Doing it all Over Again... My Greatest Wish

[whiskynaam]

"What are you talking about?"
"It's bad enough that you're screwing all of my friends but isn't that enough? Have you gotten bored with that and decided to start knocking off the shy egghead girls too? You are serious scum."
"I'm not screwing Nina," I said, looking at my sister aghast. "We were just studying. She's my friend."
"You don't have any girl friends," she accused. "You have fuck partners. Are you seriously telling me that you invited that poor girl over here to study? You didn't take her upstairs for a little private session before we all got home?"
"No," I yelled, shaking my head. "My god, am I that bad?"
"Are you that bad?" she laughed. "Do you know how many relationships you've broken up in the last few months? Do you know that more than four of my friends have dumped their boyfriends after they fucked you?"
"No," I said, and then, "Really?"
"Really." She nodded. "It was kind of cute at first, how all these girls were trying to maneuver to you, to get you to notice them. But you're getting out of hand. I've got girls coming up to me and pretending to be my friend just so I'll introduce them to you. Of course I have to keep it quiet they all say. I just wanna meet him, talk to him a little. Did you know that they all talk about you in the locker room and in the bathroom? Do you know what they say about you?"
"What?" I asked.
"They talk about you the way your friends talk about chicks like Steph. You're a male slut, Billy. They describe what you do to them and how well you do it using the most disgusting terms I've ever heard. They've even asked me if I've done you. Me! Your fucking sister!"
"I'm sorry, Tracy, I never..."
"But you know what they never say about you?" she went on. "They never say how nice of a guy you are or how respectful you are. They never come up to me and say, 'Gee Tracy, your brother is such a sweetheart'. All they talk about is how you'll eat their pussy like a goddam vacuum cleaner or about how you'll fuck them until they scream. They never talk about how they'd like to take you home to meet their mom or about how they'd like to be your girlfriend. They talk about how they can manage to get over to your house again for another session."
"Wow," I said, unsure what to think. Though I'd known that I had a reputation among the girls I had no idea they talked the way Tracy was telling me. I was also disconcerted at my sister's anger about this. The last thing in the world I wanted to do was have her pissed off at me.
"Wow," Tracy mocked. "That's pretty goddam profound."
I sat down on the edge of her bed, setting my backpack full of books down. Tracy turned down the stereo a little.
"I'm sorry, Tracy," I told her. "I didn't know that what I was doing was affecting you. I thought I was just having some harmless fun. And I assure you that Nina and I are just friends. I haven't slept with her and I have no intention of doing so."
She stared at me for a moment. "You know the damnedest thing?" she asked. "The damnedest thing is that you are a nice guy and you are a sweetheart when you want to be. If you were an asshole it wouldn't bother me for girls to talk about you that way but you aren't. It bugs the shit out of me to hear people talk about my little brother that way. You would probably feel the same way if you went into the locker room and the guys were saying how well Tracy sucked dick or how she'd fuck anyone who asked, wouldn't you?"
"Well, yeah," I agreed. Would it bother me? I would want to kill whomever I heard saying that.
"That's how I feel when I hear that," she said. "And I can't even defend you in front of them because it's true. You do fuck anyone who asks."
"I'm sorry," I repeated. I couldn't think of a thing to say to her. I surely wasn't going to say that I wouldn't do it anymore because that would have been a lie.
"Look," she said, "I'm just your sister. I'm not gonna ask you to stop fucking girls. I know you wouldn't do it anyway. But can you maybe tone it down a little? Cut it down to one or two a week? Or maybe hit up some of the other ones more than once?"
I laughed, shaking my head. "I'll try, Tracy. I'll try. But remember, I'm fifteen. I'm at my sexual peak you know."
"Fuck you, dickhead," she laughed back. "I'm sorry I yelled at you, but you deserved it."
"I suppose I did," I agreed.
"You're really not fucking Nina?"
"I'm really not."
"Maybe there's hope for you yet."
So for Tracy's sake I toned things down a little. Also for my own. I wasn't sure I liked being referred to as a male slut. I stopped pursuing women with the vigor I'd exhibited before, instead simply waiting for them to come to me. I also began giving more repeat performances. By the time the snow flew I had, in addition to a new best friend, a small circle of girls that I regularly had sex with instead of a constant stream. It was enough and when one of the girls got tired of the relationship or met someone they wanted to have for a boyfriend, I would covet someone else.
To my surprise Tracy and Nina actually became something like friends. Nina would come over to my house twice a week or so to study and my sister, curious about the type of girl I would choose as a friend, made a point to talk to her each time she was over. Nina was slow warming up to my sister. I knew that this was due to her past treatment by other girls, which was both crueler and longer lasting than the torment she'd suffered from boys. This was something I never would have suspected had she not told me and it disheartened me to think that the fairer sex could be even crueler to their own then boys were.
But gradually Nina lost her shyness before Tracy and even Cindy, who was also a frequent visitor to our house. The two older girls took Nina under their wing and taught her the finer points of fashion, talking her into replacing her plain clothes with more modern ones. They taught her how to put on make-up, accenting her facial features. They taught her how to fix her hair into something other than a ponytail. The change in her appearance was actually startling when you saw it. I was able to see the attractive doctor that she would one day be, although without the perpetually bitchy expression and mannerisms.
And then came the day in early December when a cold winter storm was blowing across the Spokane area. Snow was being driven through the air by gusting winds that registered more than forty miles an hour. As I walked out to the school parking lot towards Cindy's car the snowflakes hit me in the face like little shards of steel, stinging me and making me pull my hood and my scarf tighter around me. Snowdrifts were already more than ten feet high against some of the buildings and the ground was covered in white. If it had been snowing like this in the morning they would have closed the school. Unfortunately the storm hadn't geared up until late morning.
When I got to the place where Cindy's car had been parked I looked up to find nothing. I looked around the parking lot, wondering if I was mistaken about where she'd parked. The wind cut into my face like a knife as I tried to locate the Caprice. It was nowhere to be seen. Other kids were rushing to their cars in groups of two or more, some of them slipping and sliding on the slick pavement. I saw no Cindy or no Tracy though.
"What the fuck?" I muttered, wondering where in the hell they'd gone.
It took me only a minute to figure out that I was stuck here with no other prospect but to walk home. I wondered if I would freeze to death before I got there. And then I spotted Raisin heading for his Falcon. I ran after him.
When Raisin dropped me off in front of my house fifteen minutes later the sight of Cindy's car parked at our curb did not improve my mood. I thanked Raisin and bade him farewell, trudging through the thick snow on the driveway to the front door, uttering foul things under my breath about sisters and friends that left brothers abandoned in a freaking blizzard.
The door was locked so I used my key, stepping into the warmth of the living room, prepared to chew out the traitorous girls. But they weren't there. The television was off, and on the stereo turntable one of my albums was spinning silently around at 33 and 1/3 revolutions per minute, the arm suspended above one of the tracks. A quick glance at the coffee table gave me a pretty good idea what had happened. An opened bag of nacho cheese chips was sitting there along with the remains of some sandwiches and a few candybar wrappers.
They were getting stoned! They'd left me to freeze to death in the snow so they could go home and get stoned. And they'd probably smoked all of the pot before my arrival. The bitches! Where were they now? I began stomping through the house, looking for them.
When I approached the door that led out to the garage I heard girlish giggles coming from the other side. Fumed, I grabbed the handle and pulled the door open. What I saw on the other side made me freeze in my tracks.
Cindy and Tracy were out there all right. The smell of greenbud came wafting over me and there was an actual haze in the confined space. But the surprising thing was who was with them. Nina was there, her mouth applied to the neck of the bong, sucking a hit up through the water while Cindy held the lighter and cheered her.

[whiskynaam]

"That's the way, girl!" Cindy encouraged. "Hit that shit!"
Tracy looked up at me, her eyes half-lidded, a shit-eating grin on her face. "Hey, Billy," she haled. "Glad you got home okay. You want a hit?"
Nina, hearing my name broke off what she was doing, leaving smoke curling from the bong. She saw the dumbfounded look on my face as I stared at her. She held my stare for a moment and then burst out into hysterical laughter, expelling a large cloud of fragrant smoke from her mouth and nose. Tracy and Cindy instantly joined her in hysterics. They were pointing at me as they doubled over in laughter.
They laughed for nearly three minutes as I stood in the doorway and simply stared. I could not believe that they had actually gotten Nina stoned. I could not believe that she'd gone along with it. What were they thinking?
When their giggles and chortles dried up I walked over to them. Nina started to say something and then burst into laughter again. Cindy joined her.
"You got her stoned?" I asked Tracy, who was the only one not laughing. "And you had her cut school?"
"We didn't have her do anything," Tracy told me, picking up a baggie and loading another hit into the bong. "She asked us if we had any pot. She wanted to try it. It seems all those stories you told her about smoking out made her curious." She giggled, jerking a thumb towards Nina. "As you can see, she seems to like it. Why didn't you ever smoke any with her?"
"I didn't think she'd want to," I said, watching Nina's face. She would start to calm down a little and then would look at me and burst into fresh laughter.
"I guess you were wrong," Tracy said, handing me the bong and a lighter. "I think there's a lot of things about Nina you don't know."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Later," she answered. "Have a hit."
Oh well, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. I flicked the bic and put my mouth to the bong.
________________________________________
Cindy and Nina both left shortly before Dad arrived home from work. I worried about the two of them on the snowy roads with a stoned driver at the wheel. I wouldn't stop them from leaving but I made them promise to put on their seatbelts. I knew Nina would and I also knew the chances of them being in a fatal crash were slim. Most fatal accidents occurred during the summer months, when the weather was clear and when the drivers could barrel along at suicidal speed. During snowy weather everyone drove slow. While there were more accidents, they tended to be minor. You simply couldn't generate enough kinetic energy to kill during a snowstorm. If Cindy got in an accident it would probably be a fender-bender. But then nothing is absolute so I worried.
After dinner and dishes, while the household began to wind down for bed I found my way to Tracy's room once again. Outside the wind was still howling against the windows, making the storm-shutters rattle and bang. They would have cancelled school the next day except for the fact that it was Saturday. Tracy was lying on her bed, reading the latest (for that time) Stephen King book. She was wearing her standard pajamas, a long T-shirt.
"What's up?" she asked as I tapped on the frame of her door.
"Can I come in?" I asked.
"Sure," she said, setting the book down and sitting up.
"Earlier today," I started, "while we were smoking out."
"Yeah." She nodded. "Wasn't that some killer shit? I was droning all through dinner. Do you want to smoke some more? I still have a little left."
"No," I said, shaking my head. And then I amended. "Well, maybe tomorrow. But anyway, while we were smoking you said that there's a lot of things I didn't know about Nina."
"Yeah?" Tracy smiled a little.
"What did you mean by that?" I asked.
She gave me a very adult look. "You really don't know, do you?"
"Don't know what?" I asked.
She took a deep breath. "Nina's in love with you, Billy."
"What?"
"Not just infatuation, not just attraction, not just puppy-love, whatever the fuck that is, but love. L-O-V-E. The big one. The ultimate like. She's head over heels in love with you, little brother."
I was stunned into silence for a moment. Finally I said, "Did she tell you this?"
"No," Tracy said, "she doesn't have to. It's pretty plain to everyone who talks to her. I've known it ever since I started getting her to talk to me. She thinks you're the shit." She shrugged. "God knows why."
"Wait a minute," I said. "I think you're mistaken. We're good friends, we like to talk to each other, I can see how you would think..."
"I'm not mistaken, Billy," Tracy said firmly. "You can accept it or not accept it. I'm just supplying information for you. She is in love with you. No doubt about it. And she's terribly afraid that you don't love her, that you'll never be interested in her, that you'll break her heart someday."
"What? How..."
"Because I'm a girl," Tracy answered before I could finish asking. "We know these things. She knows you could hurt her bad and she also knows she is powerless to prevent that if you decided to do it. She loves being around you but she wants more. She's not getting more but she stays around because of the hope that someday she will. She'll stay as long as the slimmest hope remains of that. The only way you'll get her to stop loving you is to destroy her hope completely. She may or may not recover from that. She's kind of a fragile girl, as you may have noticed, and I tend to think that maybe she wouldn't. I'm not telling you all of this to scare you or anything. I just want you to know what you're dealing with here. She loves you. You are God to her. So you need to tread carefully with her because you're playin' with her fuckin' emotions. Do you understand?"
"No." I shook my head. "I do not." I became angry. Here I was 32, almost 33 years old and a seventeen-year-old girl was telling me about love? What the hell did she know about it? She was probably reading all kinds of things into Nina's conversations based on the romance novels that she obsessively read all the time. "Nina and I are friends. No more than that. That's all we'll ever be. She likes me, she enjoys my company, but she doesn't love me. I used to tease her in grammar school for Christ sake! You've got your signals crossed."
She picked up her book again. "Believe what you want, Billy," she told me, dismissing me in a non-verbal way. "But I'm not wrong about this."
________________________________________
Winter went on. I got straight A's again in the first semester of school. Second semester began with Nina and I in three classes together. We continued to study together a few times a week. I always watched her carefully, listened to her words carefully when I was with her. She liked to be around me, that was for sure, as I liked to be around her. She valued my opinion as I valued hers. She joked with me, revealing a quick and witty sense of humor beneath her shyness, a sense of humor that I knew no one but me ever saw. We enjoyed being together. We were friends, very good friends, best friends even. But love? I thought not.
On February 10 of that year, 1983, I went down to the department of motor vehicles with my dad after school. I took the written test, passing with 100 percent. I then climbed in Dad's Dodge Diplomat with a crusty old driving tester and took my driver's license test. The instructor was impressed with my abilities, stating she'd rarely seen a new driver that operated a motor vehicle so well. She gave me a 96 on the exam, marking me down a point because I hadn't parallel parked terribly well, something I'd never mastered. I returned to the DMV office and had my picture taken. I was now a licensed driver.
As I drove Dad home that day he congratulated me and gave me a brief lecture on safe driving. Doing his fatherly duty you understand. When he was finished I turned to him.
"I'd like to get a job, Dad," I told him.
"A job?" he asked, looking at me.
"Yeah," I confirmed. "I want to start making my own money. You know, so I can buy my own car and start putting money away for college. Stuff like that."
"Well that's admirable, Bill," he told me, taken aback a bit. "I certainly am not going to stop you."
"Could I use the car on weekdays after you get home? If I find a job that is?"
"I suppose," he told me. "As long as we don't need it for anything. Of course you realize our insurance rates are going to go up now that you and Tracy are listed on the policy. Also the gas is going to go up. And then there's Tracy. She likes to use the car too."
"I'll pay for whatever the increase is," I promised. "And Tracy and I will work something out."
"Yes," he said thoughtfully. "I suppose you will. You and your sister have been getting along pretty well this last year."
I shrugged in the way of teenagers.
"Much better than you used to. In fact, there was a dramatic change in your relationship and even in your personality some time ago." His eyes bored into me. "It was shortly before you got stabbed that time."
What was he saying? I felt suddenly nervous under his gaze. Dad knew something had happened to me but he didn't know what. Did he? Was he simply probing for information? Or did he suspect the truth? The truth was nuts wasn't it? He couldn't be suspecting it. Could he?
"I guess I just got my shit together, Dad," I answered nervously. "Tracy too."
He continued to stare for a moment and then gave a slight shake of his head. "Don't say 'shit'," he finally responded. "If you want to get a job and if you and your sister can work out the car, then you've got my blessing."

