How the hell did I make it through the next days? My insides were knotted. Could anyone tell by looking at me? Luckily, one was a gym day, I had to concentrate on sweating, then scrubbing my pits in the shower. Alison and I don’t even make eye contact.
After the home-bound bus, I sit again before my bud Hildy, baring my soul and apologizing for my short stay. Gotta go–lessons to be learned.
Steve answers the door, he doesn’t offer soda. As I go upstairs, he yells, “And don’t look, she’s not putting on her show today!”
I sit, senses akimbo. My leg jiggled, like I’m getting a flu shot. Whatever he tells me could make a difference whether I have a great day tomorrow or fumble like a goon.
He turns on the lava lamp. He’s taking this so seriously, he’s made notes.
“Okay, here’s all I can think up. First, assume she is playing with love and isn’t serious. Keep smiling, be a smart-ass. You’re not over the moon. She may be, but you can bet, she’ll never say it.”
“Two: NEVER say you are in love. She’ll run for the exit. Saying the word ‘love’ is the worst thing you could ever say…….unless she says it first, then you say it so fast your tongue bleeds. And don’t say she’s beautiful, that’s also a giveaway you’re in love. Say ‘pretty’, ‘great’, ‘good looking,’ or something like that.”
“Three–don’t look at her T. She knows what she has and she knows boys want them. Don’t even think about touching them! You want to touch, touch her hair, arms, neck, waist. If you have to, talk about her legs and how cute she is.”
“And when you touch, think of her like a frightened bird–gently, softly, like she could fly away in a second..”
“Oh, wait, I just got this record. It’s an English band–the guy plays a flute.” “Bullshit,” I say, “That’s a pussy instrument.”
He smirks. “Don’t be a dick. Listen to this while I get soda. You want root beer?
“Shit, yes!”
Oh God, the music turns my head backwards. I’m pretty sure this was the song. Anyone for irony? You want cream and sugar?