had been there 
to see it."

"It was something," Stan confirmed. "You should've seen it. When he ever 
changed the name in Born to Run from Wendy to Kara, I thought poor Kara 
was going to swallow her tongue."

Beth's eyes opened wide as she stared at me. "Kara *Pocharsky*?" I 
nodded. Beth had known about my Kara fixation since it had started. "You 
*sang* to Kara Pocharsky?" I nodded again, grinning. "WAY TO GO!" she 
enthused. Then she turned to the gang. "I've known this guy since he was 
born. The only girl he's not scared to death of is *me*, and that's 
because I'm like his sister." She turned back to me. "I *still* can't 
believe you sang to Kara Pocharsky."

"Believe it," I said. "It's a whole new leaf."

"Now *that* is good news," Beth grinned. Beth's appearance at lunch made 
me feel a lot better. She was being Beffy, my best friend--it was good 
to see. I had to enjoy this for as long as I could. We laughed and joked 
through the rest of lunch, Stan throwing in his two cents. Beth made a 
joke about me never singing to *her*. I told her that the only "Beth" I 
knew was the Kiss one, and I hated that song.

"So write me one, Mister Musician," she grinned.

So, can a week like that get any better? Yeah, as it turns out. Friday, 
in the long run, turned out to be the best day of the week.

I was walking from one class to another, and I was in an area of the 
school that didn't get much traffic. It was the end of a hallway, with 
stairs leading down to the bottom floor. There were only a few 
classrooms down on that bottom floor. It only covered one wing of the 
school, since the school was on a hill, and there was another staircase 
to get there that was used more. Because of where I was, these were the 
stairs I took, but there weren't usually too many people around.

One of the people I sometimes saw was Kelly Cullinane. Usually from 
behind, as she usually beat me to the staircase. She did on this day as 
well, but she wasn't going down the stairs. She was still on the top, at 
the end of the hall--with three of the nastier bullies of the school. 
Yeah, these three were pieces of work.

They were taunting her--about her back brace. Calling her Quasimodo, 
asking how long it took for her boyfriend to get the brace off before he 
could fuck her--she didn't even have a boyfriend at the time--making all 
kinds of hunchback motions. "Here comes the cripple!" Real pleasant 
stuff. Poor Kelly looked like she was about to cry.

Did this happen the first time around? I searched my memories. Yes, it 
did--but I had shoved the memory aside. Why? Because, the first time 
around, I just kept walking. And it shamed me--Kelly Cullinane was one 
of the rare few that had *never* been anything but nice to me. She was, 
and still is, one of the nicest people I've ever met. If anyone *didn't* 
deserve this kind of treatment, it was Kelly. But I had just kept 
walking, because--do I even have to say it?--I was scared.

Not this time.

I walked past Kelly, right up to the ringleader, and said, "Hey! Shut 
the fuck up!" Luckily, I managed to modulate my voice so I didn't give 
off that pubescent squeak. I hated that fucking squeak. This would be a 
bad time for it.

"What are you going to do about it?" the asshole sneered. He was leaning 
up against a railing. Over the railing was a drop to the bottom of the 
steps at the ground floor.

So, of course, I said, "I'll throw you over the fucking railing, you 
asshole!" He *gaped* at me--and his two buddies in crime were slowly 
moving away to extricate themselves from the situation. "You have 
nothing better to do than pick on the nicest girl in school just because 
she's got a bad back?"

"Look at this!" he laughed. "The school wimp threatening me!"

"Come on, asshole. I'm the school wimp? Take your best shot." Jesus, was 
I *pissed*. At him--and at myself, for not doing this thirty years 
before. He didn't know what he was dealing with. "Come on, do it! I'm 
surprised you didn't hit *Kelly*, just to show what a big he-man you 
are. You can hit me, and we'll see what you're made of."

He slinked away. "Bovilas, you're not worth it!" The motherfucker backed 
down! Typical bully--a coward at heart. They picked on the weak. That 
might have been me the first go-round. It wasn't me now.

I have NEVER--not in either life--felt as good about myself as I did at 
that moment. That one moment made the whole recycling worth it. It was 
the most amazing thing. I felt like I had wiped out *so* much pain and 
self-loathing, with just that one act. Standing up for myself, with 
Roger, was one thing. Standing up for someone *else-*-someone I liked 
and considered a friend? That was something else entirely. It felt so 
damn good.