[whiskynaam]

"Thanks, Dad." I told him.
I certainly did not want to work in one of the sweatshops that was a fast food joint so I didn't bother applying at any of them. I had nothing but time I knew so I bided it carefully, only putting in applications at places where I knew I would be able to stand the pace. You have to understand that I had spent eight years as a paramedic. For all the gore we have to put up with, for all the responsibility that we are instilled with, for all of the abuse that we have to take, the job was anything but fast paced. On a twelve-hour shift we would respond to an average of six calls, each one taking an hour or so to complete from the moment of dispatch until the paperwork was dropped off at the hospital. That left six hours of downtime on each shift. Sometimes, on slow shifts, it was even more. I knew I would not be able to handle working on a burger assembly line for hours at a time.
It was a pizza joint that eventually ended up hiring me in early March. The manager had granted me an interview and had started it by saying that he probably wouldn't hire me since he generally only offered jobs to those with previous experience.
"Well, sir," I told him, "I can respect that opinion. And I understand it completely."
"You do?" he asked, mildly amused, checking his watch for his next interview.
"I do," I said. "But I'll tell you something. If you hire me you will not be sorry. In fact, I'd venture to say that it would be the best hire you'll ever make. You know why?"
That got his attention. "Why?" he asked.
"Because my father has instilled in me a solid work ethic. He's taught me that employment is sacred in this life, a thing to be cherished above all but the family unit. If I am given the position you will receive complete loyalty from me. I will show up each of my scheduled days on time and ready to work. I will do whatever jobs you see fit in whatever manner you see fit to do them. I am not your typical teenager who will call in sick when he hears that a good kegger is going on at the falls. I will put aside my personal life in order to fulfill my responsibilities to this restaurant and hopefully you will move me up the ladder of advancement as reward." I gave him my sincere smile. "Hire me and you will not be sorry."
He hired me. I started the following week making pizzas in the back and washing up dishes on Friday through Monday night from 5:00 PM to 10:30 PM. I did my job well, showing up on time, as I'd promised, and completing all assignments given to me without complaint. After all, I had an adult's work ethic. The manager was quite impressed with me. He often commented how mature I seemed. The pay was a pittance, $3.25 an hour, which was minimum wage for that time, but it was income none-the-less and, as a kid, I had no real expenses to speak of. We were paid once a week, on Friday. My schedule entitled me to $71.50 each paycheck. Uncle Sam and Aunt Washington took $12.00 from this, leaving me with $59.50 in cold, hard cash.
In my previous life I'd been a horrible financial manager. I lived paycheck to paycheck, never maintaining a savings account except for my 401k, which was automatically deducted. I'd run up a considerable debt with credit cards and car payments, not to mention alimony and child support. I'd been in the rut familiar to many Americans, that being that you owe so much that you could only afford to pay the minimum payments on anything. This of course left you in exactly the same place each month, each year, since the interest on these things accumulated as fast as the minimum payments reduced them. Even before Mr. Li entered my life, even before the Spokane Fire Department began threatening to take my job from me, I'd always wished that I had my financial history to do over again. Well now I did. I made another solemn vow. I would manage any money I got wisely, utilizing the brutal lessons I'd learned before being recycled. I would not live beyond my means ever again. It was un-American of course, but I was going to do it.
I took $10.00 of each paycheck for personal enjoyment type things. $5.00 paid for the gas I used in my dad's car and another $5.00 went to insurance rate compensation. That left me $39.50 each week that had nowhere to go. I opened up a savings account at a nearby bank. I was amused and slightly offended to find that I had to have my dad's permission before the bank would open it for me. My God, what chaos would erupt if minors were allowed to open bank accounts without regulation? I began putting this money in there each paycheck. The interest on the account was a pittance, a mere two percent, but that was okay. The savings account was just a holding tank until I built up some capital. When I accumulated enough money, I had a better place in mind to store it.
My parents watched all this with interest, not surprised at my work ethic, which I'd learned from them after all and which they'd expected nothing less than, but with my frugelness. You see, my money management skills in my previous life I'd learned from them also. My parents, through my childhood and teenaged years had managed their money about as well as I did as an adult, which was not well at all. I'm certainly not blaming them for my later troubles just explaining the fact that they were wondering where I'd learned my money management. They watched my savings account grow each week (they had to co-sign my deposits) with respect and admiration and more than a little confusion. God forgive them, they even suggested I take some of that money out from time to time and enjoy myself a little.
"I'm saving for college," I would tell them. "And maybe a car sometime soon."
"I see," they would reply. "That's very wise, Billy."
My work schedule put somewhat of a kink in my sex life since the weekends had been my traditional boffing time. But it was only a minor kink. The girls that really wanted to experience my skills would find the time to be with me on weekdays. I would generally have them come over immediately after school where I would take them to my room, show them the pleasure they were seeking, and send them on their way before Dad got home from work. On most of these days Nina would come over after the latest girl had departed and we would study together or just sit on the couch and talk, drinking soda and munching on chips or something, maybe watching some TV. Mom and Dad were under the impression that Nina was my girlfriend, which actually struck me as somewhat funny. They had no idea that I was screwing the brains out of various teenaged girls before they got home. They even expressed pride that I still went over to Anita's and mowed her lawn or cleaned her windows or babysat her kids or put her storm windows up or took them down. They had no idea that their dear friend was paying me for these services in something more valuable than mere money. I don't believe even Tracy knew what the score really was between Anita and I.
The months went by. The frigid chill of winter gave way to the spring of 1983. I heard through the grapevine that Mike was leaving school to go to independent study classes. This rumor filled me with dread and reminded me that I still had a piece of unfinished business. Independent study was one of those state-sponsored atrocities that accounted for more dropouts than anything else. I should actually say is, since the thing still existed before my recycling. What happens is a poor student is encouraged to leave mainstream high school and go to a separate campus for study. They are required to be there only twelve hours a week and are given various assignments to complete at their own pace. They and their parents are told that they can graduate this way if they only complete the meager amount of work that is supplied. What inevitably happens is that the student in question finds that even twelve hours a week is too much and they eventually leave it for the abyss of dropout status. The whole thing is nothing more than a false hope for parents and a dead-end for students. Mike was no exception. He would be in independent study for less than two months before leaving school behind forever. He would eventually pay money to be crammed for his GED so he could get into the Air Force where he would ultimately be dishonorably discharged for marijuana use.
I had to take a shot at preventing this. I simply had to.
That week I had my dad deposit only $24.50 in my savings account, keeping an extra fifteen bucks for myself. Naturally, since this was a break in the routine, he questioned it.
"Swaying from your convictions a little?" he asked as I handed him the deposit slip.
I shrugged, grinning sheepishly. "I guess you guys are right," I told him. "I should enjoy myself once in a while. I thought I'd just blow fifteen bucks on something this time as a reward."
"Well good for you," Dad told me. "What are you going to spend it on?"
"No firm plans," I lied. "Maybe I'll just spend it all on video games down at the arcade. You know, Space Invaders and all that?"
"Well you deserve it," he told me, putting his signature next to mine.
The following Monday at school I found Steph wandering through the halls. She was glad to see me.
"Do you think maybe your brother can get me an eighth of some good greenbud?" I asked.
"Does the Pope shit in the woods?" she answered. "You got the cash?"
I handed her fifteen bucks-a ten and a five. She took it from me and then peeled off the five and handed it back to me. "For you it's only ten," she said, smiling, "if you let me bring it over to your house today to deliver it personally."

