Westlake (sister act)

It is November and it is perfect and I am waiting on my front steps for Renae,  The sweet gum tree in the front yard is always the last to turn every year. State was a week ago. I have not seen the college girls’ next door undress since that time. Every night I have been talking with Renae. Every afternoon at four I brew a cup of coffee. Every night we alternate between calling each other. Every night the only thing I think about is Renae, during the day, think about her when I arrive to school and am showering after early bird PE. Thinking about her as I walk to home room and seat next to Brian Pitcher, awaiting the drilling sneeze of the bell to reverberate to excuse us between classes, thinking about Renae Holiday as I shuffle into Miss Peabody’s mathematic for masochists class where I am one of only five who chose not to drop out, thinking about her as I walk between classes,  punching my locker which opens every time I hit it (for a week anyway) bartering my Algebra book for my history text, walking the converse route as so I don’t pass coach Ricca’s classroom, seated in Mr. Mann’s class, hearing Aron Rothmann and Eric Brushman talking shit in the back row while Coach Mann orchestrates us through the encore of history al the while my thoughts drooling over Renae as I amble back to my locker, twisting the combination of the nipple lock to gain entrance, trundling down to cool Joe Thomas’s BIO class, looking at Angelina Lighthouse who is dating a football player, thinking of Renae Holiday as Cool Joe Thomas adjusts his toupee and relays another anecdote sans teaching. 
 

 Again I wait on the only front porch I have ever known.

It is our second official date.

It is November and it and it is perfect. The Firebird  rolls up in front of my house with a snarl, the side wing opening up, Amy stepping out. As with the first Rivermen game the back seat it packed with Laura and Kristi and Renae. Amy is at the front seat. Renae's cool dad is at the helm. It has been two weeks since I last saw Renae.  The minute the Firebird takes off, screeching into the opposite direction we are holding hands.  Groping each other with the tips of our fingers.  I like Renae Holiday’s dad. He cracks me up. As I get in the backseat Kristie and Laura I wonder how Amy, somehow always riding shotgun. It is 30 MPH down Western. It feels like Mr. Holiday is driving 60.

“Sorry we’re a little late but we stopped at a different house first so Renae could see her other boyfriend, the one with the car and all the money, first.”

 Renae says Dad so that is sounds like a three second police siren.  Mr. Holiday looks back at me and comments how come every time he sees me I’m always in the back seat of a hot car with three or four different hot girls.

 Renae is still blushing. I want Renae Holiday's dad to like me.  I want to make an ice-breaker that will melt into acceptance. I want him

 “So, Mr. Holiday, I hear you’ve bungee-jumped and sky-dived. I've always wanted to try it. I've heard it's quite exhilarating.”

Mr. Holiday responds back to my innocuous query with what sounds like a rabies-stricken  growl.

“It’s Larry!! I don’t call you Mr. David do I?”

I make the mistake of calling him Mr. Howard. He scowls at me. I apologize three times in a row.

 

The girls are wearing makeup. They are collectively blushing in the back seat. Laura openly inquires if anyone caught Melrose Place last week . The girls all swoon when they state that Grant is so hot. Grant wears boots I am wearing now. I am trying to grow my sideburns out to look like Jason Priestly. I have still been going through a cylinder of Aqua Net a week.



We drive down Farmington road. The route to Westlake is pretty much unanimous.  We take a hard right at Sterling Hill at the entrance to the Nuclear Woods. We blaze past the corner of Sterling and Nebraska, past Newman gold course, past the Taco Bell where Patrick got his second flat tire the day we dared each other to ride our bikes out to the Tricentneial  playground and then somehow ended up at Northwood's mall. Larry is driving fast. His car has clutch and he palms it forward w/out thinking. Twice we have already sprinted through two yellow light ready to yawn into a flaring red.

Every time he speeds through a transitioning yellow the girls cup their hands around their lips and squeal in giddy elation.

“So Dave, All the girls say that you want to be James Dean. You certainly have the hair.”

I want to tell him that I have the boots and almost have the sideburns too only I refrain.

Renae is next to me. I have been running my hand against the bottom part of her jeans.  Twice I have endeavored to grasp her hands and twice she has craftily evading the touch of my fingers.

"Yeah, I like James Dean. He's like really cool."

I continue to rub my fingers on the side of her jeans. She gives me a look telling me that her father who doesn’t like me is in the car. She then smiles.

