Markwildyr.com, Post #257
Image Courtesy of Dreamstime:
Can you believe it? Here we are well
into 2024, and I was just getting accustomed to writing 2023. Such is life.
Let’s get right to it. Here’s Part 1.
* * * *
LI’L
HONEY BUNNY
I remember the day Greg Parks
was born in the house right beside ours on Mason Street. Or at least I recall
stories about the event… my mom rushing over to help the doctor, excited
whispers, a baby crying. They’re vivid in my mind, although I was only four at
the time. But it seemed that my mother coming back home and loudly pronouncing
that the new baby was a real “Little Honey Bunny” was my recollection, not
someone else’s told so many times it gets mixed up with my own.
So that’s what I called him from
the time I first laid eyes on the red-faced, squalling bundle of energy more
formally named Gregory Robert Parks. The label worked okay until he reached
Middle School, and then he began to rebel, taking it as a smack-down. Wasn’t
intended that way, but his reaction tickled my fancy, so I kept it up. By that
time, of course, it had simply been reduced to “Bunny,” but I’d use the full appellation
on occasion to watch his face turn red. Needless to say, our childhood
friendship was no longer so close.
I returned home after being
away at college for four years and moved back into the Mason Street house.
Didn’t see much of Bunny upon my return as the Parks had long ago moved to
another part of town. Nonetheless the sight of the white house to the east of
ours kicked off memories… including those of Li’l Honey Bunny.
In answer to my questions, Mom
let me know Greg had graduated high school and was prepared to leave for
college at State this fall. Hard to believe the gangly fourteen-year-old I’d
last cast eyes on would soon be a college man. No doubt I’d see for myself, as
I was about to start working in my dad’s drug store. The idea of working for a
year at the drug store where I’d started shelving merchandise in short pants before
starting pharmacy school was long ago implanted in my brain. Dad wanted me to
learn the business end of the store more deeply than what I’d already absorbed
by osmosis. He he planned for me to one day replace him as pharmacist… and
ultimately as manager. That was okay with me. I’d found his puttering and
muttering while mixing this and parsing that fascinating, and I probably
already knew more about that end of the business than most pre-pharm students.
One day as I looked through a
sheaf of credit card charges while searching for a specific one, an unfamiliar
voice called my name.
“Clifton? Is that you, Cliff?”
I turned to regard an oddly familiar
stranger. A handsome, hunky, totally desirable stranger. My mouth dropped as
recognition dawned.
“Greg?”
The beautiful young man
laughed, his generous green eyes crinkling merrily. “It’s okay, I’m still Bunny.”
“You sure are,” I blurted and
grasped the strong hand he thrust at me. “Damn, guy, you’ve grown.”
“Wee bit. But you look the
same. Guess chasing sorority gals around campus has kept you lean and healthy.”
I gave him a return laugh. “It’s
only when you catch them that it can become unhealthy.”
“I’ll take you word for it.
How long you home for?”
I reclaimed my hand, although
I was enjoying the contact. “Gonna work for a year before going back to
Pharmacy School. So I’ll be around awhile.”
“Not me,” the dreamboat in
front of me said. “Heading out to State this fall.”
“Try not to tear up campus too
much.”
“Might need some guidance on
that. Maybe you can give me some pointers.”
“Happy to… anytime.”
He started to move away, but
hesitated. “I’m working at my dad’s lumberyard for the summer… like every other
summer I can remember. Get off around six. If you’re not doing anything, maybe
you can give me some of those pointers.”
A chill ran down my back. “Yeah,
sure. What you wanna do?”
“You still bowl?”
“Some. Probably still beat
your ass.”
“This isn’t a league night, so
why don’t you meet me at the Fiesta Bowl at eight, and I’ll make you eat those
words.”
“You’re on.”
I couldn’t help but watch as
he moved down the aisle toward the prescription counter where my father was
working. The kid had to be a jock. Way he moved, graceful, self-assured… sexy.
Thankfully, the cashier’s
counter shielded me as Mrs. Mooseburn walked up, otherwise it would have been obscenely
obvious how intrigued I was by that Li’l Honey Bunny.
*.*.*.*.
Wonder if Cliff
had explored his own sexuality before Bunny caught his fancy… unexpectedly, it
seems. He has to be… what 22 or 23 to have graduated from college, so surely he
has. But who knows.
Website and blog: markwildyr.com
Email:
markwildyr@aol.com
Facebook:
www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr
X: @markwildyr
Now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!
Mark
No comments:
Post a Comment