Outtakes Of A Walking Mistake by Anthony Paull Read Free Book Online Page B

think-tank running on empty, I search my brain and finally hear the ghost of Jenny, coaxing me to flatter him. “I’m not popular like you. I don’t have a lot of friends.”
    And just then, a glimmer of hope is revealed, or at least a dull sparkle, as Billy shrugs his broad shoulders and succumbs to my request, waving me over to a tall cypress tree, where in the shade he tells me the one thing every hopeless romantic needs to hear at least once: “Forget about the trunk. You can have the back seat…but you have to duck.”

Scene 6
    It’s funny; when you find yourself in a superb place, one in which you never dreamed possible, you will do almost anything to keep from messing it up. Yes, even if it means keeping your mouth closed no matter how much you want to scream to the world that your life feels a tad better, you shut your fat trap in fear that saying the wrong thing might wake you.
    Like now, taking a route through the Mennonite sector of Rivershore, chock-full of baby blue cottages and women in dresses on bicycles, there are so many things I’d like to share with Billy except I don’t feel he wants to talk. So I spare telling him that I feel like a petulant, married couple because he’s making me sit in the back seat; I simply marvel in the thought he loves me enough to fight me.
    “Don’t touch anything back there,” Billy instructs.
    We take a sharp right down a busy city street in his black Volkswagen coupe when I notice a stack of Xeroxed articles on nutrition, where the tiny print instructs readers to eat a rainbow each day.
    No wonder Billy’s in perfect shape; he’s a rainbow muncher. Just observe the car floor, how it’s piled with cups from the local smoothie shop. Oh, how I’d love to offer him my own personal fruit platter: my naked body garnished with red globe grapes, kiwi, and spiced plantains. I’d exhaust him, I would. But he’d have to be in the right mood, not like now, where irritated, he takes a phone call, saying no, he doesn’t want to talk about the audition. “How’s mom?” he asks. His tone is sharp like the thorns in the rose garden growing beside an Amish restaurant we pass.
    With the urge to sneeze, I focus on the restaurant’s billboard, where red letters spell HOME OF THE PEANUT BUTTER PIE!
    “What do you mean?” Billy says. Growing angry, his voice thickens. “Then when will we know?” He rubs his forehead, as I clasp my nostrils. Still, there’s no use.
    “Achooooo!”
    Billy eyes me in the rearview mirror. “Forget it. I can’t talk. Be home later,” he tells the caller. Hanging up, he twists his neck and stares me down.
    “Uh…uh…uh,” I stutter.
    “Bless you,” he snaps, with a watery, distraught look in his green eyes. Then biting his tongue, he turns back to navigate, attempting to wipe his eyes before easing on the gas to make a right turn on Oleander Street – a two-lane road with three speed bumps that dead-ends at Becker Elementary.
    Looking out the window I mutter thanks, but I don’t think he hears me. That’s fine. I know how men are when they’re upset. It’s best to leave them alone since they’re not supposed to have feelings.
    “Hey back there,” Billy says, grabbing my attention as we pass a gated L-shaped pond, left of the Becker Elementary parking lot. A caution sign shaped like a diamond warns drivers to slow down; children are at play. “You’ll have to wait before I get you home. I’m going to see my kid first. That way, I don’t have to drive back.”
    “That’s cool,” I say. Honestly, anything to prolong my time with Billy works; throw me in a snake pit or needle my butt with a pinecone, just make sure Billy is within my line of sight and I’ll be ok. “Should I come with you?” I ask, as we park.
    Already one foot out of the door, Billy hesitates. “I guess,” he sighs. “But don’t….”
    “What?”
    “Just don’t…well, you know.” My man of little words is SO SEXY.
    “I’ll be on my best