I turned, panned the parking lot. Nope, no gleam of glass there. Yes, I must hurry, retrace my steps. But first things first. I placed my litter close to my face, squinted to make out who the note was to.
"My Dear Alicia."
Alicia was the twenty three-year-old Metals student doing a commission for Bob. When she'd first arrived on campus, I wasn't attracted to her--too put together. But then I got to know her, got a crush on her, anyway. Why? Because she was a spoiled brat.
When I was six or seven, I was roller skating in my uncle's huge basement. My privileged ten-year-old cousin, Hayley, had baited her younger brothers and I into a game of roller derby. We were racing in circles when she wound up, planted an elbow in my chest. No, the elbow didn't hurt--I was a tough little bugger, but when I hit the cement floor with my ass, and Hayley laughed, my heart hurt. I had looked up to my cousin; so worldly, so beautiful, and here she was, making the whole world laugh at me.
Though it took years and years--I think it was last year--to come to terms with the psychological impact of roller-derby day, it took but a second or two of playing the fool to get back at Hayley: "I'm going to tell on you!"
I told my mom.
"Anton," my mom said, "Hayley's pretty and privilaged. That can't end well. You, on the other hand, have a nose for sensitivity; a treasure you can take to your grave."
I wiped my nose. "Sensitivity aint nothin', I want real treasure; pirate treasure; toys."
"You got real treasure." Mom dropped my pants, pointed to the birthmark on the back of my thigh. "Thar she blows. No, son, this birthmark in the shape of a heart, ."
Oh, mom's don't understand treasure. So, I ran to dad to tell on Hayley.
"Son," my dad had said, "you want to steer clear of spoiled brats like that. Only trouble can come from a girl born with a silver spoon in her mouth."
We didn't have a huge basement. Where my cousins got every shiny toy in the Monkey Wards catalog to play with, my sister and I got the cardboard box to play in. Where my cousins flew abroad to tour the motherland, my sister and I boarded a bony knee where we got a motherload of fatherly advice.
And where does fatherly advice get a boy? Take that Haley advice. When a boy has not, he blames the provider; his father, and, rebelling, he forever gets a thing for spoiled brats. When a boy has not, the only silver he knows is the little spoon that lives in the sugar bowl, decides that's the silver spoon his cousin's got in her mouth: a birthmark in the shape of a spoon. So the boy goes through puberty with his tongue in the sugar bowl. His sweet tooth keeps him out of trouble, sure, but one cavity leads to another, and before he knows it, the gum bubble crush he has on his cousin has grown into dirigible proportions, and he burns all of Junior High writing odes to her, even though she's been sent away to Lino Lakes.
Of course, Hayley wasn't the same after she got out of Lino Lakes. No, prison really does a number on the pretty and privilaged.
Shaking Hayley out of my head, I got back to my note to Alicia. Squinting, I made out who the note was from. Ah, Beau, a student in Clay. Though big Beau disgusted me--he was the campus Don Juan, his operations had never crossed mine.
"Bastard," I said, crumpling the note. "I'll teach you to cross mine."
Wanting to get madder still, I un-crumpled the note, tried reading it. But I really needed my reading glasses. Ya, and maybe stronger glasses still. No, for a big boy, Beau sure used little-wiener words, ha, ha.
I stopped laughing, for I'd heard my name called out.
I turned. It was Alicia, climbing out of her high school graduation present. How unaware of me; her silver fast-back was sitting right there.
With Alicia approaching, I shoved the note behind my back, took a high interest in some limbs overhead.
I exposed the note. Alicia snatched it out of my hand, waved it in my face. "You shouldn't read this. It's private. Only for my eyes."
I didn't like people knowing I needed reading glasses; let alone a spoiled brat I was getting the major jones for. But this was an emergency; some level of truth was called for. "But I didn't read it." I patted my breast pocket. "See, I lost my glasses--the glasses I use for reading--so I couldn't make out any of it."
"But I saw you reading it."
"No, no reading. What you caught me doing was trying to see who it was addressed to. Ya, so I could return it."
"And that's all you would have read; who it was to?"
OK, so I would have read the entire note. Wait. Maybe this was a plant. Sure, Alicia here, still determined to have me, had dropped the note on purpose. Ya, and all this time she'd been hiding in the wings, waiting for me to come along so she could accost me, make me jealous of Beau.
