Paul's Boutique

Egg Man

That's not to say I didn't have my own share of run-ins with the ladies...I did, I guess, but not quite on Johnny's level.

A lot of times, once dusk settled in and made fielding a baseball a lot more dangerous than it needed to be, we'd go our separate ways. At least I did. I was the forgotten man at times; always called upon to fill out the infield, but never required for anything beyond that. No sleepovers, or bonding, or a milkshake or anything. I just hopped on my bike like the diamond was a job, and I could go back home to my secret life being awesome at whatever it was I did in the eyes of everyone else. Usually, it was nothing.

I didn't like to stick around after games because I felt like it was just that...sticking around. Getting in the way. I could have a laugh or two, but I didn't want to be the butt of anyone's jokes. There'd be plenty of time for that in September, I figured; why start now? And I grew comfortable with my standing as the summer crept on, showing up with my proverbial lunch box to hit some balls and get some respect before clocking out and having to earn it all again the next day.

On my way out of the park one night, I decided to take the long way home. I went past the swing sets, and heard a voice yelling after me. It was Melissa, a redhead with the twisty curls who was beautiful in an unconventional sense...you saw bug-eyes, I saw someone who would stare at your conversation with intent. She really listened.

She was only a year older, maybe two...I was bad at discerning those details. We'd flirted occasionally in school between classes, but I didn't have confidence in my looks or my words so I never gave any thought to backing up what I was saying. But here she was, noticing me in an uncontrolled environment. She actually wanted to talk to me and spend some time with me!

I set my bike down and copped the swing next to her. We talked about the end of the last school year, and how great the coming year would be. I made some jokes, because I'm uncomfortable in these situations and that's how I deal with them. She hung on the conversation...in fifteen minutes I felt more important than I did in the last six hours of sunlight, snaggin' grounders and sendin' balls over outfielders' heads.

But it was almost time to get home. I offered Melissa accompaniment to her grandparents' house, and she in turn offered to continue our conversation on their patio. I had to call my mom on the cordless phone to get clearance...the whole coming home late thing. Even in August, rules are rules.

And like these situations often evolve into, from my prior understanding, we shifted our lips from talking to kissing. Lots. It felt like hitting a home run in the bottom of the 9th inning on Labor Day in the midst of a pennant race...I could feel the Shea Stadium fireworks going off in the back of my head while the giant "Home Run" apple in the centerfield stands rose up. I don't know how to get into these positions, but I know I could stay there for a long, long time not if I had to, but because I wanted to. It's a way more complex feeling than just wanting to kiss a pretty girl.

Of course, nothing can last forever, and if you're ever gonna learn that fact it may as well be while you're young. Rather than risking falling asleep in Melissa's arms in the cool night air, I opted to call it a night. It seemed abrupt, because goodbyes aren't in my skill set. I pedaled out of the driveway down a road I wasn't accustomed to taking home, all the while replaying her kisses over and over...I almost didn't notice the kapows, but I definitely felt something other than charm oozing down my legs.

It was another kind of nervous the next fifteen minutes. I dropped my bike in my backyard and bolted up the stairs when I got home, ignoring shell fragments now stuck to the bike frame. I didn't even know what to say to my mom...you can't just tell her you spent the last two hours making out with someone. Luckily, my legs said everything...yellow yolk stained my tube socks, and egg whites had dried to my leg hair. What had supposedly been the best night in all of my fourteen years ended up with me being the victim of a drive-by egging. I can deal with the sweat and stink from a long day on the field, but until you've been egged, you don't know embarrassment. Even if right before that you were in an enviable position to most of your friends.

Lyrics.  

Word Count: 830.