If the story below seems familiar it's becuase I ran it on Michaelblackburn.org.
I'm running it here for old time's sake.
circa 1967
I’m walking Mary Ann home.
My heart is pounding away in my chest.
I’ve got to be cool, I think to myself, I’ve got to be like Paul Newman.
“You lived around here long?” I ask, struggling to make conversation.
She’s looking ahead ,“I lived in Thousand Oaks for a while.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that like?”
“Oh, lot’s of rich kids.” We turn the corner onto Alvarado street.
She turns her head three quarters of the way toward me and I look into her eyes, they seem so huge, she smiles.
“Kurt Russell went to school at the same school that I did.”
I light up a cigarette and offer her one, she touches my hand as she takes it.
She cups her hands to light up in the mild spring breeze, I cup her hands with mine, I try to look in her eyes, but she’s concentrating on the smoke.
I’m thinking of the dream I’d had the night after I first met her.
In the dream we are walking hand in hand, in the forest of the San Bernardino Mountains,
She’s standing in a glade, her face is golden, glowing, she’s wearing a white ruffled blouse, with ruffles at the sleeve.
She’s gesturing, she’s beckoning
Then we’re on the beach, Santa Monica, black clouds roll , the sea is dark green and seems to rise to fill the horizon, the sand is gold, it’s soft, she leans toward me, her lips part…
Then I woke up.
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, Jesus Christ, I thought, what the Hell was that all about?
I leave the reverie and look at Mary Ann.
“Hey, you gotta walk on the inside, OK?”
She steps in front of me, smiling.
“Why?”
I think about it.
“Well, if the girl walks on the street side, everyone thinks she’s a prostitute.”
She laughes, it sounds like chimes, those real thin one’s you see on rich people’s porches.
“So you think someone might think I’m a hooker, eh?”
“It isn’t that. I just don’t want anyone to think I’m a pimp.”
She runs a hand across my chin, “you don’t even shave yet. No one’s going to think you’re a pimp.”
I blush, “I shave. I just shave real close.”
She looks serious for a moment. “I like your face; it’s just like a girl’s.”
I’m insulted and scowling.
I walk her to her door and she says, “Come on in.”
The floor is hardwood..
The place doesn’t look like they have a full time maid, but it’s clean.
Edna, her mother, is sipping a beer and sort of watching TV.
She looks me up and down, heavy lidded, bedroom eyes, I swear to God.
I figure she’s about 34, she’s a little plump, but she still looks pretty good.
She bears a remarkable resemblance to Ann Margaret, a popular actress.
“What’s your name?” she says looking over her shoulder.
“Michael, Ma’am.” I reply, hoping to sound like the kind of boy she’d push her daughter to hang out with.
“How old are you, Michael?”
“I’m seventeen, Mrs Monterosso.”
“You look younger. It’s delightful to meet you Michael.” She says and makes sort of a bow and a flourish, using the glass in her hand like a scepter.
There’s a basinet next to her, I walk over and look inside.
“What’s her name?”
Mary walks to my side and puts her face beside mine “Linda Monterosso.”
She reaches into the basinet and scoops the kid out “She’s 3months old.”
She nuzzles her face against the baby.
“Well, I gotta go.” I say, self-consciously.
“Thanks for walking me home,” Says Mary.
“It was a pleasure” I say, a little too emphatically, but no one seems to notice.
I feel completely weightless on the way to the park
Mary Ann, Mary Ann, I’m thinking.
I approach Macarthur Park and Dennis and Eddie are coming towards me.
It’s a weekend, and the park is somewhat crowded.
I throw my arms around Dennis and Eddie grandly, benevolently; I love these two guys, even though I’m hoping to wind up with Eddie’s girl.
We walk through the colonade on the Alvarado side of the park and enter the boathouse.
All the races and nationalities in the world come through this park, and some drift through the boathouse scene.
Some hang out for a while, or month or two, some for years.
Maureen is Mary Ann’s best friend, and they come here from time to time.
Everyone had fights here.
Mary Ann had a fight in this park, for Christ’s sake.
“So Eddie, ” I start, “Mary Ann’s your girlfriend or what?”
“Whatta ya always asking questions about Mary for, Mike?”
“I don’t know man, just trying to make conversation. What’s she like?”
“She’s the Virgin Mary, man”
I blink, “What?”
“She don’t play around. So forget about her, anyway, you ain’t her type.
Ya got me?”
He asks as he “playfully” punches me in the shoulder.
“Yeah, Eddie, sure, not her type. Got ya, Man.”
I had to get home and talk to Maureen, see what kind of impression I was making on Mary, if any.
I made my excuses and shot over to our apartment.
It was a stucco duplex near Sunset Blvd, I hurried inside and entered Maureen’s room, closing the door behind me.
Maureen had a funny kind of grin at the corner of her mouth.
To Be Continued