 

“You know Dave, the thing about James Dean is that he died really young.”

“Yeah, he also drove like a madman.”

I shoot Mr. Don’t call-me- Mr. Larry Holiday a look. He smiles.

 “Well played Dave. Well Played.

Near Pizza Inn the mall rises in sight like a sandy plateau. A song I like by G'NR comes on the radio. I ask Mr. Holiday to turn it up. I tell him that I like this song. 

 

            “Well, do you know who wrote the original?” Larry inquires.

 

            I shake my head, grope Renae’s slender fingers into a tight squeeze.

 

            “It was Bob Dylan.” Mr. Holiday, call me Larry, says once again.

Larry Holiday adds that a couple of weeks ago he was at a bar while you all were at a listless Hockey game and they had the Bob Dylan 30^th anniversary concert on Pay Per view and they did this song for an encore and the whole place went wild.

I try to banter and give Larry shit, I say what 30 years, so your were like in grad school when Dylan gave his first concert.

He looks back at me and says I should feel free to stand in front of the Firebird after he drops his daughter off at her other boyfriends house. Renae says dad again.

He swerves into the neon Lights blanketing  Westlake Center dropping us off in front of Book Emporium. I am the perfect gentleman. Something feels wrong when I address him as Larry instead of Mr. Holiday. When I step out of the car I protrude his hand. I make the mistake of calling him Sir. I tell him that it is a pleasure to see him again sir before catching myself again, calling him Larry.

Larry looks back at me.

“Well I’ll shake your hand only if you promise to keep it off my daughter later on tonight.”

 
From behind me I can hear Renae saying another outdrawn and nasal Dad.

“Just shitting with you Dave. You kids have fun. I’m gonna go drink beer.” Her father extends his hand in my direction. I shake his hand. Her father skydives. He curses, He drinks beer and doesn’t go to church. He laughs. He drives a sweet ass car. He has a daughter who is hot as hell.

“Don’t mind my dad, he just likes messing with people.”

I like him. I think he is a cool guy.

Renae squeezes my hand.

                                                                    ***

 

                                                                  ***

The moment Mr. Holiday drops us off  at Westlake center pulling a youie and driving off I find Renae’s hand clasped in mine.  Kristie's boyfriend Tim is waiting for us near the sunken Japanese garden outside of the Movie theater. Tim, as always, seems rather reticent. I walk up to him like we are old chums and state that its kind of nice seeing him outside the arc of a hockey arena for once. Tim greets my salutation with a laconic nod. Renae is squeezing my hand tight. She is smiling. She is saying that she missed not seeing me. She is saying that it is good to hang out once again. 

 

 
Westlake is facing the mall as if going to commerce war. There is Showbiz pizza and Toys and Kids are Us. There is Book Emporium with a five rows of magazines and a comic book waterfall on the back of the store. On the far end is a Walgreens. The opposite end is a Chi-chis. The movie theatre is located in the center and back. The movie is over an hour a way. Darkness is the color of a film negative. We head the opposite direction, across the congested blitzkrieging traffic of Sterling avenue.


We head for the mall.

Renae and I are holding hands.  We have yet to kiss. I try asking Tim how Lee is doing. Tim retorts back with a stuttered grunt.

“I've always liked Lee. He’s a cool guy.”

Tim is still reticent. He is wearing a hat with the name of a country singer I have never heard of before. Every time he notices that my limbs are draped around Renae he scowl’s as if I have just intentionally fucked with his deer stand

As we enter the mall we always do a loop without stopping into a retail store.

 

“It’s like our two week anniversary. We’ve been officially dating for 14 days.

Renae smiles.

 

“I’ve missed you.” I tell her again. I tell her that now that cross-country is over  I’ll probably being seeing a lot more of her.

She says the same, now that she is finished with band.

We hold hands.

"I wonder why your dad dropped us off at Westlake instead of the mall knowing that the movie was still over an hour a way?"

“I don’t know. I think it was probably just closer to the bar he wanted to drink at. he already stopped down at Hammers after work.”

“I mean, he’s okay right?”

“Larry drinks all the time. Renae says.

I give her hand a little squeeze. I still can't get over how Renae refers to her parents by their first name all the time.  She changes the subject.
 
"I have a CD I want to get." Renae says.

