FirstLineFiction beta

from Contest #8

"'I wouldn't do that if I were you,' she told me the first time we met."

Col’s comment drew the attention of the four friends congregated around the table they’d commandeered at the Bicentennial Ball.

"You know that chick, Col?” Dalton asked incredulously.

Col shrugged and pretended an interest in the couples gyrating on the dance floor, tapping his fingers to the strains of K.C. and the Sunshine Band’s, 'Shake Your Booty.'

“Spill….” Daniel punctuated the demand with an elbow to Col's side.

Col cast a sideways glance towards the nearby table where the ‘chick’ in question was busy spurning yet another dance invitation.  “You mean you don’t remember her?” he asked. "She went to school with us until her family moved off the mountain.”

“What’s her name, then,” Dalton asked.

“Melanie White.”

“Say what?  Not… Always-Right-White?”

"Yup," Col said.

“Man, Melanie White,” Rich said, flashing a sly grin, “If I'd known she’d turn out to be a brick-house someday, I would’ve paid more attention back then.”

Even if she hadn't turned out to be the most beautiful woman Col had ever seen, it wouldn’t have mattered. He didn’t understand it and probably never would, but there had just always been something about her, as far back as that first meeting, drawing him, like metal to a magnet. He’d noticed her as soon as they’d arrived. Unfortunately, so had his friends.

They’d immediately fell to cataloging her assets as if she were the latest sports car they’d like to buy; indeed, double entendres were rampant - ‘test drives’ and ‘headlights’ and ‘stick shifts’ had all been graphically bandied about, while Col had clenched his fists, and realized he was one catchphrase away from busting them all in the chops.  And how would he explain that!

A distraction had been in order – something they’d always wanted to know and he’d never agreed to tell.

Daniel looked at Col with a puzzled expression, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did she say 'I wouldn't do that if I were you?’”

“I squatted down to pet her dog.”

“And?”

Col raised the stub of his pinkie finger and wiggled what was left of it.

“You mean the dog…”

“Yup.”

As the laughter dwindled, the questions began.

“Are you drunk, Col? Why are you telling us now when we’ve ragged you about it for years?”

Col gave them his signature shrug.

“What kind of dog was it, anyway?”

“Mean,” Col said. There was no way in hell he was going to admit his fingertip was chewed off by a Peek-a-Poo.

“How old were you?”

“Before ya’ll transferred to our school district.  Maybe… nine.”

Dalton eyeballed the pinkie, “It’s not all that noticeable really.”

“Tell that to my mother,” Col said. “She’s always insisted that if it wasn’t for that dog I could have been a concert pianist.”

“I thought you was tone deaf, Col,” Bertram said.

“I am.”

Daniel, Rich, Dalton, and Col chuckled, while Bertram looked from one to the other, perplexed. “Whaaat?”

It was commonly understood among the friends that while the forest making up Bertram’s mind might be a tad dense at times, the fact that his heart was ten times bigger than most was fair compensation.

“So what happened after the dog bit your finger off, Col?” Dalton asked. “Did Always-Right-White say ‘told-you-so’? That’s one thing I can’t stand about women. You know what I think? I think they purposely tell us not to do something, just so we will, because telling us not to do something is like a challenge, you know, and no guy is going to back down from a challenge, right, and then they get to say ‘told-you-so' all smug-like, when it all goes wrong.”

Daniel stalled the beer that was halfway to his lips, squinting at Dalton in confusion. “Huh?”

“Never mind,” Dalton said, waving his hand back and forth as if he were dispersing his friend’s incomprehension like it was the odor that filled the air when someone cut the cheese.

“As a matter of fact,” Col said, returning to the subject at hand, “Melanie got her Dad and they took me to the hospital.”

“Couldn’t they sew your finger back on, Col?”

“They probably didn’t know how back then,” Bertram said.

Col grimaced. “They couldn’t have sewn it back on anyway.”