[whiskynaam]

I looked her up and down, remembering what her body had felt like beneath mine. And it was five bucks. I'd certainly made worse deals in my life. "You're on," I told her. "Just show up right after school. I have to work today."
"I'll be there," she promised, stuffing the ten into the pocket of her jeans.
She was there. She handed me a plastic baggie of pungent pot and then we retired to my bedroom. I enjoyed her body in as many different ways as I could imagine while she enjoyed mine. She left with a smile on her face.
I stuffed the pot she'd given me under the center of my mattress and headed for the shower. I had to be to work shortly after Dad got home.
The next day, Tuesday, I found Mike wandering through the halls between third and fourth period. I took a deep breath and then walked up to him, matching his pace when I was beside him.
"What's up, Mike?" I asked carefully.
He looked over at me, his face registering instant hostility, obviously debating whether or not to speak to me. Finally he said, "Nothin'."
"Haven't seen you in a while," I commented.
He shrugged. "Been busy."
I nodded wisely. "Yeah," I replied. "Me too. Workin' and everything. Listen, I was thinking that maybe we could get together after school today. Bullshit a little you know. Just like old times."
"Naw," he said instantly. "Got things to do."
I nodded again. "Okay," I answered, knowing that I was resorting to dirty tricks but it was a desperate situation, wasn't it? "Too bad. I just scored an eighth of some killer greenbud."
His eyes lit up like pinball machines. "Really?" he asked, his disinterest dropping away instantly.
"Yeah," I said. "But it's cool. If you got things to do..."
"Well I can prob'ly come over for a while," he put in. "You know, we haven't hung out in a while."
"Cool," I said, suppressing a smile. "I'll see you after school then."
"Right."
On the way home from school I asked Tracy and Cindy if they maybe wanted to go to the mall for a few hours before Dad got home from work.
"The mall?" Cindy asked, lighting a cigarette. "I was hopin' you had some new albums to show me today."
Tracy gave her a look of annoyance and then turned to me. "What's the matter, Billy, you getting' shy about your study sessions with our friends?"
"No," I answered. "Not at all. I have something important to do today. Mike's coming over."
"Mike?" Tracy said, disgusted now. "That fuckin' hoser! I thought you'd wised up and stopped hangin' out with him."
"Please?" I said, not offering any explanation. "This is important. If you guys go out for a while I'll smoke some of the bud I scored with you later."
That did the trick. I'd long since learned the barter power that the possession of a little marijuana held in a teenaged society. Cindy let me out at the curb and roared away shortly afterword, Tracy in the passenger seat, with a promise not to return until Dad got home.
Mike pulled his Beetle to the curb soon after.
Our conversation was cautious and casual as we went to the garage and smoked ourselves into oblivion with Tracy's bong. By the time we re-entered the house we were well into the stratosphere. I hoped I was coherent enough to speak my mind effectively through the drug haze. My own intoxication was countered by the fact that Mike, in his stoned state, would be extremely susceptible to suggestion. We watched some TV for a few minutes while we munched on some food we'd found in the fridge. By the time we went to the garage for our second set of bonghits, we were comfortable speaking to each other despite our months of separation.
"I hear you're going to go to independent study," I said as I dumped the bong water down the sink and rinsed the chamber.
"Yep," he said, obviously excited about it. "My parents put in the application the other day. The counselor says it'll be approved and I can prob'ly start next month. After only six months of it I'll graduate."
"Six months huh?" I said. "And you only have to go twelve hours a week?"
He nodded. "Isn't that fuckin' cool? And I get to schedule my own twelve hours. I can go six hours for two days and take the rest of the week off, or four hours for three days, or three hours for four days. Whatever I want."
I carried the bong upstairs and replaced it in Tracy's room. Mike took a seat on the couch while I was gone. When I returned I sat next to him and took a sip out of a soda.
"Mike," I asked, "do you realize that you're being encouraged to drop out of school?"
"What?" he replied, looking at me with renewed hostility.
"The system is encouraging you to drop out of school. Independent study is nothing but a joke, a joke designed to allow people to drop out with some measure of self-respect intact. First they offer you something that sounds appealing: you only have to go to school twelve hours, you work at your own pace, you'll get to graduate early. It's an offer too good to be true."
"What the fuck you talking about?" he asked. "It's not too good to be true. That's how it works."
"Really?" I continued. "How many people do we know that have gone through independent study? Let's see there's Rodney, Steve Kale, Michelle Beckenwood, Stacy Smith. Those are just the ones I can think of off the top of my head. None of them graduated, not a single one."
"Yeah, but they were stupid," he said defensively. "I'm different."
"No you're not," I told him. "You're being used by the system. I'm sure the counselor spouted a bunch of bullshit to you and your parents about how this will help you. They're lying. It doesn't help you, it helps them. They've marked you as a likely dropout in the near future so they're trying to get rid of you before that happens. They don't give a shit about you or your future. They want you to drop out. But they want you to do it this way because it doesn't go on the school's statistics as a dropout. You'll go down as a transfer to another school. That way they don't lose any of their budget money or have their teaching methods audited by the state board of education.
"So off you go to independent study where you're encouraged to fade politely away. Do you know how they get you to drop out with this program? Do you know what the kicker to it is? It's that flexible schedule you were talking about. Come whenever you can, you only have to be there twelve hours a week. But you see, if you offer a teenager a deal like that, they'll abuse it and those fuckers know that. You get up on Monday and say to yourself, 'I don't have to go in today because I only have to go twelve hours. I can knock out some hours tomorrow.' Then Tuesday rolls around and you say the same thing. After all, you don't have to be there on Monday or Tuesday. Before long you'll find yourself at Thursday without any hours built up. By that time the thought of spending six hours is too much to take. So you cut for that week; after all, anyone they send to independent study is an accomplished school cutter, aren't they? Before two months go by it will be too much trouble to go at all. There will be no paperwork done, nothing that says you've officially dropped out, but you will in effect have dropped out. Just like they planned for you."
Mike had simply stared at me during this speech, absorbing what I was saying without expression.
"Where did you come up with all that shit?" he asked me finally.
"My dad's a teacher," I told him. "He works for the damn school district. Believe me, that's the way it is."
"What the fuck are you tellin' me all this for?"
I took a deep breath. "Mike, you're my friend. We've been friends since we were kids, right?"
"Yeah," he agreed carefully, "but what's that got to do with anything?"
"Friends try to help each other. Remember when Fairview stabbed me? You grabbed him off of me. You helped me. That's what I'm trying to do for you. Help you. You're about to make a big mistake, a mistake you'll regret for the rest of your life."
"How do you know I'm makin' a mistake?" he shouted. "Even if I do drop out what makes you think it's gonna be a mistake? What do I need a fuckin' diploma for anyway?"
"What do you want to do with your life, Mike?" I asked him.
"What?"
"What do you want to do?" I repeated. "What would like to do for a living? What would be a dream job for you?"
"Man," he said, dismissing me, "fuck this shit. Let's talk about something else."
"Look, Mike," I said carefully, "like I said, we're friends and I'm trying to talk to you as a friend. Nobody else is here, nobody's gonna hear what you say. I'm not putting you down or anything, I'm just trying to help you because you need some help. You're on a path of destruction here and I'm trying to steer you off of it. So tell me, what would you like to do for a living? What would be a cool job?"
For a minute I didn't think he was going to answer. Finally he said, "I don't know."
"You don't know?"
He shrugged. "I never thought about it before. I can't picture myself in five years, I don't know."
"Maybe that's part of your problem," I said. "You don't have any goals." I looked him up and down for a minute, an idea occurring to me. "You'd probably like a job where you get a lot of days off each week, wouldn't you?"
"The more the better," he agreed.
"A job where even when you are at work, you get to spend a lot of time sitting around on your ass."
He scoffed. "Yeah, like
there are jobs like that."
"There is, Mike," I told him. "There is."
"Yeah?" he said cynically. "Name one."
There was only one that I could think of. It was one that was well within reach of Mike if he would only graduate from school. "A fireman."

[whiskynaam]

"A fireman?"
"Yeah," I told him. "Firemen work twenty-four hour shifts ten days a month. That leaves twenty days off a month. When they're on shift they have beds, TVs, lounge chairs to sit in, all the amenities of home. They get to sleep while they're on the clock. And they make damn good money, much more than they deserve to."
He was turning the idea over in his mind. I could see him doing it and I felt the first ray of hope. Was I finally getting through to him a little?
"And you know what the best thing about being a fireman is?" I asked.
"What?"
"The public fuckin' worships you. You can do absolutely no wrong. And women dig firemen in a bad way. They'll practically drop down and give you head right there."
He was definitely interested now.
"The requirements are that you're eighteen and have a high school diploma. You also have to be able to pass a physical agility test, but that shouldn't be too much of a problem for you. You're in good shape."
"Are you sure about this?" he asked.
"Dude," I told him. "If you can just graduate you'll be in."
"No shit," he said softly.
"Look, Mike, if you just work through this year you'll have it made. The school has a work-study program for seniors and fire technology is one of the classes. If you can hang in until then and bring your grades up to a 2.0 average you can go to the ROP classes. That means you'll just have to take three classes each day and then you'll spend the rest of the day hanging out at a fire station somewhere. You'll get to go to calls with them and watch them work and it'll look damn good on your application after you graduate."
He soured a little. "There's no way I'll get my grades up to a 2.0. I'm workin' on straight F's now."
"I'll help you with your work," I promised. "Just come over after school." I paused and then amended, "well, after my dad gets home that is, and I'll help you with your work. You can do it if you just go to school each day."
He shook his head. "I haven't spent a whole day in school for the last year. I'm not sure I can do it."
"You can, " I insisted. "Dude, you're only seventeen years old. You have the rest of your life in front of you. How hard will it be to spend six hours in school for another couple of months? If you work at it we can bring your grades up and you'll be almost free next semester. A year of ROP and only going to three classes and you'll graduate. You start applying at fire departments and one of them will take you. It's not that long and it's not that high of a price, is it?"
"I guess not," he said.
It was touch and go for a while. Mike told his parents his decision to stay in school and they accepted it dubiously. However when his parents told the school counselor to withdraw the application for independent study they met some resistance. According to Mike, she tried her damnedest to get him and his parents to change their minds. She nearly begged he told me. But in the end he stuck to his guns and his parents stuck to theirs. The application was withdrawn and Mike stayed in high school.
As I promised, I helped him with his homework. There was some friction at first when he discovered that I wasn't planning to do his homework for him but to help him do it. There was also some friction when he didn't show up a few times so he could go get stoned with someone. I talked to him plainly about this, explaining that I would only continue to help him if he showed up each day. He was morose about it but agreed. His attendance at my study sessions improved remarkably.
His attendance at school also improved. Though he whined about it to the point of genuine annoyance on my part, he faithfully showed up to classes each day, only occasionally cutting out for a session with a marijuana pipe or something.
By the end of the first month of our studying together, study sessions in which Nina was a frequent participant, he began to catch on to his work and actually began to complete more of his assignments in school. I felt I'd done well with him and my satisfaction was great.
________________________________________
As the end of the school year drew closer I worried incessantly about Tracy. This was the point that she was scheduled to die. All of the signs told me I'd steered her away from that path. When Lisa Sanchez, the cheerleader, began making friendship overtures to Tracy, she'd been almost rude in her rejection of them. The friendship that eventually evolved into the foursome that was fated to drop into the river never flourished. As a result, Tracy never went to the party where she would meet the football player that would cause her death. Instead she stayed close friends with Cindy, another deviation from the previous path. When Tracy had begun hanging out with Lisa before, the relationship with Cindy had faded away. But despite all this I was worried. Again, I did not know the rules involved here. Was fate absolute? Would Tracy end up dying one way or another simply because she was scheduled to?
On the other hand I did have some indication that things were not pre-destined. Mike was a shining example. As May began winding down towards June and the end of the school year, he was still enrolled in school, was in fact working his grades upward to the C average. This was something that had not occurred before. Mike gave me hope that I'd succeeded in saving Tracy.
The end of the school year came. Mike got his report card and it showed his year's average to be 2.1. He was qualified to go into ROP the next year. He didn't give me much in the way of thanks but I understood. It wasn't in his nature. I received tremendous satisfaction from his accomplishment anyway.
Tracy graduated. I dressed in my suit and attended the ceremony with my parents. Though my sister and I had never talked about my prediction for her fate on that night since the first time, it was obvious she remembered what I'd said. She was perhaps the only member of her graduating class to go home with her parents after the ceremony. She took off her dress and went to bed early.
When I got up the next morning I staggered downstairs and found her sitting in her pajamas in the living room. The television was on, tuned to the local morning news program. Dad and Mom had already gone off to work so we were alone in the house. I can't begin to tell you how glad I was to see her there. She was alive, still drawing breath a day after she'd died in her previous life. Things could be changed!
My elation was dampened a little as I got a good look at her. I could see immediately that she was upset. Her face was pale and she was trembling.
"What's the matter, Trace?" I asked carefully.
"I've been watching the news," she told me slowly, turning a pair of haunted eyes to my face.
"Yeah?"
"There was an accident last night," she said. "Near the falls."
I felt all the spit in my mouth suddenly dry up. My arms broke out in goose bumps. "Was there?"
She nodded. "A Camero with four people in it crashed into the river. Lisa Sanchez was killed. She drowned in the car."
I was speechless as I listened to her, numb with shock.
"There were other people in the car," she went on. "A guy named David Mitchell was driving. He's a football player at the college. Another football player named Rick Manchester was also in the car. Rick was Lisa's boyfriend. And there was one other girl in there. Barbie Langston, she's David's girlfriend."
"What happened to her?" I asked unsteadily.
"She got out. Lisa was the only one killed."
"Wow," I whispered, trying to figure out what that meant. Barbie was a cute redhead who had found her way to my bedroom last summer during my 'male slut' period. She had been installed in Tracy's place when Tracy did not meet and begin dating David Mitchell. She had lived. Why? Was it because she had lived past graduation in the previous life? Was she simply a better swimmer? Was there any meaning to be found with her non-death?
"Billy," Tracy said softly, "all of those names were the ones you gave me that day except for Barbie. You described the car, the driver, the passengers, the accident location, everything. How did you know?"
"I can't tell you, Tracy," I said. "I just can't."
"Billy, for Christ's sake! I would have died yesterday if I hadn't listened to you, wouldn't I have?"
"Yes."
"You scared me that day when you started talking about all of that. You scared me bad. But I never really, you know believed it could be true. I didn't think it would really happen. Even when little things started to click into place. Lisa Sanchez trying to make friends with me, stuff like that, even then I never really believed it. But Jesus, you were right!"
"I know, Tracy," I said. "And you're alive today instead of dead. I'm glad you listened to me."
"Christ," she said, shuddering and trembling. "I could have died."
"But you didn't," I told her. "You didn't."
________________________________________