When I turned around, Kelly was looking at me like I was an alien that 
had just stepped out of a spaceship. Hell, I couldn't blame her. She'd 
known Ed Bovilas since first grade. She'd never seen *that* Ed Bovilas.

"C'mon, Kel, let's get you to class," I said. I grabbed her by the arm, 
and steered her towards the stairs. We walked down the stairs, her 
looking at me the whole while like I had four heads. We got to the 
bottom, and headed for the row of classrooms. Hers was right across the 
hall from mine.

"You OK?" I asked her as we got there.

"Yes. I'm fine." Then she smiled at me--and kissed my cheek! "Thank 
you," she said--and disappeared into her classroom. I pretty much 
floated into mine.

I'd learned my lesson about talking. I didn't say a *word* about what 
had happened, to anyone. Well, I told my parents, who were proud of me. 
But I didn't say a word to anyone in school. The bully didn't need to be 
humiliated, that'd just make him carry a grudge.

As it turns out, I didn't need to tell anyone. Kelly did. Not too many 
people, but the important ones. Her twin brother Patrick came up to me 
the next Monday. Patrick and I had an uneasy relationship. We'd been 
friends throughout grammar school, until fifth grade, when we got into a 
fight. We'd been more-or-less friendly after that, but there was a 
certain distance. It was one of those unfathomable things--why *did* 
people eventually turn on me? It had happened repeatedly in my first 
go-round. I didn't get it.

This time, however, Patrick came up to me in school. "Hey," he said. 
"Thanks for what you did for my sister on Friday. That took a lot of guts."

That was nice. What was nicer, however, was something that I wouldn't 
find out right away. But I'd learn, later, that there was one other 
person Kelly had told: Kara.

*

JANUARY 24^th , 1978

*

The events of that week had given me a major, major boost. I felt like I 
was in control. Well, not completely--there was still Beth--but, more 
than I had the first time.

And, on this date, I made a decision.

We had gotten The Letter that I had gotten the last time--the one 
telling me that I was a finalist for a scholarship to go to the Prep. 
The first time, I had been thrilled. I went through the interview 
process and then got the scholarship--a full ride. My parents were 
pleased as punch.

And, here I was, in this go-round, telling them I didn't want to go to 
the Prep.

I had thought a lot about it. Unfortunately, I couldn't really explain 
some of it to Mom and Dad without revealing the truth.

Look, I'd enjoyed my time at the Prep. In hindsight, though, I wasn't 
sure if it really did me any good. I went there for two reasons--because 
I was bored--academically, I mean--and because I was getting beaten up. 
The second wasn't as bad this time around, because of the changes I had 
made. And the first?

Well, I wasn't *bored* at the Prep--but I still never learned how to 
study. I didn't get straight A's without cracking a book, like I did in 
grades one through eight--but I graduated the Prep with a 3.3 without 
cracking a book. I never did learn how to study, which killed me in 
college. The Prep wasn't going to teach me how to study, I knew that. If 
I was going to get some study skills, it was all down to *me*, no matter 
where I went to high school. And Cabot High wasn't bad--there were 
honors and AP classes I'd be able to take there. I'd have to endure one 
more year at Cabot East JHS, but then I'd go to Cabot High for tenth 
grade. So, hindsight told me that the academic benefits of the Prep 
weren't really going to do much for me in the long run.

That's what I couldn't tell my parents, since that was all experience 
talking. What I *could* tell them was the other reason; which was partly 
from experience but I could pass it off as intuition.

I was smart enough to handle the academics *anywhere* as long as I 
learned how to study. However, going to the Prep would stunt me 
socially--it did, the first time around. I didn't really realize it 
until later in life, but it did. College was a nightmare socially. I 
never `grew up' and learned to deal with the `real world', because the 
Prep was filled with guys like me: insecure social-misfit nerds with 
brains too big for their own good. I got along fine there, but it was 
too insular.