“How come?”

“The dog ate it.”

The raucous laughter at their table drew stares from the Ball attendees in their vicinity, a fact that had little effect on the friends and their revelry.

“Hey, Col,” Rich asked. “Do you think she remembers you?”

“How should I know? I haven’t talked to her since I was fourteen. Not that I talked to her much anyhow.”

“No duh?” Daniel said with a smirk, while the other three friends nodded their heads in agreement. It wasn’t much of a secret that despite his verbosity among friends, Col turned into a tongue-tied idiot around women.

“But there was this one time I went fishing with her brother Jeb…” Col’s voice trailed off as he took a swig of his beer.

“And?”

“Melanie always tagged after her brother and me to the creek, you know. It didn’t bother me none, or Jeb either for that matter, but I guess her Dad didn’t like it, so he told Jeb not to let her come anymore.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Well, we were halfway to the creek one day when Jeb turned around and spotted her hiding behind a bush. He hollers at her a couple times to go on home, but she kept standing there. So, I…”

“You what?”

“I, uh… threw a rock at her.”

“You threw a rock at her?” Bertram repeated, frowning.

“She wouldn’t go back, Bert,” Col tried to justify.

“Still… throwing a rock… at a girl,” Bertram said, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I know. I ain’t proud of it.”

“Did you hit her?”

“Course not.”

“You missed?”

“I wasn’t trying to hit her, Daniel.”

“Did she go home then?”

“Yeah.”

“Then what?”

“Then her brother rearranged my face.”

“I don’t blame him. I’d punch you out too if you threw a rock at my little sister.”

“Were you still friends after?”

“Sure we were. All Jeb said was, ‘I had to do that you know’ and I said, ‘Yeah I know’ and then we went on down to the creek and caught five big trout that day.”

Suddenly Dalton nudged Rich, “Look! Anthony Blaha is headed over there.”

“Ole Blah Blah,” Rich said. The friends watched Anthony receive the same treatment as the last five men who’d had the nerve to ask her to dance. A regretful shake of her blonde head, softened by a friendly smile that stayed glued to her lips until the petitioner had left her angelic presence.

“Man,” Dalton said, “Women sure do have it made.”

“You think?” Bertram said.

“Sure do. I mean, look at them. All they have to do is sit there and wait for us to do all the asking. You think one of them would have the guts to risk the kind of rejection we have to endure every day of the week. The species would die out if the tables were turned.”

“Don’t have a cow, man,” Daniel said.

“No,” Rich said, “Dalton is right. They’ve got it made in the shade! Like - they can go out to dinner and a show every night of the week and still come home with the same five bucks they had to begin with.”

Col couldn't help but crack up right along with his friends.

Thus began a round of one-upmanship predicated on the most outrageous stereotypes the friends could think up and hilarity radiated from their table for a good twenty minutes.

“They can turn a $19.99 investment in a mini skirt into a thousand percent return in jewelry.”

“They never have to do anything gross, because all they have to do is breathe deep a few times and a man will be happy to do it for them.”

“They can cry at sad movies and no one calls them a wimp.”

“You cry at sad movies, Bert?”

“Course not. What gave you that idea?”

The friends howled, all except Bertram. “Whaaat?”

“They can get out of a speeding ticket by talking all low and breathless and getting teary-eyed – like this,”Daniel demonstrated, “Oh, Officer, was I really speeding?”

“But... you’re a cop, Daniel,” Bertram said.

“Yeah, I know.”

“They can watch a guy in a movie get kicked in the nuts and not even flinch.”

All five of the friends flinched.

“They get to smile that secret smile every time they hear a man say ‘I’ll never understand women’ because they know… you know.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” Dalton said, his hand wafting in the air again.

“They can think like an adult when they’re still a teenager.”

“Christ Bert, whose side you on anyway?”

“They can get out of yard work by running off every time they see a stick screaming, ‘Snake! Snake!’”