[whiskynaam]

Summer vacation began. Tracy sent off college applications and was accepted into the University of California at Berkeley on an academic scholarship. She spent a good portion of her vacation preparing for the move to California. My parents, who had no idea how close they'd come to losing a daughter, were preoccupied with helping her at this task. They took out a second mortgage on their house to help pay for some of the expenses until Tracy managed to get a job in the Bay Area. I could tell they were worried about money although they never mentioned it to either one of us.
I was able to increase my work schedule an extra hour a day and an extra day a week now that summer was upon us and there was no school to attend. By the beginning of August I had nearly a thousand dollars in my savings account. It was time to make my first move.
"Dad," I said at the breakfast table one morning, "I need you to do something with my money."
He looked at me over his paper. "Your money?"
"Yeah," I told him. "I want you to pull it out of the savings account and take it to a stock broker."
"A stock broker?"
"Here," I said, handing him a slip of paper upon which I'd written careful instructions.
He looked at it for a moment, his eyes widening. "You want to buy stocks?"
"I do," I affirmed. "As you can see there, I'd like to invest six hundred dollars in Lytech Corporation and three hundred in Smith Manufacturing Corporation."
"Billy," he started slowly, as if he were speaking to a lunatic, or a teenager. "Do you understand what you're doing? Investing in stocks is a risky business. You have no guarantee that you're going to get any return. You could lose all of your money."
"I've studied up on it pretty well, Dad," I assured him. "I'm pretty sure that these two corporations are going to go through the roof in the next year."
"What are they?" he asked. "I've never heard of either one of them."
"They make latex products," I explained. "Condoms and surgical gloves mostly."
"Condoms and surgical gloves? You think there's money to be made there?"
"It's a matter of timing, Dad," I explained. "You know about AIDS, right?"
"Of course I know about AIDS," he told me. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Well," I said, "I've been following the news on AIDS as well as checking the business section. Right now AIDS is mostly confined to homosexual men and IV drug users. But that's slowly changing. As more and more heterosexuals become infected the fear of this disease is going to grow, probably into a paranoia."
"That's all very interesting, Billy, but..."
"When I got stabbed," I told him, "I remember that the paramedic who was treating me was not wearing any gloves. I'd been cut open and I was bleeding and he was touching me with his bare hands. The nurses and the doctors in the hospital did the same thing. It wasn't just me, it was almost all of the patients I saw there. Nobody was wearing gloves on their hands as a matter of routine. It just isn't done right now. Are you following me?"
"You're saying that is going to change?"
"In a big way I predict, and soon. As more heterosexuals get the disease and the epidemic grows, ambulance companies, fire departments, hospitals, nursing homes, every medical office is going to start ordering huge supplies of latex gloves. There might even be a shortage of them for a while. The price of them will go up according to the law of supply and demand and their sales figures will probably increase by at least four hundred percent, maybe more. This is the perfect time to invest in the latex business."
He was impressed with my reasoning of the subject but I could tell he still wasn't convinced.
"It's still pretty risky, Bill," he told me. "Are you sure you want to invest all of your money in this?"
"All of it," I confirmed. "Can you do that today?"
He gave me one last glance and then said, "Sure. I'll do it during lunch hour."
________________________________________
The summer rolled on. I continued to have plenty of sex on a fairly regular basis but my heavy work schedule put something of a ding in the variety I was getting. I was down to three females that I enjoyed, rarely getting anything new. Anita would still have me over to do some work for her a few times a week, after which, or sometimes before which, we would go to her bedroom and enjoy a long sex session. She always had me over in the evenings when her kids had gone to bed. Cindy still came over to check out albums with me during the day when my parents were not home. If fact, with Tracy gone a lot of the time on various missions to prepare for college, Cindy's visits became more frequent. It seemed she felt a little guilty about screwing me while my sister was there. With Tracy gone we enjoyed the best sex we'd ever had, with no worries about being too loud or too obscene. The third girl was Maggie Bartlett, a friend of Cindy's. She would come over on the days when Cindy did not. I tried to talk them into a threesome a couple of times but they just giggled and told me they weren't into that. A pity.
Nina and I remained in contact with each other even though we no longer had to study for anything. We would meet a few times a week at my house or hers, just enjoying each other's company. A few times we drove into nearby Idaho to spend the day at one of the resort lakes. One such day I found myself looking at her in her bathing suit while we soaked up rays on the hot sand. She was starting to fill out nicely. Her breasts, which the previous summer had been almost non-existent, were now pushing at the cups of her one-piece. Again I remembered her classy good looks as the bitchy emergency room doctor. Now that I'd removed the bitchiness I figured she would make some guy very happy someday.
"What are you looking at?" she asked, blushing a little as she found my eyes upon her.
I smiled. "Just seeing how your tan is coming along," I told her.
"Well?" she asked. "How is it?"
"It's lookin' good," I answered. I picked up a bottle of sun lotion. "Can you put a little of this on my back? I don't want to burn." That was the advantage of having a girl for a best friend. You could have them put oil on your back. You certainly wouldn't ask a guy friend to do something like that.
"Sure," she said softly, taking it from me. I noticed a slight tremble in her hands as she squirted some into her palm.
Dismissing this, I laid on my stomach on the towel. Her hand began smearing the slippery lotion across my back. Her hands on my skin felt good, I realized. They were soft yet eager, gliding over my shoulders and through the small of my back. Her touch was almost sensuous and I felt myself, to my surprise, getting a hard-on beneath my suit.
What a mind-blower, I thought. Nina is giving me a boner. What a strange world.
________________________________________
On September 2, Tracy left the house for California and UC Berkeley where she would begin her first semester as a college student. She planned to get her graduate degree in Business Administration and then move from there to law school. Her hopes were to one day be a rich corporate lawyer. At least she was honest about it.
I gave her a big hug before she climbed into Dad's car for the trip to the airport.
"Take care of yourself," I told her. "And be careful."
"You too," she answered.
She climbed into the car and a minute later it backed out into the street. As I watched it go I felt a tear running down my face. Tracy was still alive.

[whiskynaam]