Since the Prep was all-male, it *really* stunted me in dealing with 
girls and women. That *really* caused a problem in college. I was so 
hopeless at reading `signals' from women that I let slip through my 
fingers many opportunities in college. I didn't realize any of this 
until much later in life, when I got better at certain things.

I managed to explain this to my parents without telling them I'd been 
down this road before. They weren't happy, but they did accept the 
`socially stunted' argument. And Dad was sympathetic to the `no girls' 
argument, at least! As I said, they weren't thrilled, but they also 
weren't the type of parents to force me into a decision like this one. 
I'd skip the Prep this time around.

So, I'd made another monumental change from the pattern. It'd take time 
to see how this one worked out.

*

JANUARY 30^th, 1978

*

This was the day I decided to bite the bullet.

I'd been thinking about doing it anyway, but a conversation with Kelly 
the previous Friday really convinced me to go for it.

One thing that had happened after my `defense' of Kelly is that she had 
started waiting for me at the top of that staircase every day. We'd walk 
down together, chatting.

On that day, Friday the 27^th , she said something interesting. "You 
know Kara broke up with Don Nixon, right?"

"Yeah," I said.

"So, what are you going to do about it?" she grinned. I just looked at 
her. "Come on, Eddie, don't try and fool me. You like Kara, still."

I looked at her. Shit, Kelly was Kara's best friend! "Wait a minute, 
Kel--are you telling me that I *won't* get shot down?"

"I don't know," Kelly said seriously. "I know the way she feels about 
you has changed. You annoyed her for a long time. You don't, anymore. 
Some of the things you've done lately--well, she's impressed."

"That's good, and I'm glad I don't annoy her," I laughed, "but you don't 
know if she'll go out with me."

"No," she said, and sighed. "I hope you get her to say yes, though." I 
just looked at her. "Eddie, listen. Don Nixon? Turned out to be a big 
fat jerk."

"Really?" I said, surprised--I hadn't known this from the first time.

"Really," Kelly confirmed. "Kara was *so* in love with him, for all of 
last year. Then, this year, he asks her out. She's happy, right? Well, 
it didn't work out good. Don's got no respect for girls."

"Oh," I said, quietly fuming.

"Kara's been sad about it for a while. She needs a *nice* guy." Kelly 
grinned at me. "That, pal, would be *you*."

I let that one ring in my head for the weekend. Monday I got on the bus, 
having decided to give it a shot. Luckily, the bus was early, so there 
was time to kill before the bell rang. I went over to Kara--who was with 
Kelly, who gave me a grin and a wink--and asked if I could talk to her. 
We walked over into a corner.

Be cool. Don't stutter. Forget you're 13 and this is the girl you've 
been besotted with for 2 years. That's what I told myself. I think I 
almost pulled it off. Asking her in person was an improvement. I'd done 
it over the phone the first time, but I had to be cool.

"Kara, I was wondering," I said easily, "would you like to go out with 
me on Saturday? I thought we could hit a movie."

Kara looked conflicted. It looked like I was going to get shot down 
again. "Well, Eddie, uhm..." she stammered.

"Wait," I said. Dammit, this was my last shot. "Before you answer me, 
let me say something." She looked at me expectantly. "I just want the 
chance to spend some time with you, get to know you better. One date, 
that's all I ask, especially since you don't know *me* at *all*."

She laughed. "I've known you since kindergarten!"

"You know me here, in school. I'm not at my best here. I'm not at my 
best in crowds. I'm just asking for one date where we spend it 
one-on-one. We've never done that--except for the few times you and 
Kelly have caught me out running. That's as close as we've gotten, and 
we've gotten along fine those times." She still looked skeptical, but 
less so, so I pressed on. "Kara, I'm not a jerk. I'm not going to hurt 
you. If you go out with me, all you've got to lose is a few hours. And, 
heck, the movie might be good anyway."

She giggled at that, took a breath, and said, "Okay."

I did *not* do a jig right there in front of her. I resisted.

"We'll have to go in the afternoon, though," she said. "My parents are 
strict about movie dates at night. Parties and dances are fine, but 
movies have to be in the afternoon."

"That's fine," I said.

"And, that way, we can walk, instead of waiting for a ride," she said, 
and then she thought, "Oh, wait a minute--it's a lot farther for you, 
isn't it?" She lived about halfway between my house and the shopping 
center--which is where the movie theater was.