 
 
 

We walk into the JR’s. The CD’s are arrayed alphabetically. The tapes are smashed into the wall in one continuous horizontal waterfall. I tell Renae that I have almost collected everything ever produced by Depeche Mode in the last three months, ever since the elusive Dawn Michelle informed me that the only song she would dance to at Stage II  was JUST CAN’T GET ENOUGH by Depeche mode.

“You would love their earlier stuff. There’s a European flair.  It sounds like you are driving a chevette down a road in burgundy France while watching the last slants of sun whisper and dance out into oblivion.”

Renae doesn’t comment, I walk past enya which is listed in New Age. I see the Alice in Chains CD which has what looks like the sandpaper vagina I saw while watching makeshift porn in Mattoon. When I hold up the TORI AMOS CD that I have been listening to in the fashion of an analyst and a sofa every night Renae says she has never heard of her. In the back of the store Tim and Kristi are looking at posters.  Amy is shuffling through rap Cds with explicit lyric patches on the front.  Tim finds a poster of Garth Brooks and calls Laura over where she lets out a little celebratory skip.

“I can’t understand their affinity for country music. It just seems weird.”

Renae smiles. She is looking for the Shakespeare Sister CD. She says she listens to the song Stay after we get off the phone.

 

“I dubbed the song off the radio. It’ll be nice just to go home and play repeat and think of you.”

 

I want to tell Renae that I love that song, that I used to listen to it on Channel Z incessantly last spring when I started learning French and acting in community theatre.

I squeeze her hand.  It is coming. Sometime this night we will end up caressing again. Sometime in the draining nanoseconds of the next hour we will feel our bodies brush up against each other. Because I am severely addicted to the art of voyeur espial with eth college girls next door I can’t help but haplessly fantasize what color underwear Renae is wearing. I have the Gideon bible in my right pocket, the bible Aron Rothman went out of his way to pilloried me in front of the entire class, the bible that my belief system has been pillared around. I am trying to be a gentlemen. I am trying to quash lascivious bubbles of lust erupting from my torso like a recently poured carbonated beverage. Renae is flipping through CD.s’. It occurs to me that Reane is the hottest girl I know. That most of the cheerleaders at Manual look like Grateful dead Gummy bears. That Renae is lanky in an almost modelesque way. She bends over again. She is wearing denim washed jeans that looked ironed plus black shoes that clack in tandem with my boots. She is wearing her white igloo-white Limestone jacket with the blue and white collar and the words 95 in the corner and MARCHING BAND in back.

 

“Here it is!” She says, holding the CD up. They look like twin methed-out mimes. One is wearing a sorority sweater with the words SEX vertically embroidered down the  front.  She pays for the Cd and the group filters out, almost single file. Laura makes a point to remind us that we should be heading back across Sterling since we don't want to miss the movie.

It is less than two weeks before Thanksgiving. The mall has all their ornaments on display Christmas village is already built with the sign promulgating Santa’s arrival via Black Friday.Laura is walking ahead of us. Tim and Knock out Kristie of the ittiy-bitty titty committee are holding hands but look like they don’t even know each other. We have yet to kiss. Renae's taut denim waistline is buckled against my hips. She has her Shakespeare Sister CD in one hand. I have my arm ladled over her shoulder  and, as once happened in a popcorn tub at the end of time, it feels as if our nails are biting into each other.  We are walking slow. Christmas songs are already beginning to play  Laura comments that we should really be heading back over to Westlake to catch the movie even though we are unsure what movie we want to see. Tim and Kristie agree, nodding like an Amish couple. We are walking past one of the jewelry stores, are hands still welded into one. Laura is the first to exit the door. Tim and Kristie follow. I have been speaking to Renae every day on the phone for the past two weeks. The last time I saw her was when I left prematurely at the Rivermen game and we kissed each other goodbye.

“I avoid the mall like the plague the day after thanksgiving.” I tell Renae.

“I don’t. I love it. I will be in Chicago. We will be in Oak Brook shopping.”

 
“This is really nice.”

I tell her that it is. I tell her that I love her friends. I tell her that I always have a good time every time the gang hangs out. Renae says no.

“It’s nice that Hale isn’t here.” Renae adds that she can’t stand him

“He’s my best friend.”

“I thought David Best was your Best friend?”

“He is too. All me best friends are named David.

“What’s wrong with Hale? I mean like he’s my brother.”