“They don’t have to think up stupid names like Snork or Bighead for their friends.”

“Who says that's stupid,” Rich asked, the acclaimed king of stupid name creation.

“They can stop at a gas station and ask for directions without feeling like a weenie.”

“You do that, Col?”

“Uh, only cause my Mother was driving me nuts saying we were lost.”

“Were you?”

“Well, yeah, sort of.”

“They can spend all day in a salon and no one will think they’re vain.”

“Who does that?”

“They do.”

“What does that have to do with anything? What man do you know who does that?”

“Some might,” Rich said in defense of his offering.

“They can have a face lift when they’re forty and not be afraid to tell their friends about it.”

“You thinking about getting a face lift when you’re forty, Dalton?”

“I might. You all seen my Dad. You think I want to look like that when I’m forty?”

“But you aren’t going to tell us about it?”

“I thought I just did.”

They don’t have to hide their romance novels under the couch every time there’s a knock at the door.”

“Good God Bert - You’re killing me!”

“Like you all don’t remember the time we sneaked one of my Mother’s novels out of the house so we could read all the dirty parts.”

“We were twelve, for Christ Sakes!”

“So? We still…”

Rich interrupted, “They never have to clip their nose hair in the morning or check their back to see if that one long hair has grown out again.”

“Hell, we’re putting ourselves down now.”

“They can eat a meal without belching halfway through.”

“This game is screwed.”

“Yeah, it’s degenerated into Bud Babble,” Col said, setting his Budweiser down on the table.

 

“He’s not coming over here, Mel,” Sandy said, patting her friend’s hand.

“I know,” Melanie sighed. “Would it seem forward if I went over there?”

“Mel, it’s 1976, not 1876. If you want to talk to him, just do it.”

“God, men have it made,” Melanie grumbled.

“You think?”

“Absolutely! They can take the initiative, while we have to sit around waiting for them to decide if they will or they won’t. And if a woman takes the initiative, she runs the risk of appearing easy.”

“Why don't you dance with some of these other cool guys?”

Melanie shrugged. “I only want to dance with Col.”

“What’s so great about him anyway? The guy on his left is the fox.”

“Yeah, and he knows it too,” Melanie said. “But Col, he’s shy, and well, you probably won’t believe me, Sandy, but I’ve had a thing for him since I was a kid. When I saw him sitting over there, I swear my heart nearly jumped out on the dance floor and did a disco all by itself.”

“That’s freaky, Mel, but I guess I can dig it.”

“Course I was only twelve the last time I talked to him. He probably doesn't even remember me.”

Melanie stole a glance at the rowdy group of men. They‘d spent the past hour tipping back Budweiser’s and falling all over each other like a pack of hyenas.  Col hadn’t looked at her once.

“By God, Sandy, I am not letting this chance slip by without even trying!”

 

“Holy Mountain Man, I think she’s coming over here,” Bertram said in a panic. The gaiety at the table ceased abruptly as the five young men snapped their attention to the woman moving their way, and then just as suddenly looked anywhere, everywhere, except at her.

“She was checking you out, Daniel,” Rich whispered.

“Not me, man, it was…”

Bertram cut him off, “Shhh… shhh…”

“Hello,” she said, smiling at each of them in turn.

“Hey…" “Hi…" ““Hi there…”

“Uhhh…” Col stammered.

She turned her emerald green eyes on him. “Would you like to dance?”

“Me?” Col pointed at himself.

His friends stared at him wide-eyed.

“Uh…”

“Sure he would,” Daniel said, clapping Col on the shoulder and pulling his chair from beneath him so that Col either had to stand up or fall flat on his face.

They weaved their way through the crowd and when they reached the dance floor Melanie stopped and turned into him. The next thing he knew she was in his arms and they were slow dancing.

“You remember me, Col?”

His mouth felt like a balled up sock was stuck in it. “Mel… Melanie,” he croaked, trying not to choke on the sock.