"Yeah, but that's fine. Running man, right?" She giggled at that. "I 
just won't run Saturday, I'll walk with you to the movies instead. Noon 
sound good?"

"Great. See you then," she said and walked into the building.

I wanted to SCREAM! I didn't. But I think I had a stupid shit-eating 
grin on my face for most of the morning.

Three class periods later, Kelly was waiting for me as I approached the 
staircase. She had a big grin on her own face. "Saw Kara this morning," 
she said.

"Really?"

"Yup. Congratulations. Don't screw it up!"

"Don't plan to," I smiled at her.

*

FEBRUARY 4^th , 1978

*

It really didn't matter if I were 13 or 43. Walking to Kara's house for 
our date, I was *damn* nervous. Luckily, I had plenty of money. I didn't 
always--a paper route didn't pay much, and I was trying to build up my 
record collection. However, Dad had taken my advice about the Super Bowl 
and had put down some money on the Cowboys. He split the winnings with me.

I got there and her mom invited me in. I'd met Mrs. Pocharsky a number 
of times. She was a nice lady.

"Come on in, Eddie," she said, "Kara will be down in a minute. So, tell 
me," she grinned at me. "How, exactly, did you pull this off?"

"I have no idea," I smiled.

"She's actually looking forward to going out with you. I was stunned! 
I've known about your crush on her the whole time--she used to 
*complain* about it! And now she's going out with you?"

"Well," I told her, "I've made some changes. I guess Kara noticed."

"I'd say so!" Just then, Kara came downstairs, so I was saved from 
further episodes of the Spanish Inquisition. She came down all ready to 
go--including outerwear. It *was* February, and though it wasn't a 
frigid day, it was rather cold. Kara was wearing a white down jacket, 
with a pink scarf around her neck and white fur earmuffs. She was so 
damn adorable!

I wanted to gush but kept it mild. "You wearing earmuffs is the cutest 
thing I've ever seen," I said. She beamed at me. We headed out.

"So, what are we going to see?" she asked as we walked down the street.

"I figured we could see The Goodbye Girl. It's supposed to be good." In 
fact, it was one of my favorite movies. That was one of the problems 
with being recycled--nothing was new. This one I wouldn't mind seeing 
again, though--I'd seen it a number of times. "It's a romantic comedy."

"A romance?" she giggled. "A *guy* picked a *romance*? I figured I'd 
have to sit through a *boy* movie!"

"I like romantic comedies," I told her, which was the truth.

"One surprise after another," she laughed. "Eddie, you have changed *so* 
much, I'm amazed."

"Not that much," I told her. "Just, hopefully, the bad parts." She 
giggled at that. "Is that why you actually decided to say yes?"

"Yeah," she admitted. "Plus, well, look--I always liked you, but I also 
felt sorry for you. And I couldn't go out with someone that I felt sorry 
for. Plus, you were annoying once you decided you liked me."

"I know," I laughed.

"You do?"

"Of course."

"You really *have* changed," she said in a low voice. "Anyhow, you 
stopped being annoying a couple months ago. I still felt sorry for you, 
though. Then you sang in English class. I think that's when I stopped 
feeling sorry for you.

"Then you stuck up for Kelly. When she told me that, I didn't believe 
her at first, you know. That impressed me *so* much."

"Kelly's a good person. She doesn't deserve that kind of crap," I said. 
"It's not her fault she has scoliosis."

"That's what I mean," she said, but didn't explain. Then she changed the 
subject. "So, what happened with Cyndi Gagnon?" I told her the whole 
story. She cracked up laughing. "No kissing until sixteen? Jeez. Now 
*that's* a prude. I mean, I kissed Mark Adamopoulos in sixth grade."

"I did *not* need to know that," I said, but was laughing when I said it.

"Sorry," she said, shrugging, with a grin. Then her voice dropped. "I 
did more than kiss with Don. Which was a big fat mistake."

"What happened with him? You were as gaga over him as I was over *you*."

She laughed, then sobered. "Don, well, he wasn't what I thought. First 
of all, he's all hands, know what I mean?"

"Yeah."