When a guy finds himself in the drivers seat, he opens a window, sticks an arm out that he might catch a breeze. "OK, Alicia. You got me. I probably would have read your note. Just curious to know who was writing what to Alicia."
Alicia turned a toe all soft and pretty. Which made for some odd theater; seeing how she was dressed in worn out boy clothes. "Thanks, Anton. I mean, for not lying." She hardened. "If you must know, this note is from Beau--big Beau in Clay." She softened. "He thinks my Tennessee accent is sexy." She melted. "What a sweet guy."
Something pressed my chest. No, I don't think it was jealousy, exactly. Probably just my pressing instinct to protect.
"You be careful, Alicia. That Beau; a total gunstock notcher if there ever was one."
"A what?"
"A gunstock notcher. His whole mission is to score. Once he nails a girl, he dumps her."
Alicia didn't say anything.
"Oh, no, I've seen it all too often up here. What I don't get is why you girls are so blind to the Beau's of the world--that pig's got Pig written all over him."
"Beau's no pig. He's cute. Just like a big puppy dog. And, look," Alicia waved her note again, "he writes me sweet little notes. Sweet little notes with clumsy little letters--just like a puppy-dog walks."
"Yah, if you like little wiener dogs."
Alicia didn't hear me; back to turning her toe all pretty on behalf of the dog author of her sweet little note.
"God, Alicia, I hope your not falling for that dog Beau."
Alicia dropped her shoulders. "I'm tempted. Not many men here I like."
Wanting to hear Alicia confess her like of me, I gave her a subtle nudge. "Who besides Beau do you like?"
Alicia stood up straight. "I like Ezra."
Damned Ezra. But, wait; I knew for a fact the professor hadn't taken to Alicia's advances. "Ya, Alicia, and how did that go; you chasing after Ezra?"
"I wasn't chasing after him. I was interested in him--still am. But Ezra made it clear from early on that he's celibate. So, naturally, I didn't want to frustrate him by getting in his space." Alicia presented her southern belle body.
I wanted to say, 'Celibate? Ezra's celibate?'
But first I had to take in Alicia's southern belle. Which wasn't so southern anymore. No, her new look--Seattle grunge--was coming along nicely. Take those bare knees sticking out of her frayed bluejeans. If a guy fuzzed his eyes right, cocked his head left, bare knees looked a lot like bare breasts.
Of course, I couldn't lay eyes on her real breasts, so I barely paused, running my eyes over them. Of course, the fact that they lay there braless required a double take--a take so quick, no girl could detect. And here my eyes were, now, safe on her frayed collar. Which was even better. For that's what loose threads do; they wick the trade winds off a fair neck. No, if there's one thing I was in favor of, it was fair trade.
"Anton, why is Ezra celibate? He wouldn't tell me."
"Celibate?" I said. "Ezra's celibate?"
"Of course; everyone knows that. What no one knows is why."
"Well, here, let me think on it."
I knew Ezra didn't mess with ACCW coeds, but celibate? Perhaps this stamp of celibacy was Ezra's ploy to keep the coeds from hitting on him. But I couldn't concentrate on Ezra just now; not with beautiful Alicia here fondling that note from that weiner dog Beau.
It came to me then; this whole note-thing had been a setup. Clearly, Alicia's primary choice for mate was me. If I didn't bite, she'd go for Beau just to spite me.
When a guy's got a girl in his pocket, he steps back, fixes his gaze on the distant horizon like leading men fix their gaze on the back of the Big Screen. Ya, and then he throws his hair back, says something roguish.
"Sorry, Alicia, got to go. My glasses--the glasses I use for reading; got to find 'em before someone steps on 'em."
Alicia's shoulders dropped. But then she stood up straight. "I'll help you look," she said.
We walked together across the parking lot--walked in silence.
Running out of parking lot, my eye lit on a little friend of mine. Oh, how that little dogwood concerned me. Though alive, it hadn't really grown in all the years I'd worked here. Perhaps I should be watering the little fellow. Ya, that acre surrounding the Red House was full up with big trees--big bullies hell bent on sucking the life out of a little dogwood's root ball. No, put that on your list to do: Water hell out of little dogwood.
****
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