My senior year began. Because Cindy had graduated and enrolled in college that meant that I was without a ride to school. Though Mike had improved in many areas over the last few months his driving was not one of them. I attempted to mellow him out a bit by letting him know that the fire department would not hire him if he had too many points on his driving record. I suppose this did some good, he never got any points put on, but I still was not going to get into that Volkswagen with him. Strangely enough, though this subject had prompted our long estrangement, he seemed to understand. The subject was never brought up. But this still left me without a lift to school and I'd been driven so long that I'd lost my taste for walking. Nina came to the rescue here. Her mom, who was a housewife and who thought I walked on water, had always been in the habit of driving Nina to school all through high school. It didn't take much convincing on Nina's part to persuade her mom to run by my house in the morning and again in the afternoon. Her mom, who was considerably older for a parent-Nina had been a late child-drove like an eighty-year-old grandmother. That was just fine with me. I felt there was little chance of getting killed with Mrs. Blackmore at the wheel.
The reason I'd known so much about our school's ROP program was that I'd taken it as a senior my first trip through. I hadn't taken fire technology but health careers where I'd been assigned to the emergency room at one of the local hospitals as an ER tech. It was this part of my life that had seduced me into my eventual job as a paramedic. I took the health careers once again, as did Nina. I tried to remember if she'd been in it with me before and I couldn't. She had been such a forgettable person back then. Nina planned to sign up for emergency room assignment since she figured, as I had all those years ago, that would be the most exciting. Though I was tempted to do the same-I missed the thrill of the unknown that came with working in emergency situations-I chose central supply instead. Those who chose central supply were sometimes hired by mid-semester if they showed some responsibility. I planned to show lots of it. Central supply techs were paid six dollars an hour.
Mike was accepted into the fire tech ROP program. Like with our health careers program, it was required that you spend the first two months in a classroom learning the finer points of your career assignment. He grumbled about having to spend three hours a day in a class instead of in a fire station like he'd thought but he stuck with it. I knew his grumbling was good-natured and offered only because it was expected of him. He was actually finding the classroom lectures on the basics of firefighting interesting, perhaps the first thing besides marijuana and pussy stories that had ever interested him. I began to feel that Mike was going to be okay.
I perhaps suffered the worst through the classroom portion of ROP. They were teaching us how to take blood pressures, temperatures, pulses, and how to respond to various hospital emergency situations like fires or floods. This was all stuff I knew not just intimately but genetically it seemed. There were, however, some interesting perks to the classroom. It was made up of mostly girls. I had a fresh hunting ground to pick from and an additional challenge thrown in since most of the girls did not know who I was because ROP classes were made up of students from all the regional high schools.
As I went to work on a few of the more attractive students I noticed that Nina, who was in the same class, would become morose and even throw some dirty looks my way. What was up with her? I wondered. Was Tracy right? Was Nina in love with me? I hoped not. She was my best friend and I was her best friend but I'd never done anything to encourage her to love me. If it was true, how could it have happened?
In deference to her feelings I tried to keep my flirtations discreet when she was around. There was no sense hurting her. And if she did have some love-like feelings for me they would eventually fade, wouldn't they?
I was troubled by these thoughts but not too troubled. By my second week there I enticed a girl named Susan Kelly, a breasty brunette whose ambition was to someday work as a registration clerk, to my house after school. I was glad to find that I still had the touch after the long summer.
________________________________________
In September of that year the United States sent a force of Marines to Beirut as part of a peacekeeping force. I knew that tragedy would befall 240 of them at the hands of Muslim extremists. With their deployment came the opportunity for some experimentation on my part. I knew what was going to happen. Could I, in good conscience, simply let it occur without trying to stop it? I could not.
The question was, how could I stop it? I put some thought into the matter while I read as much on the peacekeeping force as I could. A plan developed in my mind by the end of September.
Using plain paper and pen I drafted a letter to the commanding general of the American forces there. I stated that I was an American Muslim and that I'd received information about an impending attack upon the forces there by way of relatives in Lebanon who were part of the extremists but not as radical as their friends. I explained exactly what was to take place and on which day. I made 25 copies of the letter and dropped each copy into a separate envelope, all of which I addressed and labeled CONFIDENTIAL. I put stamps on all of the letters and then borrowed my father's car one Saturday morning, telling him that I was going to an all-day party. I promised him I wouldn't drink and he gave me the keys.
I left the house at 9:00 that morning, getting onto Interstate 90 and heading west. Four hours later I was in Seattle; a large, anonymous city that I had never lived in. Careful was my watchword and if any feds tried to find the deliverer of the message, as I was sure they would, I wanted no trail leading them to Spokane. I dropped the letters into a mailbox in one of the suburbs. I had a quick lunch and then headed home. I'd taken my shot. My conscience was assuaged.
Of course I had no way of knowing if my letters had reached their destination and, if they had, if they would be taken seriously. I hoped that they were enough to at least take simple precautions. I listened to a news station on the radio all day on October 15, the day the attack was to take place. Nothing came across about a tragedy in Beirut. But towards the end of the day something else came across.
"U.S. Marines," said the announcer, "have captured a group of Muslim extremists who were setting up heavy caliber mortars near the Marine barracks, apparently with the intention of shelling the soldiers inside. A source tells us that the Marines were acting on information they received via an anonymous tip that the attack was to take place. General..."
I'd done it! I had prevented a tragedy! The Muslims who had been about to shell the barracks, destroying it and killing 240 Marines had been captured before they could do it. I had changed history!
I walked around in a state of elation for the next seven days, beaming with pride at what I'd done. What else could I change? The Challenger disaster was coming up in a few years. I could probably stop that also. In the course of that week I had myself believing that I could prevent the Persian Gulf War.
And then came October 23. I awoke to the news that a suicide bomber with a truck full of explosives had rammed into the Marine barracks, killing many inside. My elation died the instant I heard that.
It was two days before the final death toll was announced. 240 Marines had been killed. 240! That number put an icy finger of dread upon my heart.
In my previous life the Marine barracks had been shelled from outside the base by Muslims armed with Russian made eighty-millimeter mortars. 240 had been killed by the attack. In this life I'd prevented that from happening but a week later a suicide bomber had hit instead. 240 had been killed by that attack. I wondered if the death list of those 240 was the same in both lives. Instinctively I knew that it probably was. I had prevented nothing. 240 Marines had been killed, as if they were fated to die. As if they were fated!
I had prevented Tracy's death in this life. Was she too fated to die? Was she just going to be killed in some other manner now that I'd changed her original destiny? Was there anything I could do? Could I really change anything here? Was I fated to end up a paramedic in debt again? Was Mike fated to end up an unemployed loser? Was Nina fated to end up a bitchy emergency room doctor? If so, what had been the point of coming back? What had been the point?

[whiskynaam]

I was depressed and edgy for the next week as news of the bombing in Beirut was swallowed up by news of the successful invasion of Grenada a few days later. Nina, who knew me better than anyone, picked up on my mood and tried to discover the source of it in her gentle, probing way. I told her nothing, claiming that everything was just fine. What else could I say? How could I possibly tell her what was bothering me? That I feared my sister had a death sentence hanging over her head. That I feared that everything I'd done over the last eighteen months had been meaningless.
"Do you believe in fate?" I asked her as we rode the bus to our ROP classroom one day.
"Fate?" she asked, looking at me. "What do you mean?"
"You know, that everything is pre-destined. That we have a schedule we follow in life and that we're powerless to change anything?"
"No," she said. "You don't believe that do you?"
"I didn't used to," I said. "But lately I've been wondering."
"Are you okay, Bill?" she asked tenderly. "You've been kind of, well tense the last few days. What's bothering you?"
"Nothing I can put into words," I told her. "I guess I'll get over it."
I turned my head to look out the window and as I watched the traffic pass by outside the bus I felt her hands on my shoulders. They began squeezing and kneading the muscles there, forcing them to relax. It felt wonderful and I leaned my head back and sighed.
"That feels good," I told her. "Where'd you learn to do that?"
"I've been reading on massage techniques," she told me. "Am I doing it right?"
"Perfect," I said, closing my eyes and letting the sensation take me away.
As I felt her squeezing and caressing me a thought occurred. Nina had put her hands upon me completely uninvited. She had simply reached over and done it. Nina, who had been so shy once she wasn't even capable of smiling in front of someone, who couldn't even bring herself to answer questions in class, who wouldn't have dreamed of touching someone with or without permission the day I'd first approached her in the cafeteria.
Nina had changed. She was no longer the mousy butt of everyone's jokes. She had friends now. Me, Tracy, Cindy, even Mike. She had learned to socialize with people even to the point of taking some bonghits at a party. I didn't think it possible that she would evolve into the Dr. Blackmore I would one day know. She would become Dr. Blackmore but she wouldn't be the same person. She couldn't become that person at this point because the psychology that had formed her future personality had been altered. Was it possible that maybe things could be changed? That maybe they tended to fall into pre-destined patterns but that rule was not absolute?
In Nina's comforting hands I found some hope.
________________________________________
We graduated from the classroom portion of ROP and were given our assignments. Nina went to the emergency room at one of the smaller hospitals as an ER tech. I went to the supply room in the basement of the regional trauma center and was put to work sterilizing and packaging medical supplies and instruments. Mike was assigned to Spokane Fire Station #3 near downtown.
It took me only a few days to be trained in the routine I would be following. Central supply was a little more challenging than making pizzas, but not by much. My work mate was Julie Salinas, a cute Mexican girl who had been in my training class. I'd tried once to initiate some intimate conversation with her but she had shot me down without a second glance, stating in no uncertain terms that she was engaged to be married after graduation. I'd shrugged her off. That kind of thing happened from time to time and there were plenty of other targets in the class.
When I walked in and saw her there the first day I assumed it was not going to be pleasant. She had been a little snotty in her rejection of my advances. But I was surprised to find that she was friendly to me as we spent three hours together each day. With our bodies covered by baggie scrubs, our shoes covered by paper coverings, our hair covered by paper nets, we would chat easily as we went about the tasks of putting forceps and scalpels and syringes and little bottles of medicine into sterile packaging and then labeling them for the appropriate departments within the hospital. It was a fun relationship. She was pleasant to talk to and since I already knew that she wasn't interested in me I was releived of the sexual tension that usually went along with being next to someone like her. Or so I thought.
As the first few weeks went by I couldn't help but notice that Julie was always there when I got there. I knew she had her own car which allowed her to drive to the hospital instead of taking the bus but why in the name of God would she show up earlier than she had to? Finally, when our relationship matured to the point that I could ask such things, I asked her.
"Because," she told me, "I intend to get hired here at mid-semester. Can you ima
gine? It's a dream job. If they hire you, you get paid for your time here and still get the school credits. You also get another three hours on the clock at $6.00 an hour. So if I get noticed by showing up a half an hour earlier than everyone else, so much the better. They only hire three or four of us each year you know and there's more than twelve of us working down here."
"That's a pretty good idea," I said with complete honesty. After all, I was counting on getting hired also. To do so would nearly double my current income. "I wish I had a car so I could do it too."
I meant nothing by this statement. I was merely speculating out loud, wondering in my mind if I could break loose some of my portfolio to purchase a cheap car. If it helped me get a job it would be a sound investment, wouldn't it?
"If you want," Julie said, looking at me thoughtfully, "I could give you a ride. I have to drive right by your school to get here and right by it to get home. I'd rather work with you then some of the other losers they got around here."
"Really?" I asked, looking at her, trying to gauge her intentions. Usually when girls asked me something like that what they wanted was sex. I wasn't so sure about that with Julie though. After all, she'd already told me she was engaged. She in fact talked quite a bit about her fiancée, who was in his second year of junior college where he was learning the finer points of drafting. She was also a practicing Catholic-a religion which most definitely frowned upon pre-marital and extra-marital sex.
Finally I decided it was a genuinely innocent offer that a friend makes to another friend. "I'll take you up on that," I told her. "Thanks."
"No problem," she assured me.
________________________________________
Nina and I had arranged our school schedules that year so we shared the last two classes before lunch and ROP. We always sat together in the classroom during those classes and then walked together to the lunchroom where usually we would sit with Mike and eat lunch prior to heading off to our job sites. Mike had had the same idea as Julie. He drove his Bug to the fire station, getting there earlier than he was required. He also tended to stay a little later than was required. He talked repeatedly of his experience at the firehouse, continually and obviously inflating his stories of what they allowed him to do. For instance he told me once that they'd allowed him to don breathing gear and go into a burning building to help fight a fire, something that they would never do. But I was gladdened by his exaggerations. It meant that I'd hit upon just the right thing when I'd suggested firefighting as a career.
After he took off from lunch break to head downtown Nina and I walked out to the bus area where the ROP buses picked up the students. As we walked I explained my new riding arrangements to her along with the theory that it would help me get hired at mid-semester.
"Julie?" Nina said, frowning. "You're going to be riding with her?"
"Yeah," I said. "That way I'll be able to..."
"But she's engaged!" Nina nearly yelled. A very un-Nina-like display of emotion.
"So?" I asked, looking at her. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"You're gonna..." A pause as she tried to formulate her words, "... get a ride from an engaged girl?"
"Well yes," I affirmed. "Is there something wrong with that?"
Her face was actually turning red as her eyes, once so soft and mellow, burned into me. What the hell was the matter with her? "No," she said stiffly. She turned away from me and started heading for the bus stop.
I followed after her, grabbing her by the arm. "Nina?" I asked. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing," she said. "Nothing at all. I'll see you later."
Right then Julie, driving her little Japanese car, pulled to the curb in the red zone. She saw me and smiled. "You ready?" she called.
"Just a sec," I told her, turning back to Nina. "What's the matter with you?"
"I'm fine," she said sadly. "I'll see you tomorrow. Do you still want to ride with me to school?"
"Of course," I said, "but aren't we going to get together and study today after school? We have to go over that calculus."
"Not today," she said coldly. "I've got things to do." She turned away from me once again and disappeared into the crowd of students waiting for the bus.
With a troubled mind, more troubled than I cared to admit, I went to Julie's car and got in.