Renae doesn’t answer. We are in front of the Upper level entrance of Northwoods mall. I am wearing the boots I love. I am wearing a vintage 70’s leather jacket that belonged to my father which I found in the closet.

 

                 

 

I swivel my boots. We looks like we are dual emblems on top of a wedding cake. I tell her it is really nice seeing her again. Even though her name is Renae I call her Ray. We our facing each other. She is a tall girl but she is an inch shorter than me.Standing face to face it is more than obvious that our genitals our touching through out jeans. Before I know it my right hand is behind her short blond tresses. It is like I am trying to palm a basketball with one hand. I reel her even closer. Her eyes are closed. My opposite hand is behind her back, on top of her extremely stonewashed denim jeans, as if I am trying to verify some sort of panty line.  Our lips touch. My eyes are still open. Renae's succulent tongue is unrolling behind my lips like a red carpet kicked out of a celebrity limousine. I slip her mine. In a weird way we are inside each other.  I am supposed to be caught up in the moment but the only thing I can think about is how the last time I slipped someone the tongue it was on stage at Peoria Player’s and inquisitive fire hydrant sized Betsy asked me if I thought I would ever slip Dawn the tongue.

The Kiss is long. We are making out right in the entrance of Northwoods Mall.

The first time we kissed at the Riverman game when I was saying goodbye and Hale was with us and Hale stated that we had to leave early. The muscles in both hands simultaneously contract and I reel both the denim hemisphere of her lower back and her head further into my body. We can’t stop kissing. We have been assaying the interior of the other mouth via our lips for over a minute. The clattering of pre-holiday customers skidding past us. It is not even Thanksgiving and someone is already ringing that damn Salvation Army bell soliciting donation near the door.  My eyes are closed. We are still kissing. Our bodies are tugging at each other as if to stay afloat. I feel two hand cross and form a bridge behind my back. We can’t stop kissing, It is our own private lexicon. I swear I hear someone behind us say amen. My eyes are still closed. I am waiting a hallelujah. I then hear a grumble. I then hear the words a followed by hymn followed by the sound of someone gurgling with gravel.

“Love birds!!!”

 I look back, pulling my lips in the opposite direction of that of Renae's. It is Laura. She has her head propped inside the door.

“We are like so going to miss movie. While we’re young, huh.”

I look back. Renae eyes are closed. She is still smiling.

There is no tub of popcorn and yet we give each others hand a poignant squeeze.

“I really missed you,” I tell her, looking at her for the first time as my hot girlfriend.

She volleys back a smile. She says the same.


                                                                                     ***

 

                                                                                 ***

It is the movie that everyone has already seen three or four times. It is the movie that came out four months ago and was a sleeper summer hit. It was the movie whose plot is all but predictable. It is the movie that is overtly cheesy yet still provokes an audience reaction. It is the movie that was initially was projected to flop.

We walk into the same theatre where I saw Last of Mohicans with Hale all of a week ago. We have not refrained from touching in some time-signature the entire time we have been together. We are squeezing each other’s palms as if we are trying to extract juice.

This is our first bona fide movie as a couple.  Unlike when we saw School Ties there is no David Best. Unlike our last official date there is no David Hale. Unlike the Rivermen games the lights will be dimmed. We will be holding each other. Mentally I can’t stop thinking about the succulence of Renae’s lips. I can’t stop thinking about her taste. I can’t stop thinking how her body feels when it is osculating above my chin. I can’t stop looking at the way her eyes backward wink into themselves every time she is about to kiss.

Laura is still looking at us like she is pissed. 

Laura sits in front of us. She comments how she has seen this movie twice and that she can never get sick of watching it.

Tim is still reticent. He is wearing thick glasses. I have no clue why Kristie of the Itty-bitty-tittie committee sees in him. They still are holding hands and not talking,  seated two crimson rows ahead of us in the theatre. Laura is seated in the same row.  Kristie has not spoken to me in the slightest since Mr. Holiday dropped us off, told me all about Bob Dylan then told me he was going to go out and drink beer.

 

We sit next to each other. She smells brand new,

Amy sits in the front seat.

 The movies at Westlake are a buck compared to almost seven at the current releases.  The moments the lights blink dim our fingers attack each other.  

Every time a nun floats across on screen we feel impelled to kiss.  We can’t get enough of each other.  I can not refrain from biting her movie screen forehead.  She is wearing shoulder pads. My arm is somnolently yielded across her frame.