"I'm no prude, but there's limits. I mean, I'm only 13. He didn't care 
about them. Cyndi thought *you* were going too fast? I should throw Don 
at her. She doesn't know what `too fast' means. And, second of all, Don 
basically expected me to be a, I don't know, a slave or something."

"YOU?" I blurted out.

She beamed at me. "I know. But, like you said, I was gaga. I probably 
let it go on longer than I should have. People do stupid things when 
they think they're in love."

"No, really?" I said, completely deadpan. "I never would have known that."

She cracked up laughing, then she sobered. "Anyhow, he expected to make 
all the decisions. We did what he wanted. Period. I had no say. And it 
got worse. Don, basically, has no respect for girls."

"So, what you're telling me is that he took complete advantage of the 
fact that you were crazy about him."

She looked at me. "That's it! That's exactly right--that's just what he 
did. I never thought of it quite like that before, but that's it."

"He didn't have to work at it," I added.

"Right."

I looked at her. "Well, you're better off then. Because *I* have to work 
at it."

She cracked up laughing. "That's right, you do, don't you?"

"Yup."

"You're going to have to *woo* me."

"Something like that."

She was still giggling. "Oh, this could be fun, couldn't it?"

I shook my head at her. "You are enjoying this *way* too much."

She laughed once more, then just looked at me. "I was *always* 
flattered. I just couldn't see it. Until lately. Actually, I thought you 
might have changed your mind. You've been so different around me. You 
talk to me like a normal person. And singing to me--that shocked me."

"Like I said, I decided to make some changes. I figured 
out--finally--that acting like a stupid lovesick stammering fool around 
you wasn't going to get me anywhere."

Kara was always wise and perceptive for her age, and she proved it then. 
"How much of this has to do with Beth?" she asked softly.

"Some of it." That was the truth, though, in the `old' life, it had 
happened much later than this. I went on. "It's two things, really. The 
first is--life is too damn short."

"Yeah," she agreed sadly.

"The second is this--my problem has always been fear. I'm scared of my 
own shadow. And my best friend is *dying*. What the heck do *I* have to 
be scared about? That I might get beat up? That you might say no? Beth's 
illness made me think about a lot of that.

"So, it was both things. The whole life's too short thing. Plus, things 
change, sometimes in a hurry. You're going to Andrews in September. I 
assume you're going to board there."

"Most likely," she said.

"So, that's eight months from now. If things went on the way they were, 
you'd go to Andrews and I'd never see you again." Which is exactly what 
happened in the old life. "So, as Elvis once sang, It's Now Or Never." 
She giggled at that. "And I realized that I had nothing to be scared 
about. I like you--I should be able to *talk* to you, shouldn't I? And 
if you said no, you said no. I'd be back to square one."

"I'm impressed," she said. "And I'm glad. Like I said, I always liked 
you--the guy behind the stammering nerd, I mean," she giggled. I laughed 
back. "So, what would you have done if I had said no."

"Move on to the next target," I said with an evil grin.

"Which would've been...?" she asked.

"I'm not tellin'."

"Come on," she said, grabbing my arm and tugging. "Fess up. I know I'm 
first choice, so it won't bother me."

"You know you're first choice, huh? Damn, this is going *straight* to 
your head," I teased.

She looked at me. "Jeez, Eddie, I though for sure I'd get the stammering 
fool with *that* comment."

"I told you, he's been banished. And you *are* first choice, I've never 
made a secret of it, so who cares?"

She looked at me, and then smiled. "OK, fine, but you still haven't told 
me who second choice would've been if I'd shot you down."

"Fine, fine. Kelly. You satisfied?"

"Well, I'm going to just have to make you stick around then," she 
grinned. Damn did *that* sound good! "Because, I can tell you, Kelly 
would say yes in a heartbeat."

"She would, would she? Hmmm," I jokingly mused.

"Nope, none of that!" she burst out. "No options for you! I've been 
promised a good wooing and I'd better get it!"

"Yes, ma'am," I said. That cracked her up again.

By that time, we'd gotten to the movie theater. I bought the 
tickets--and drinks and popcorn, of course--and we settled in.