[whiskynaam]

By the time we arrived at the hospital I was suspicious about Julie's intentions. She was overly friendly and openly flirty with me; signs I'd learned long before to both recognize and take advantage of. Despite my troubling conversation with Nina I found myself responding to her banter.
All through our workday it went on. She stood closer to me than was really needed, always taking the opportunity to touch my hand or bump her hip against mine. A few times she even turned so that the swell of her breast rubbed across my shoulder. It happened a little too frequently to be accidental. By two o'clock thoughts of Nina were forgotten as I pondered the prospect of bagging Julie and started working the problem of how to get her back to my place through my mind.
That turned out to be much easier than I'd thought it would.
As she drove me towards home she asked, "So, are your parents home right now?"
"No," I told her. "My old man doesn't get home until a little after four."
"Really?" she said, a smile blooming on her face. "You know, some of the other girls said they went over to your house and studied with you."
"Did they?" I asked, familiar with this opening line.
"Uh huh. Susie, Lori, and Stacy all said you're a great study partner." She looked over at me. "I need to study you know."
I chuckled. "I don't think your fiancée would like you coming over my house to study," I told her, my own personal form of legal disclaimer. "There are those who say my study techniques are somewhat radical."
"Well I sure ain't gonna tell him," she informed me, as I'd known she would. "I'm not married yet."
"No," I grinned. "I guess you're not."
There is of course a certain amount of subtle nuances and so forth that must take place in such encounters before the real action begins. You can't just go inside, tear of your clothes and start rutting like an animal on the carpet. Well at least not for a first encounter. Thankfully with Julie, this period was brief. We started on the couch, were coy with each other for a few minutes, and then we began kissing.
I pulled her sexy body to mine and probed between her large lips with my tongue, licking and sucking each lip while my hands ran up and down her back, feeling her hard body beneath the T-shirt she wore, tracing the outline of her bra strap. She returned my kisses eagerly, showing some skill of her own with her tongue in the way she caressed the inside of my lips with it, the way she probed teasingly in and out, sliding it with mine on a film of saliva. Her breath was sweet and scented with the bubble gum she'd recently been chewing, it's ebb and flow increasing as she became excited by my actions.
I moved from her lips and kissed my way down across her puffy cheek to her neck, licking the salty taste on her dark flesh, nipping with my teeth and sucking lightly. She threw her head back and cooed softly, her hands sliding down to my butt and then up under the back of my shirt where she ran them up and down my bare back. Her hands were soft as they glided across my skin, punctuated by the occasional scratch of her painted nails when I gave her skin a little suck or bite.
I dropped my own hands to the hem of her shirt and slid them underneath, running my fingers up her smooth flanks on each side, feeling her soft skin and the harsh roughness of her bra when I reached her chest. I brought my hands together in the front, moving them along her bra, cupping her firm tits through the cotton and wire, squeezing them together. I could feel her nipples protruding against my palms.
I went back to kissing her, more gently this time as I ran my hands around to her back and began toying with the clasp that held her bra together. She returned my kisses while her own hands slid down my back and into the back of my pants, worming their way through my underwear until her fingers were squeezing my ass cheeks, kneading them. She pulled me tighter against her, so that the bulge of my cock was pressing against the crotch of her pants.
She broke her mouth from mine for an instant. "You have a nice ass," she breathed, nipping at my earlobe with her teeth.
"Thank you," I breathed back, pulling her face back to mine and continuing our dance of tongues.
I undid the bra clasp with a quick, expert twist of the fingers and then lifted my arms, pulling her shirt and the bra off in one quick motion. She raised her hands in the air to assist me, breaking the kiss only long enough for the shirt to clear her head.
I slid my hands around to the front again, taking her tits in them, feeling the yielding but firm flesh, the hard nipples. I s+++ed them up and down, gliding my fingertips around the perimeter of each nipple, finally tweaking them a little. They were as rigid as stone it seemed. I broke the kiss and pulled away from her, looking at her chest, drinking in the sight of those beautiful mammaries. As I've mentioned before, teenagers have the nicest tits; they can truly be taken as a sign that there is a God. Julie's were no exception. They were perhaps a little larger than was considered average but they had no sag to them. They were pale in contrast to the darkness of her skin except for the nipples, which were the color of ripe cherries. I hefted them a little in my hands, stroking the sides and bottoms of them, running my fingers beneath them.
"You like them?" she asked sweetly. She knew that I liked them.
"They're all right," I shrugged and then smiled.
"You asshole." She giggled. "You want to taste them?"
"If I must," I said, feigning a sigh of a laborer contemplating an unpleasant job.
"You must," she told me, grabbing me by the shoulders and pulling me towards her.
I sucked and licked her nipples for several minutes, tasting their texture, making her squirm on the couch beneath me.
"You know," she panted, running her fingers through my hair and sliding her denim-clad leg up and down in my crotch, "I heard that you have some really cool study methods."
"Yeah?" I answered between tongues on her right nipple, which was dripping with my saliva. "What might those be?"
"You know?" she groaned. "Like doing things with your mouth."
I switched to the other nipple, cupping the bulk of the breast with my hand. "I'm doing things with my mouth right now," I told her, sucking the flesh on the side of the tit.
"Other things!" she insisted. "Things a little lower."
I looked up at her. "Your toes?"
"Higher," she giggled.
"Your belly button," I guessed, sliding down and sticking my tongue into it, making her squeal.
"That tickled," she said, delighted. "But you're getting warmer."
"Well," I finally said, "maybe you should just come upstairs to my room and show me what you mean."
"Maybe I should," she said, getting up.
Upstairs, standing near the foot of my bed while I watched her, she kicked off her shoes and socks and then unbuttoned her jeans. They were tight on her and it was with some effort that she pushed them off her body to the floor, revealing the dark elegance of her legs to me. Her panties were blue and cut high. They did not leave her body with the jeans, but remained behind after being dragged down just far enough for me to see a few tufts of her black pubic hair peeking out the top of the waistband.
Julie was certainly not shy about displaying her body. She even teased me a little, sliding the panties up and down a few notches, revealing more and more of the top of her bush before she finally slid them down and off her body. Her bush was thick and black, the lips of her pussy all but hidden in it. I stepped forward and ran my hand up her thigh, feeling the skin, finally probing lightly through the kinky hair until I felt warm wetness against my fingertip. I withdrew my finger and brought it to my nose, inhaling her scent, letting the pheromones do their work on me.
She reached forward and undid the snap on my jeans, pushing them down. Mine were not as tight as hers were and they slid easily to the floor where I kicked them and my shoes off. I pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it to the ground while Julie slid her hand into my underwear, grasping my cock.

[whiskynaam]

"Nice," she said, feeling it up and down. With her other hand she tugged at the elastic, pulling them down my legs, her head traveling downwards as her hands pushed them to my feet. As she reached my dick her tongue slid out and circled the head for a brief second, just enough to make my whole body twitch.
"How about you show me how to study now?" she asked.
I nodded, stepping around her and lying on my back on the bed. "Come here," I told her, patting the mattress next to me.
She lay down and I pulled her body against mine, sliding her on top of me, chest to chest, face to face. I kissed her again while I felt the glory of her form pressing against mine. Remaining on my back I put my hands into her armpits and tugged a little, forcing her to move upward on me. I pushed upwards at the same time, bending her back a little and those tits were dangling in my face. I reached out for them with my tongue and worked them for a minute, getting her back into the swing of things and then I let go of her.
"What's wrong?" she asked me, looking at my intense stare.
"Do you want me to eat you?" I asked her.
"Yes," she nearly hissed.
"Bring it up here," I commanded, touching my lips with my fingers. "Put your pussy on my mouth."
"You mean, sit on you?" she asked, her eyes sparkling.
I nodded. "Come on."
She didn't have to be told twice. She slid her crotch along the length of my stomach and chest, inching forward until her soft thighs were pushing against my ears and her hairy pussy was hanging only inches from my mouth. Using my fingers I probed through her thick nest until her pink, juicy lips were visible. They were swollen and ready, gleaming with moisture, thick with the aroma of arousal. I brought my head forward and began to lick at her, driving my tongue into her passage.
My reputation among the girls was based almost entirely upon my skills at cunnilingus. For that reason, whenever I got my mouth on a pussy I gave it my very best. You had to leave the customer satisfied after all. I ate Julie until she battered my face beneath her and dented my wall by slamming the headboard of the bed into it. Her juices poured over my face and I lapped them up. When her first orgasm faded away I put her on her back and ate her again in the traditional method, starting slower this time, working my way from the bottom of her slit upwards so that by the time I reached her clit it was once again swollen and ready for a fresh assault. Her second come was even more powerful.
When that one was done I crawled up her body, which was now slick with her aroused sweat, and positioned myself atop her. She spread her legs wide for my coming penetration. With my mouth kissing hers, with my hard cock nestled in her pubic hair, feeling the waiting wetness, I reached over and opened the nightstand drawer next to the bed. Inside of that drawer, among other things, was a bible that my mom's sister, a religious fanatic, had given me long ago. What I was doing was a practiced and perfected maneuver. Without needing to look, or even take my mouth off her, I flipped open the bible to the middle where I'd cut a hiding hole in some of the pages. Inside this hiding hole were my condoms. I pulled one out and then flipped the book shut again. Less than a minute later the condom was firmly on my cock and the wrapper was resting on the nightstand.
"C'mon," Julie panted. "Do it."
I slid my dick through her swollen lips for a bit, wetting the condom. When it was ready I positioned the head between her lips.
"You ready to get fucked?" I asked her, looking in her brown eyes.
"Yes!" she cried, kissing my neck and squeezing my ass. "Do it! Fuck me!"
I drove forward, feeling my dick slide between those lips and into her tightness. She moaned as I penetrated her and my own voice joined hers as I felt her chamber squeezing at me. I began to move in and out, slowly at first but quickly increasing to a full-blown grind. She slid her legs up and down mine, her hands up and down my back while her hips rose up to meet me.
She came again after about five minutes, clawing my back as she did so. I continued to pound away at her until she came again. Now it was my turn to come. I picked up the pace, angling my thrusts for the maximum sensation, anticipating the feeling of blasting inside of her hot body.
But I couldn't come. My mind simply would not make the vital connection that allowed the process of orgasm to begin. It was not the first time this had happened. I'd noticed it happening over the last few months, though it was usually when I was fucking Anita or Cindy or Maggie. It was something that had happened to me in my previous life after I'd been married for a while. The mind was no longer able to generate orgasm through sensation alone, it needed a little something else. That something was usually a fantasy and I'd always figured it was required because I'd grown a little bored by screwing the same person over and over. But I'd never screwed Julie before. Why should I require a fantasy now? Julie was something new, something fresh. Wasn't she fantasy in and of herself?
I continued to fuck her, moving in and out, feeling her tits with my hands, stroking her legs, kissing her mouth, her neck. I tried to will myself to come. I'm fucking a beautiful teenager, I told myself. But I still couldn't come.
I began to run various fantasies through my head as I screwed her. Those that have been married for any length of time will probably be familiar with this method. I thought of the first time I'd fucked Cindy. That brought a little stir in my nether regions but no orgasm. I thought of what it would be like to fuck Darla Watson, a cute blonde at school that had always rejected my advances. I imagined it was Darla's body beneath mine, Darla's mouth kissing me. No good.
Sweat was now pouring off of my face and I was starting to get tired. Though Julie was still enjoying herself beneath me I knew that if I didn't come soon I was going to have to call a halt on the grounds of fatigue. I couldn't keep up this pace indefinitely. I was loath to do that since I needed to come and since it's damn near impossible to take a condom off your cock if you haven't blasted into it.
I raised my hand to my forehead to wipe the sweat out of my eyes while my hips continued to rise and fall and Julie continued to buck and moan against me. Suddenly I was thinking of Nina. I don't know what brought her image into my mind but I wasn't thinking of her as the friend I knew. I was thinking of her naked and sweating beneath me.
I felt a tingle run up my back at that very thought. The fantasy expanded. I closed my eyes and pressed my body tighter into Julie, my hips picking up speed. I imagined that instead of Julie it was Nina beneath me, her flesh pressing mine, her breasts against my chest, her sex grasping and squeezing my cock.
"Ahhhhh!" I groaned as my mind blew a circuit breaker of some sort and a powerful orgasm went slamming through my body almost without warning.
"Yess!" Julie screamed, feeling the change in my rhythm.
I bucked up and down atop her like I was in seizure, shooting blast after blast into the condom until I feared I was going to overfill it. Finally, drenched in sweat, I collapsed atop her.
She kissed and licked on me, telling me how great I'd been but I barely heard her.
Had I really been fantasizing about Nina? Had that fantasy really given me one of the most powerful orgasms I'd ever had?
I rolled off of Julie and removed the condom, tying a knot in the top and dropping it into the wastebasket next to the bed (which I would of course empty before Mom and Dad got home). I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling and she curled up next to me, resting her head on my chest.
We made some small talk with each other for a few minutes and all the while my mind was spinning. I'd gotten off thinking about Nina. What did that mean?
When Julie finally got out of bed and went to use the bathroom I started to run the fantasy through my head once again. I started to really imagine what it would feel like to kiss Nina, to feel her body against mine, to make love to her. These thoughts were not, I found, the least bit unpleasant to contemplate

This is end of chapter 4.. going to start on chapters 5 if response if good. total story is 15 chapters.. let me know bros...

