I trust everyone had a good week. Thursdays are kind of strange days, aren’t they? One of the anticipatory days. The day before the work week ends. Two days before the weekend begins. Don’t know why I picked a Thursday to do my blog posts, but that’s the way it worked out. Let’s try another short-short story this week.
A LOOKER, NOT A DOER
Jimmy Worley was a looker, not a doer. A geek. A dork. Worse, a doofus, although he wasn’t sure what the difference was. Like he was already a high school senior and still called Jimmy. Worse, Jimmy Boy by his mother. What it would take to become Jim? Would he ever reach James? In his obituary maybe.
But he was more or less content to sit in the back or off to the side and just watch. Now, from the rear of the classroom, he imagined being BFF with jock Dave Brill and chillin’ with prom queen Susan Smith. Never happen, of course. Except in his head.
He particularly liked watching girls. Nice and soft and … well, squeezable. Or so he imagined. Even from a distance, he could tell a lot about them. He knew which ones wore falsies and which ones didn’t. Doris was wearing a pad this morning, and it wasn’t her bitchy attitude that clued him. Zelda was limping. Probably a blister from the tennis court yesterday. Miriam’s honeysuckle aroma drifted two rows back to tickle his nose.
A recent transfer gave him someone new to case. Great, because he’d figured out all the other girls. Her name was Beatrice, shortened to Bea. She was kind of a loner, too, but you couldn’t call her nerdy. Somewhere between bobby-soxer and egghead. Did the guys still say bobby-soxer, or was that just his mom’s word? Bea was fly. A short freckled nose, but still definitely fly. He like her ears. The way they lay close against her head. Short hair. Blonde…but not quite blonde. Ash, maybe. Nice eyes. Blue? He dreamed about chirpin’ with her like a regular guy. Like a dude with his girlfriend. A shiver ran down his back.
One day, as he sat alone at a table in the far corner of the cafeteria, the new girl walked in. He watched Bea fill her tray and turn to look around uncertainly. His belly fluttered as her eyes lighted on him. And then … and then she started walking in his direction. He thought for sure she’d swerve. Take a seat somewhere else. But no. She walked past two empty tables to stand in front of him.
“Hi, can I join you?” Nice voice.
“Uh, sure. If you’re sure you want to.”
She slipped sideways into the chair without pulling it out. Kinda graceful. “My name’s, Bea.” She held out a small hand. He wiped his on a pant leg before taking it.
"Jimm—” He swallowed. “Uh, Jim.”
“Hello Jim. I hear you’re into photography.”
“Uh, yeah, sure. I dig the camera. How’d you know that?” He blinked at her lipstick. Orange. Well, not exactly orange, but he’d have chosen something different for her.
“I heard it around. What kind of camera do you use?”
“My granddad’s old Leica. He brought it back from Germany…you know, after the war.” Maybe her nose was a bit too short.
“How interesting. It still works?”
“Better’n most they make today. The Germans were great at lenses.” Jeez, was one of her boobs bigger than the other? “Uh, what kind do you use?”
“Oh, I don’t know anything about taking pictures. Maybe you could show me one day.”
“S…sure. Maybe.” Violets. Her scent was violets. Violets made him sneeze. His nose started to itch.
“How about Saturday? I’m free Saturday afternoon.”
“I…uh. Sorry, but I gotta bounce. Catch you later.”
Sweat flooded his armpits as he scrambled to his feet and swept up the luncheon tray, almost dumping dirty dishes on the floor. He turned and fled.
Jimmy Worley was a looker, not a doer.
This remind you of anyone you knew back in high school? Hope you enjoyed it.
Next week: We’ll see.
New posts are published at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday.