Markwildyr.com, Post #233
Today, I’ll return to short story telling. Hope you enjoy the first installment.
* * * *
EVIL EYE GUY
I was born an oddball: the left eye a chocolate brown, the right one a Kelly green. So instead of being Karl Huddleston, I was Crazy Eyes or Weird Eyes… or just Weird. After learning to live with it, I got along with most of the other kids okay. Then in my junior year in high school, everything changed.
One night, Abigail Strother called me Evil Eye at the local drive-in. I ignored her the first two or three times, but by the fourth, I was sick of it. Abigail—never Abby—was kinda stuck up. I figured it was because her dad was president of the local power company. A big deal down at the Chamber of Commerce, maybe, but not to us kids… except to Abigail.
The last time she did it, I
pointed to my eyes with a forefinger and index finger and growled. “If that’s
so, you better watch out or I’ll put a curse on you. An hour later, she tripped
on the sidewalk and broke an arm.
Not a week later, Dubby
Feinstall gave me a black eye in front of the library over some picayune thing
I don’t even remember. Probably because he was simply a bully. I got up off the
grass, but instead of wading into the asshole—who was a year older and twice my
size—I pointed to my puffy, green eye, and said the first thing that came to
mind.
“That’s it, Dubby. You hit the
wrong eye. That’s the evil one.”
Later that afternoon, the
tie-rod ends on Tubby Dubby’s vintage 1956 Chevrolet Pickup came loose and
wrecked the truck he’d spent a whole lot of time and money restoring. I figured
Dubby’d come after me; instead, he avoided me like the plague.
Kids—and probably grownups, as
well—have a habit of embellishing things, so a few accidents I had absolutely
no connection to got attached to my name, allowing my infamy to grow.
That made for a pretty
stress-free existence, even after I graduated and went to state. There were
plenty of my graduating class who also went to the U, so my reputation traveled
with me.
College guys are a tad more worldly
than high schoolers, or so they say. Must have been true, because my “Evil Eye”
was mostly a subject of jocularity at parties. Life became easier.
Then I met a guy that made sense
of my turbulent teenage years. I liked him. Hell, more than that, I coveted
him. I met Andrew Abley—I called him AA—on the tennis court early in the
semester. We played against one another for a few well-balanced games, then we
hooked up as partners in doubles. When he played net, my eyes had a habit of straying
to his broad shoulders, trim hips, and supple thighs. And in the middle of one
hotly contested game, it hit me… right between the eyes. I lusted after the
good-looking, blond-haired son of a gun. I missed the next shot and almost cost
us the game. But after I recovered from the bombshell, I fought like a banshee
to win for my newly discovered querido. AA, of course, had no idea of
what was going on.
I’m normally a pretty placid
guy. Meek even. Or maybe shy. But my newly discovered gay longings prompted me
in some undetermined way to become aggressive, particularly on the tennis court
where AA and I interacted the most.
Apparently, he liked my new
personality because we started meeting after classes and going places together.
I’m not a drinker, and the first time he suggested a visit to the bar, I proved
it. After a couple of drinks, he had to help me to the car. Right in the middle
of a drunken rant about something or the other, I realized I liked my arm over
his shoulder, his over mine, and out hips bumping as we made our uncertain way
across the parking lot. So instead of being embarrassed and begging off the
next time, I readily agreed.
It was Friday night, and the
bar had a torch singer and band, requiring a buck cover charge. I wasn’t as
uneasy in this foreign environment as the last time, so I halfway enjoyed
myself. AA picked out a blonde and danced a couple of times. He cajoled me onto
the dance floor with her brunette companion, and I could see where this was
going. Not where I wanted, at in the least.
My third drink took care of it
all. I got sloppy and had to be helped to the car, spoiling the impending
foursome. After he settled me into the driver’s side, he moved behind the wheel,
and that’s when I about ruined everything.
“I slapped his knee. “I really
like you, Andrew Abley. I really like you.”
“And I really like you, Karl
Huddleston. But I wish you held your liquor better.”
I hiccupped. “Beginner,” I
mumbled, realizing my hand still rested on his knee. It didn’t want to come
off. To hell with it. It could stay where it was, except it slipped halfway up
his thigh. Oh, well. That was a good place too.
“But I mean, I really, really
like you,” my mouth said. My hand moved a bit higher. Damn, they had minds
of their own Then my head did its own thing… it flopped over on his shoulder.
Apparently, AA figured I’d
passed out because he mumbled. “Me too, guy. Me too.”
He didn’t remove my hand, so I
sorta shifted my weight like I was getting more comfortable. My hand slid
higher. I wasn’t touching his groin, but I was damned close. My fingers burned.
I was sorry when he pulled
into the dorm parking lot. I was so comfy… hell, maybe I was looped. Just as I
was about to make the final move and cup him, he pushed me away, unsnapped his
seat belt and got out. A moment later, he opened the passenger door, pulled me
out of the car, and hauled me into the dorm.
“Again?” someone asked. “Maybe
he needs AA.”
I almost snickered. I did need
AA, but not the way he meant.
“He’s new to it,” my AA’s
deep baritone answered. “He’ll be okay.”
A few minutes later, he fished
my keys out of my pants pocket—and that gave me a thrill—and dumped me on my
bed. Still feigning unconsciousness, I listened to him breathe as he stood
beside the bed.
“I oughta undress you,” he
mumbled aloud.
Do it! Do it! I shouted in my
mind. But he didn’t. He covered me with my jacket and touched me on the chest.
“We gotta talk, tomorrow, amigo. Definitely tomorrow.”
Then he left for his own room, leaving me with a painful erection and uneasy stomach.
* * * *
Do you believe
in stuff like that? Karl’s not sure he does, and he’s the presumed sorcerer in
this case. Does AA? I dunno, but he seems to be interested in something. Let’s
see where it goes from here.
Website and blog: markwildyr.com
Email:
markwildyr@aol.com
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Twitter: @markwildyr
Now my
mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it!
See you later.
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