[wanderer79]

love your story bro!!! keep it comming!!!

[blade]

Originally Posted by whiskynaam

This is end of chapter 4.. going to start on chapters 5 if response if good. total story is 15 chapters.. let me know bros...

would like more of cos

[whiskynaam]

Julie left the house, giving me a quick kiss on the lips and walking out to her car. She told me she would see me tomorrow and then a moment later she was roaring away. I closed the door after she'd gone and walked to the kitchen for a glass of water, glancing at the clock as I did so. A half an hour until Dad got home. Just enough time for a shower.
Though I didn't have to work that day a bathing session was necessary none-the-less. I was wearing only a pair of sweatpants on my body and I knew I had to reek of Julie's musk both from my skin and on my breath. There was no sense giving my dad anything to raise his eyebrows about.
As I put ice in a glass and filled it with water from the tap, preparing to slake my considerable thirst, my mind was still reeling with the new images of Nina it had produced at the moment of truth earlier. The memory of the powerful orgasm those images had generated was still fresh and in fact the images themselves were still flitting at the forefront of my thoughts, keeping my dick in a semi-erect state.
It was Nina I was thinking about! Nina! What a mind-blower. I felt very weird about this. Nina was my best friend, my companion, my confidant for nearly two years now. Why was I suddenly having sexual thoughts about her? Was it just my teenaged libido in overdrive or was it something else entirely? As I struggled to understand the meaning of these thoughts I found myself thinking of her in more than the sexual way. I thought of all the time we'd spent together, of all the things we'd done. I liked being around her. There really wasn't anything else I would rather do in fact. Not even sex, my greatest obsession, compared to simply being in the company of her, talking to her, listening to her.
My God, I thought, I wasn't talking about love was I? Though I looked like a teenager and though I'd learned to act like a teenager I was still, under all of that, a 33 year old man. Nina was seventeen. And while I'd reluctantly acknowledged the possibility that she might be in love with me, through no fault of my own of course, I'd never even considered, even for an instant, the possibility that I might be in love with her. Sure I loved her as a friend. Sure, even though she was sixteen years younger than I was (although in reality she was nearly a year older than I was) I'd always found her a mature and easy to talk to companion, much easier than my ex-wife had ever dreamed of being, easier in fact than even Tracy. But none of that meant love did it, not romantic love anyway.
I thought of how upset she'd been earlier that day because I'd chosen to accept a ride from Julie. I remembered being baffled by her anger. Why should she be upset because of that, I'd wondered? It had been in all innocence, or so I'd thought then, and we weren't boyfriend and girlfriend anyway, so what right had she to be mad at me? And then I imagined how I would feel if Nina had told me that she was going to be riding to ROP each day with someone like Rick Felone, one of the few other guys that had been in our ROP classroom. I was surprised at the sudden surge of anger and jealously that hit me at the very thought of this.
Jesus, what was happening to me? What was I going to do about it?
Before I had a chance to think too heavily on those questions the doorbell rang. Muttering a curse under my breath at being interrupted while I'd been thinking some deep thoughts, I set down my glass and headed into the living room.
Figuring it was a door to door salesman selling some worthless product or religious fanatics selling something even more worthless, I threw open the door prepared to send them away post-haste so I could go up to take my shower and continue my thoughts of Nina to their conclusion. However it was neither on the other side of door. It was Nina.
Her expression was very cool, very unreadable as she stood on the porch. Her eyes took in my attire and I realized that she couldn't possibly have come at a worse time. What was she doing here anyway? She'd told me that she wasn't coming over.
"Hi, Nina," I greeted her with false cheeriness, stepping back a bit to keep her from catching any sort of scent from me. I did this instinctively without even realizing why I was doing it. "Come on in. What are you doing here?"
She made no move to come through the door, she simply stood there. "I came over to apologize for acting so weird today at school," she said. "I thought I'd been out of line, getting upset just because you wanted a ride with Julie."
"That's okay," I told her. "I understand completely. Why don't you come in?"
"I was so upset by what I'd said," she continued, still making no move to come through the door, "that I decided to head over as soon as I got home from school."
My mouth dropped open and a burst of adrenaline flooded me as I realized what she was saying.
"When I got here," she told me, "I saw that you already had company. Julie's car was out front."
"Listen, Nina," I started and then immediately faded away. I had no idea what I should say to her. Should I lie and say nothing had happened? I rejected that thought even as it formed. I could hardly deny it. Nina, as I may have mentioned earlier, was not stupid. Julie's car had been out front and I'd answered the door wearing nothing but sweats and smelling like I'd just fucked someone.
"What you do is your business," she told me and I saw that a tear was now running from her left eye. "It's never been any of mine and I've never pretended that it was. You've been screwing everything with a vagina for the last two years and I've never tried to convince myself that you have any feelings for me. To you I'm just Nina."
"No, Nina," I protested. "That's not true at all."
"It is, she said. "But do you know what? I've always had feelings for you. Ever since you first started talking to me in the lunchroom I've had strong feelings for you. Over the past two years they've never been returned but I've always had them and I've always hoped that some day..." She sniffed a little, more tears coming down now. "Time and time again I've started to feel like maybe there was some hope. Even though I've heard all of the stories about you, about how you'll screw anyone. Even though girls are always coming up to me and asking about you, trying to get me to introduce them to you, I still had some hope. I kept deluding myself, telling myself that you really were a nice guy. That you really weren't doing all of these things that I was hearing."
"I am a nice guy," I protested. "It's just..."
"Time and time again I would see what you were doing and try to tell myself I wasn't really seeing it. I would try to tell myself that someday..." She took a deep breath. "Anyway, when you told me that Julie and you were just going to ride together I felt, well, jealous, threatened at first. I know we're not going together or anything but still, I feel these things, Bill. I can't help it. I've got these fucking feelings for you. But then I thought about it and decided I'd overreacted a little. I told myself that there was no way Bill would ever do anything with an engaged girl. I convinced myself that I'd let my feelings come out a little too much this time." She snorted in disgust. "I was afraid you'd be mad at me. So I came over here to tell you I was sorry about that.
"When I got here and saw Julie's car out front it suddenly came home to me. Everything I'd always heard about you was true. All of the times I'd convinced myself that people were just talking about you, all of the times I saw with my own eyes what you were doing and convinced myself it was something else, all of that just fell apart when I saw her car. You really are an asshole, Bill, and the worst kind. You're an asshole that can pretend not to be one."
"Nina," I said, "let me explain..."
"There's nothing to explain," she said. "I've got to get away from you. I've got to stay away from you, do you understand? You're not good for me and you give me too many bad feelings. I just came up here to let you know that you're going to have to find another way to get to school." Tears were now running freely down her cheeks and her voice was breaking as she held off sobs.
"Nina, let's talk about this," I said.
"No," she cried, turning away from me. "Goodbye, Bill." She started down the walk.
"Nina!" I yelled, starting after her.
"Leave me alone," she sobbed. "Just stay away from me here, now, and forever. Don't call me anymore, don't talk to me anymore. Please."
She continued down the walkway and turned left at the sidewalk, heading for home. Less than ten seconds later she was out of my sight. But she wasn't out of my mind.

[whiskynaam]

Despite what she'd said to me I tried to call her several times that day. I needed to talk to her, to tell her that I wasn't really an asshole. I needed to try to get her to change her mind. Each time her mother answered the phone and told me that Nina was not there. Her mother's voice, which usually lit up when she was talking to me, was emotionless and flat, with no hint of the previous warmth that had been in it. Finally she told me her daughter did not wish to speak to me and said that I should refrain from calling anymore. I put down the phone feeling defeated.
The next morning Dad saw me bundling up and preparing to walk to school. He gave me a puzzled look. "Isn't Nina coming to pick you up today?" he asked.
"No," I told him. "She's kind of, well, mad at me. She's not going to give me a ride anymore."
"You guys broke up?" he asked, his voice soft with sympathy.
"She was never my girlfriend, Dad," I told him, irritated. "She's just mad at me and doesn't want to give me a ride anymore."
He stared levelly at me. "Bill," he said, "I hate to tell you this but Nina was your girlfriend, whether you realized it or not."
I shook my head. "No, Dad," I said. "We were just friends. We never... well, you know?"
"Is that what you think a girlfriend is?" he asked. "Someone to, 'you know' with? You and Nina might not have ever done that with each other but you were boyfriend and girlfriend all the same. You liked being around each other, you liked to talk together. You were friends. You loved each other. Isn't friendship the most important part of a relationship? Any relationship? Why do people disregard such things?"
Had it been so obvious that even my dad had seen it? How could I have not seen it all this time? And how could fate have been so cruel to allow me to realize it on the very day, at the very minute that its destruction was being engineered.
"I don't know, Dad," I said with complete honesty. "Maybe they're just assholes."
He gave me a meaningful look. "Maybe they are," he replied. "And maybe they need to take a good look at what is making them an asshole, don't you think? Maybe they can change that little something?"
I gave him a sharp look. What was he saying? What did he know? Was he talking about my social activities? Surely he didn't know about that did he? But then I'd assumed Nina hadn't known about that either, an assumption that, now that it had been proven wrong, seemed painfully naive. Was my assumption that Dad or even, I shuddered, Mom, didn't know as flawed as that about Nina?
Dad had hidden his face back behind the paper, offering me no more insights into what he was thinking. Troubled, I picked up my backpack and headed out the door. I wasn't surprised to find that it was raining as I headed, on foot, to school. It was that kind of day.
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My attempts to talk to Nina at school were met with stony silence. By the time lunch came around I knew better than to even try anymore. As I ate my lunch in the lunchroom I looked over to where Nina sat and dread covered me like a blanket. She was sitting alone at a table, eating from her tray, a book open before her. Just like she'd been doing the first day I'd approached her. Just like it.
Julie picked me up once more for ROP. As we drove to the hospital together I was disquieted by the freeness of her affection towards me. She would put her hand on my leg as we talked, or brush my hair from my eyes for me. Once she even kissed her finger and put it to my lips gently. She told me how great of a time she'd had yesterday.
"Do you think maybe we could study together again after school?" she asked brightly.
"Uh... not today," I told her. "I have to work." In truth I could have easily arranged a little meeting before work but I simply wasn't up to it. I'd never felt less like having sex in my life.
She pouted a little. "Well maybe next week," she said. "I really need to bone up on certain things."
As we worked side by side I noticed again how much she went out of her way to bump into me or to rub her breasts against my shoulder. Since I was quieter than usual she decided to talk more than usual. I winced when she mentioned her fiancée.
"Sometimes I wonder if I really made the right decision when I said I'd marry him," she told me.
I looked over at her, perhaps a little sharper than I'd intended to. "What do you mean?"
"Well," she beamed, her eyes shining, "I'm still young, ain't I? Maybe he's not the right one. Maybe I just jumped because he was the first one to ask. There's lots of other guys out there that might be better, isn't there?"
I quite simply didn't know what to say to her.
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When I came home from work that night my Mom was sitting on the couch watching television and working on some sort of project for work. I gave her a perfunctory greeting and started to head for my room.
"Bill?" she asked. "Are you doing okay?"
I stopped, turning towards her. "Sure, Mom," I answered. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"Dad told me about you and Nina breaking up," she said. "I just wanted to know how you were handling it."
I didn't even bother explaining to her that Nina and I hadn't had a relationship to break up from. By now it was starting to sound like a lie even to me. "I'm okay, Mom," I assured her. "It'll work out."
"I certainly hope so," she told me sympathetically. "I really like her a lot you know. I thought you two made a cute couple."
I smiled weakly.
"I'm not trying to tell you how to run your life or anything, Bill," she said, "but I think you had a good thing with her. If I were you, I'd do whatever I had to to get her back. Sincerely."
"Thanks, Mom," I muttered, unsure what I was thanking her for. Why in the hell hadn't anyone told me this stuff a month ago, or a year ago, or even twenty-four hours ago?
Of course I was deluding myself because they had. Tracy in the most direct way, although I'd refused to hear her, Mom and Dad in more indirect ways. How many times had they referred to Nina as my girlfriend, either to me or when talking about her to someone else? And how many times had I reproached them for this, angrily even on occasion? Too many to count.
"Well that's my motherly advice for the day," she said. "If you're feeling down maybe this will help." She picked up an envelope from the table and handed it to me. On the front I recognized my sister's handwriting.
"From Tracy?" I asked. Since leaving for California Tracy had not exactly been an open line of communication. Two phone calls, one of which had just been to tell us she'd arrived safely, and this one letter. Since she lived in the dorms it was almost impossible to get hold of her.
"Yes." Mom nodded. "And about time too. I swear, you send them to college and they forget you exist."
I opened the envelope and sat down on the couch, pulling the single handwritten sheet of paper out and unfolding it.
Dear Mom, Dad, and Bill, it started. It was mostly to let us know she was alive and well and doing fine. She chattered on about how much she was enjoying her classes and the California weather, how much she liked living in the dorms, about her job at the campus bookstore, which would help supplement her living expenses. And then towards the end she told us that she'd met a boy and had been dating him fairly frequently. His name was Darren Maxwell.
Darren Maxwell. I'd never heard that name before in my life, before or after recycling. But for some reason that name gave me a twinge of fear. I continued to read her decidedly unfeminine handwriting, becoming more nervous in a much more identifiable way. He was a junior at the school attending on a baseball scholarship. A baseball player. He was a sports figure, just like the guy who had been scheduled to cause her death. It should have felt stupid that I was worrying about her just because she was dating a baseball player but it didn't. It made me very uncomfortable. I found myself wondering what kind of car he drove and if he liked to drink at parties.
Troubled, I put the letter back into the envelope and put it back on the table.
"What's the matter, Bill?" Mom asked me. "You look kind of pale."
"Nothing, Mom," I said, standing up. "I think I'm gonna hit the rack."
I was halfway up the stairs when it hit me. I realized why Darren Maxwell's name bothered me so much. He had the same initials as David Mitchell. The same amount of syllables in his name. I wondered if they looked alike. I wondered if I was just being paranoid, if the initials and the sports history were just a meaningless coincidence. Every time I started to convince myself that paranoia was all it was I would think about Beirut and about Nina sitting alone in the cafeteria, reading a book before she went off, alone, to medical school.
"Jesus, this is creepy," I muttered.
I lay in bed but it was a long time before I got to sleep.