She laid her head down over his heart. Her hair smelled like the honeysuckle vines that climbed into the trees on the mountaintop. He stumbled, nearly stepping on her foot.

“Sorry,” he said, “I don’t dance much.”

“I like this song.” She began to sing along with Peter Frampton’s ‘Baby I Love Your Way,’ real low and soft as if she were actually singing it to him.

Lord God Almighty, if this damn song didn’t end soon he was going to burst into a fireball right in the middle of the dance floor. Get a grip; you’re not fourteen anymore for pity’s sake.

“How’s your finger?” she asked

“You remember that?”

“I was very upset with Tiffany.”

“Tiffany?”

"My dog – Tiffany - that was her name.”

Col rolled his eyes behind her back, promising himself this was another bit of information he would not be sharing with his friends.

Mercifully, the song ended but instead of separating, she took hold of his arm and led him to the bar.

“You didn’t answer me,” she said.

“Uh, it’s fine.” He held up his pinkie and could have sworn he heard his friends laughing from across the ballroom.

“That doesn’t look bad at all,” she said, taking hold of it and before he could even gulp she'd lowered her head and pressed her lips to the missing tip.

“I probably shouldn’t have done that.”

“Uhhh… ”

“Col, can I show you something?”

When he nodded she said, “Don’t move.”

She walked to the ladies table and he chanced a look at his friends. As expected, they were staring directly at him so Col shrugged and spread his hands out as if to say, ‘Don’t ask me what's happening.'

She returned with a tiny little bag that he guessed was her purse.

“Uh, can I get you a beer or…”

“No, thank you. I wanted to show you…” She pulled her hand out of the bag, opening it slowly to display a white rock about the size of a half dollar nestled in the center of her palm.

Col recognized it instantly. “You… you… kept it?”

“Of course.”

“I’m… uh… sorry about that.”

And then the sudden realization that she was carrying the rock around with her in her purse hit Col like a class five hurricane.

“Your brother punched me afterward.”

“I know. Why didn’t you just tell him?”

“Tell him what?”

With her free hand she flipped the rock over.

Col didn’t have to look at it to know what was there. He’d found the rock a few months before he’d thrown it at her, planning to give it to her, or just leave it someplace for her to find.

His eyes drifted down to the smooth white rock with the quartz cutting through the center outlining the shape of a heart.

“You threw it so that it dropped perfectly in front of me and when I picked it up and turned it over I had the feeling you’d meant it as… as a token of…”

“Of...?”

Melanie shook her head slowly back and forth. “I can’t do everything, Col. If you’re interested, you'll have to finish that sentence yourself.”

Col took a deep breath, “How long will you be here? On the mountain, I mean?”

“I start work at the hospital next week,” she said, smiling.

He smiled back. “Melanie, I'd... uh..."

“Yes…”

“I’d like to... uh... see about finishing that sentence.

“So would I.”

“You would?”

“More than anything.”

Col watched her slip the rock into her bag. He was curious why she carried it around with her, but he had plenty of time to find out… maybe even the rest of his life.

“Would you like to take a walk outside?” he asked, gallantly offering his arm.

“I’d love to,” she said.

He noticed his friends grinning like a herd of fools as they passed by, but Col barely spared them a thought. His destiny was on his arm and maybe, just maybe, she knew it too.

 

“Looks like his brains got scrambled,” Daniel said.

“Women will do that to you,” Rich agreed.

“How would you know?”

“I know!”

“Dream on, man. Dream on."

“I hope he doesn’t lose the other pinkie before he gets back,” Dalton snickered.

“I think he’s already lost something a whole lot bigger than a pinkie,” Bertram said, his eyes twinkling.

“Yeah? What?”

“What you think, Doofus? His heart!”

“Gag me with a spoon.”

“Spaz…”

“Dork…”

“Back-atcha!”

back to Contest #8