I cannot refrain from kissing her every chance I get. Every time Renae kisses she looks like she is back floating. The lids of her eyes are sealed. Our tongues are trying to dual each other. We are trying to go deeper. It’s almost like we just cannot get enough of the others scent. We can’t stop kissing. It is like we are attacking other in the closed lids of the movie theatre, a beam of light streaming a comet of  light behind our forehead casting images on the screen. We can’t stop kissing. We are trying to reel our bodies into the other using our lips. The fashion in which Renae closes her eyes looks like she is trying to jump into an unknown chasm.

And we can’t stop kissing.

And we can’t stop endeavoring to unbutton each other lips using our tongue. Her lids closed. I can’t stop being enraptured with Renae. I can’t stop thinking about how in this moment she is everything I have ever wanted. I can’t stop thinking that it doesn’t matter that I have somehow failed. That it doesn’t matter that I have struck out two consecutive years in a row in the Young Columbus. That it doesn’t matter that I ran all summer and ended up not making sectionals. That it doesn’t matter that things didn’t somehow work out between myself and Dawn or Anastasia or Andrea. That it doesn’t matter that we have a democrat in office now.  That at this moment,. My decade and half body has achieved an aesthetic zenith of greatness.  

I can’t stop looking at Renae.


It feels like every time we come up for air we are somehow being deprived of Oxygen so we make out again.  I can’t stop squeezing the lithe contours of her palm.  I can’t stop making out with her ear.  Somehow after all this time it was somehow her I was destined to find. Somehow after all this time she was the one.

And we can’t stop kissing.

 I have an erection. It looks like a complicate weight room lifting set is slowly being erected in the center of my jeans.
 
 

We pause making out once during Salve Maria. I am audacious. There is no one seated behind us. With my left hand I lose myself beneath the denim warmth that is the bottom of her kneecap. My right shoulder I swoop.  I am lifting her up. She is levitating. She is on my lap. My erection is spouting up like a perpendicular oil pipe. She can feel parts of my body that are foreign to both of us pressing up against the bottom of her things., She is on my lap. We can’t stop making out.

 

Renae pauses. A fat nun on screen is talking about why she chose to become a nun rather than an airline stewardess.

 

“This feels really good.” Renae says to me.

It is an hour into the movie. I kiss her again not realizing in less than an hour she will be gone.

 

 

 

                                                                          ***

After the flick we go outside. Mr. Holiday is to pick us up. There is a sunken Japanese Garden in the middle of Westlake shopping center

It’s cold. Renae says, saying burr again. She is shivering.

“Here,” I take not of her hands like a anatomical conch. I blow on them. I am wearing a button up shirt with a side pocket I place my glasses in when I don’t want to appear like a nerd. I unbutton my shirt. I take Renae’s hand and place it on the bare semi-warmth of my hairless chest

“I have a speech tournament tomorrow at Bradley.”

I think about Dawn kicking ass. I think about I have no clue just where the fuck Dawn is. 

Renae asks me what I'll be doing tomorrow to which I imminently retort informing her that I am going to be thinking about her all day baby. She blushes and then says no, for real. I tell her nothing.

"I'll probably being going over to my help my dad clean out the gutters at Grandma's."

Both Laura and Amy are looking at me. Every time we make out Amy tilts her head a different direction. Laura has a  caricatured pointer-finger in agape mouth look sewn to her face insinuating that she is going to vomit.

 I press her hand in towards my heart even closer.

“The pulse of my heart will keep you warm, baby.”

Renae is looking at me with an almost shock affixed to her lips. I let go. She leans in my direction. We are making out once again. After a minute she steps back.

“We don’t see each other enough. I wish you went to Limestone then we could see each other everyday. We could share a locker. We could meet each other for make-out sessions between class and after school.”

I can’t believe Renae is saying this. When I was in 8^th grade I asked my dad if I could go to Limestone.

“Best of all, I could see you more than just once a month. I could see you everyday. We could be together all the time.”

I don’t know how to respond to Renae’s assessment of our relationship excepts by kissing her.

 

I kiss her long.

 The gray November wind rakes over in thick strokes of grace.

I make a promise to her in the wooden Chinese garden outside Westlake cinemas. I tell her that, even though I may only see her physically a couple of times a month, when she needs me, I will always be there to keep her warm.