[whiskynaam]

I tried to call Nina twice over the weekend. The first time her mother not so politely told me that Nina did not wish to speak to me. The second time her Dad told me he would call the cops if I called there again. On Monday at school I tried to talk to her in class.
"I told you to leave me alone," she said quietly but coldly, in a voice that did not promise the opening of negotiations.
I left her alone.
Julie picked me up once again, for what I planned to be the last time. Though I wanted a job at central supply as much as anyone, I could not ride to work with her anymore. I didn't know if I was ever going to be able to bring Nina around again but it certainly wouldn't help for her to see me driving off every afternoon with Julie. I planned to tell her on the way to the hospital that this would be the last ride. But before I could, she blindsided me.
She was bubbly and exuberant as I climbed into the car and she roared off with much more enthusiasm than she usually displayed.
"You're in a good mood today," I commented, trying to think of an opening, or closing line.
"Yep," she bubbled happily. "I sure am. You know why?"
"Why?" I asked.
"Look," she said, and waved her left hand before my face.
I blinked in confusion, not following her. "Your hand," I said dryly. "What about it?"
"Notice anything missing?" she smiled, waggling her fingers.
And suddenly I did. The diamond engagement ring that she'd been so proud of, that she'd annoyed the living shit out of every member of the class with, was no longer on her ring finger. "Your ring," I said hollowly, knowing what the significance of it's absence had to be.
"Yep," she said, dropping the hand into my lap, very near my crotch. "I'm free. Absolutely free. I gave it back to him on Saturday night and told him I didn't want to marry him or see him anymore."
I took a deep breath. "Why did you do that?" I asked slowly.
"Because I don't want to see him anymore," she told me. She gave my leg a squeeze. "I've found someone else."
She'd found someone else? Oh shit. "And who might that be?" I braced myself.
She gave me a look that conveyed the message she thought I was teasing her. "You, you hoser," she said with a playful smile. "What we experienced the other night was just... just incredible, wasn't it? I knew right then we had something special going. Didn't you just feel the electricity?"
"Oh God," I couldn't help but mutter. Could this week get any worse?
"Hey," she said, "are your parents gone? I was thinking maybe we could cut ROP today and go over to your place." Her hand trailed upward until it was firmly in my crotch. "Spend the afternoon together?"
Slowly, patiently, I picked up her hand from my lap and put it back in hers. "Julie," I started, and then was unable to think of anything to say.
"What?" she said, confused by my rejection of her hand and the serious tone of my voice.
I looked at the ceiling of the car for a moment, trying to think. Why the hell was she doing this to me? Didn't she understand The Rules? She was supposed to enjoy our session and leave it at that. She wasn't supposed to break up with her fucking fiancée because of it. She wasn't supposed to be feeling electricity or any of that romance novel crap. I had no experience with this sort of thing.
"Sweetie," she said, concerned. "What's wrong?"
Sweetie? Oh Christ. This was getting way out of hand.
"Look, Julie," I said patiently. "I'm not your sweetie. I'm just Bill. Bill from class. We had a little fun together the other day, something we probably shouldn't have done, but I never meant for it to go any further than that. I never meant for you to break up with your fiancée over it."
Her face turned deadly serious. "What are you saying?" she asked.
What was I saying? Hadn't I just said it? "What I'm saying," I told her carefully, "is that I am not looking for a relationship with you. We just had a day of fun together."
"You don't want to go out with me?" she whispered, her tone conveying danger just under the surface.
"No," I said. "What happened between us just kind of happened. I didn't intend for it to go any further than that. Can't we just be friends?"
"Friends?" she nearly spat. "It sounds to me like you think I'm some sort of slut."
"No, no!" I protested. "That's not..."
"You take me over to your place and fuck me and you just want to end it like that? That's how guys treat sluts!"
"But..."
"I'm not no fuckin slut!" she screamed at me. "Did you think I was one? Did you think you were just gonna fuck me and then we'd forget about it the next day? How could you think that? I'm a Catholic, Goddammit. I go to fucking church! Nobody treats me like a fuckin slut!"
"You're not a slut, Julie," I protested. "All I was trying to say..."
She suddenly slammed on the brakes, bringing her car to a screeching, smoking halt in the middle of one of Spokane's major arteries. I heard the screech of other brakes behind us as several cars nearly rear-ended her.
"Julie, Jesus, what are..."
"Get the fuck out of my car, you asshole!" she screamed at me. "Get your fuckin ass out now! I don't ever want to see your fucked-up, lying face again!"
"Let's talk about..."
"GET OUT!" she screamed and I saw murder in her eyes.
I unsnapped my seatbelt, opened the door, and got out. Before I could close the door she peeled away, ripping it out of my hand, leaving me standing in the middle of the street in one of the worst neighborhoods in town. I looked around uncomfortably at the angry faces of the motorists whose progress I was impeding and I hurried to the curb.
"I think I could have handled that better," I muttered to myself.
I took a quick look around me, trying to figure out what I was going to do next. I was in front of a liquor store and three blacks were hanging out in front of it. They were in their early twenties or late teens and looked like gang members based on their garb. They were smoking cigarettes and drinking from forty-ounce cans of beer. They eyed me with amusement.
"Homey," one of them said to me sympathetically, "that was one pissed off bitch."
"Yep," another agreed. "I heard her rap all the way over here. I was you, homey, I'd stay away from that shit."
"Sure thing," the other one put in. "Bitch done dropped your ass off in the hood. You'd a been good as dead she'd a done that shit at night. Lucky for you it's day, you only half as good as dead 'round here now."
They all laughed at that, shaking their heads at my predicament. I felt no fear from them. I'd worked for years in 'the hood' and had gotten good at reading the intentions of the inhabitants of it. Their jostling of me was for their own amusement. They meant me no harm. However, there were others around that would mean me some harm if I encountered them. I was no longer in possession of the safety my uniform provided or the portable radio that I'd once carried here that could summon every cop within five square miles in less than two minutes. I was in a delicate situation.
"Yeah," I said to them. "I do seem to be out of my element here, don't I?"
This cracked them up again. "You ain't shittin," one of them said.
"The bus stop around here somewhere?" I asked.
"Right here, homey," one answered. "Should be comin round in about twenty minutes."
"Hope you can make it that long," the one that had made the crack about the hood commented.
I looked around again, not seeing anything that offered comfort to me. The street was lined with liquor stores, cheap motels, and the occasional sub-human apartment complex. There were alleys between each of the buildings that undoubtedly contained all manner of thug of all races and creeds. This was not a place to take a little stroll. I turned back to the three-man comedy team.
"Gentlemen," I said, "I propose a business deal."
"Say what?" the apparent leader of the trio asked me.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a ten-dollar bill, my weekly ration from my paycheck. I silently gave thanks that I'd increased it to ten after starting work in the hospital. "Take this ten," I said, "and take it into the liquor store there. Buy me one of those forties you're drinking, since I can use a drink about now, and give me back a buck for the bus. You guys keep the rest for yourself in exchange for keeping me from getting killed before the bus gets here."
They all stared at me for a moment, a trio of The Look. Finally the leader spoke. "And what's to stop us," he asked, "from just takin the dime and sendin your ass the fuck out of here?"
I shrugged. "Absolutely nothing."
It took them a moment but they finally started laughing. The leader, shaking his head and grinning, plucked the ten out of my fingers and headed into the store. He returned a minute later handing me a frosty, forty-ounce can of King Cobra and a dollar bill.
"You know somethin, homey?" he asked me as I cracked open the beer and took a huge swallow. "You all right. You the most fun we had around here in a fuckin week."
And so I made it safely out of the worst area that Spokane had to offer. I boarded the bus, buzzing pleasantly from the beer that I'd just slammed into my system, gave my business partners a wave goodbye, and found myself a seat. I thought it prudent to avoid going to the hospital that day, giving Julie 24 hours to cool down. Since I was not accustomed to riding the bus and since I did not have any more money to spare I simply sat in my seat until the bus I was on passed near my home. It took nearly two hours and by the time I got off my bladder felt as if it was going to burst. I ran the five blocks to my house, fumbled with the key, and dashed full speed to the bathroom.
It was a fitting end to the school day I supposed.
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