As I said, I'd seen The Goodbye Girl plenty of times, and had always 
liked it. It was strange, though, it was kind of like seeing it for the 
first time. There were days when this whole recycling thing made me feel 
schizophrenic. Part of me had seen it twenty times, but the other part 
of me had never seen it.

Of course, part of that was Kara. She *had* never seen it, and was 
plainly enjoying it. We finished the popcorn, and I tucked the container 
under my seat. The next thing I knew, her hand was resting lightly on mine.

How *good* could this be going? Jesus, what a turnaround!

The movie ended, and she told me how much she had enjoyed it. We got out 
of our seats, and got back into our winter outerclothing in the lobby. 
Then we headed out. As we started walking, she reached over and took my 
hand. It wasn't exactly intimate, considering we were both wearing 
gloves, but it was still thrilling, especially as *she* had done it. I 
didn't plan to lay a hand on her--I didn't want to scare her off. She 
must've realized that, and took the initiative.

We walked, easily chatting, about the movie and other things. She loved 
the movie, and was glad I had suggested it.

"It's getting colder," she said at one point.

"Well, then, strap your hands cross my engines," I joked. She looked at 
me and burst out laughing. Then she calmed down, but was still smiling.

"I can't get over you," she said. "You're so *relaxed*! Even after you 
asked me out, I thought you'd be all nervous going out with me."

"I'm hiding it well," I told her, which was the truth. She grinned at 
me. "Look, this was all I expected, OK? I got a date with you. That was 
the height of my wish list, so to speak. I was determined that we *both* 
have a good time. If this was it, then this was it. If I thought about a 
second date, or anything else, I'd drive myself crazy."

"You don't have to worry about that," she said, softly but firmly. Damn, 
did that mean what it sounded like? Before I had a chance to say 
anything, she changed the subject. "Ed? I have to tell you something. I 
told Kelly I was going out with you, but, well, nobody else. OK?"

"Oh," I said. "I see. Some people are going to think you're out of your 
mind, is that it?"

"More or less," she said, laughing gently. "Well, you know, it's 
difficult. And you're right, I don't really know you. Well, I know you 
better, now. But, well, other people--they *really* don't know you." She 
sighed. "I know if we start dating, we'll have to tell people 
eventually--not to wouldn't be fair."

I couldn't let *that* one go by! "If we start dating?" I asked.

"Well," she grinned, "you have to ask me on another date first."

"Will you go out with me next weekend?"

"Absolutely," she said, still giggling. "Look, Ed--I always thought you 
were nice, and sweet, and smart. It was just the whole annoying nerd 
thing that put me off. Without that, you're a great guy."

"Well, I know my limitations," I told her. "No need to add to them, 
which is why I made the annoying nerd go away."

"Limitations?" she asked.

"I'll never be a heartthrob," I laughed.

"Oh, you're cute," she said, smiling. "Cute enough. And, let me tell you 
something--Kelly and I have talked about this. Your weightlifting has 
paid off," she said, and grabbed my bicep! "Kelly and I were giggling 
about that the other day. Ed Bovilas has muscles!"

"Amazing, isn't it?" I laughed.

"Ed? Whatever you're doing, it's working, OK? I had a great time today."

"I did, too," I told her.

We had gotten to the top of her street. Around the corner, and her house 
was the second one. She stopped there, before we went around the corner. 
"Ed? My house is right there, and my mother will probably be looking out 
the window, so, if you want, I mean....uh, well....before we go around the 
corner...I mean...I'm not Cyndi Gagnon, OK?"

As shocked as I was at that stammering request, I wasn't stupid. I knew 
exactly what she was offering. I *gladly* took it. I put my arms around 
her waist, leaned down, and kissed her.

Can you say, "beyond my wildest expectations"? I was just *stunned*. I 
hid it well and kissed the living daylights out of her, even though this 
wasn't a tongue kiss--I wasn't going to push *that*. When we finally 
separated, she was looking up at me with a whole new expression in her 
eyes. With a little sigh, she took my hand, and we walked around the 
corner to her house.

"Eddie? I really did have a very good time."

"The best," I agreed. She smiled at that.

"You have my phone number?" I nodded. "Call me tomorrow."

"OK," I happily agreed. Then she went in.

It was about a half-mile walk from her house to mine. My feet did *not* 
touch the ground!

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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