[lit-ideas] Life's little lessons.
- From: "Mike Geary" <atlas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- To: "LIT-IDEAS" <lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Fri, 20 Aug 2004 20:38:55 -0500
When I was in the seventh grade, I came into possession of a switchblade. I
can't remember how it came to me, but it was quite a coup, guy-wise. No one
else in the whole school -- St. Anne's grammar school -- owned a
switchblade. It was like I was the only guy who'd done the puberty thing:,
i.e., pubic hair and a big dick. Before then John Isley was the big dick
guy. I don't know that any one actually got a gander at his Johnson to
confirm our beliefs, but he certainly had a deep voice. That and the fact
that he was a foot taller than all the rest of us and actually had an Adam's
apple that you could see move up and down had firmly established him as the
alpha male. God, we envied him. But that was Sixth grade. He didn't
return for Seventh and suddenly, I was the envied one. Even John Isley
hadn't had a switchblade to flip out and flick, lightning fast: danger!
Whoa. We're talking magnitudes of beyondness. Go ahead, fellas, call one
another names, push and shove, wrestle in the dust. Just remember, I have
here the key that'll open your guts. Even the girls seemed impressed.
Elaine, the female John Isley of St. Anne's, even took up talking to me.
She had heard. Word gets around. All right, then! So, I humored her, what
the hell? Sure, I've got it on me. What did she think, I kept it in a
drawer? Could she see it? No way. Pleeeease. No. But there's something
about a woman getting up close to you and breathing on you and talking real
tender-like, even if the woman's only 13. OK. Yes. I agreed, yes, to let
her, yes, take it home for the night, yes, and yes, oh, yes, she could,
yes, but she had to swear to God to bring it back in the morning. I'm sure
my motives were somewhat less than pure, but I entrusted my manhood to that
incredibly desirous woman -- though I wasn't entirely sure just what that
desire entailed, not precisely, though I had heard some rather interesting
overall accounts, interesting indeed, but as always, the devil is in the
details. Of course that was the last I ever saw of my switchblade. She
said her father, who was a cop, found it and took it away from her. I
didn't believe her, but what could I do? Confront her father? I was a sap
and the whole world knew it. Mr. Big Stuff, who do you think you are? I
wish I could say I'd learned something in the intervening years.
Mike Geary
reminiscing in Memphis
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