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He pressed his hands into his hips and widened his eyes, “Hold up, lightnin’. That’s what’s wrong with your generation. You’re always in a damned hurry. So, you met a girl. What’s troublin’ ya about it?”
Feeling somewhat embarrassed, I responded truthfully, “I already feel as if I need her. It’s almost like I’ve known her for years, but we just met.”
He leaned into the fender of the golf cart and grinned, “Ain’t no shame in that, Jak. Now, you scared you’re gonna fuck it up or are you thinkin’ she’s gonna hurt ya? Which one?”
I rocked back and forth on my aching calves. I thought about what he asked. I really didn’t know the answer. I wasn’t sure it was either I was afraid of. More accurately, I feared what I felt was an unnatural attraction based on the amount of time I had known Karter. I opted to respond with a brief but accurate answer.
I bent down, touched my toes, and responded as I stood, “I’m afraid it’s too early for me to feel like this.”
“Too early? Shit, feelin’s ain’t got a time clock, Jak. An’ if you’re worried about you, lemme tell ya somethin’. I was over there a little better’n two years. Two years of hell, fo’ sho’. When I come back, I was like a dried out sponge. I sucked up everything what got close to me. Sights, sounds, food, feelin’s - I just sucked ‘em up,” he leaned forward and stood from the golf cart’s fender as he began to laugh.
“I was prob’ly back a week at the time. I walked up to this tree and for some reason I just stared at it. I looked up in it and I remember smilin’. She was a biggun, prob’ly a forty-footer. An’ I just climbed that sum bitch. Hell, I was damned near thirty years old, an’ I climbed a tree. You wanna know why?”
I smiled and nodded my head, “Yes sir.”
“Because I could,” he grinned.
He pulled a plastic tipped cigar from his pocket and waved it at me as he spoke, “War dries us out Jak. Two years dried me right up. Hell, you been at it for damned near twenty, you’re drier’n a popcorn fart. Go absorb some of what God intended for ya to. And don’t fuss about lettin’ your heart open up. If she’s a good girl for ya, you’ll heart’ll know it.”
He lifted the cigar to his mouth and chewed on the tip as if satisfied he made had his point. As I considered his comments, he narrowed his eyes and pulled the cigar from his mouth. He pointed the tip in my direction and smiled as he nodded his head sharply, “And if she was bad, we wouldn’t be havin’ this talk now would we?”
I smiled and shook my head, “No sir.”
He turned and slowly walked toward the bench. After what appeared to be a short recollection of where he was when I disturbed him, he reached down, picked up the electric motor from the pump and set it aside. For an instant he stood motionless.
He looked over his right shoulder. The cigar still dangled from his lips, “Go climb that tree, Jak.”
I nodded my head and smiled, “Thanks Oscar. I’ll be seeing you.”
“Not if I see you first,” he chuckled.
I bent down, retied my shoes and jogged to the parking lot. The thought of possibly seeing Karter filled my mind as I unlocked the truck and retrieved my phone from my gym bag. Still standing outside the truck, I swiped the screen of my phone. Upon opening the text screen, I smiled. One lone text message was all I had received. It was all I needed. Anxiously, I opened the message.
Karter Wilson: I can’t paint and I don’t want to ride. All I can think about is you. Dude, what the fuck did you do to me?
I stared at the screen, knowing what I wanted to say, but feeling as if I shouldn’t send a message which would allow her to perceive me as weak or needy.
Fuck it, Jak. Be honest with this girl. Be honest with yourself. Tell her what you’re thinking. Then, she’ll know exactly how you feel. If she’s still interested it’ll be for all the right reasons.
I inhaled, studied at the screen for a second, and typed a brief but heartfelt response.
I feel the same way.
I tossed the phone onto the top of my bag and climbed into the seat of the truck. After a shower and change of clothes, I’d be ready for a new day of relaxation. As I pushed the key into the ignition, my phone beeped. I reached for it and immediately swiped my thumb across the screen as I raised it to my chest.
Karter Wilson: I’m dying a slow miserable death. End the fucking pain. Come over, pick me up, and then leave if you have to. But come pick me up. Mosley Street Apts. #211.
Uncertain if she meant to pick her up from her apartment and take her somewhere or lift her from her feet again, I reread the message. Still unclear and not wanting to make any assumptions, I typed a universal response.
I’m in PT gear and need to shower.
I read my message. Dissatisfied with the military reference, I erased it and retyped another message.
I just got done running and I’m in shorts and a tee shirt. Give me an hour.
I pressed send.
I tossed my phone onto my gym bag. As I gripped the key with my thumb and forefinger, the phone beeped. I shook my head and smiled as I lifted it from the bag and cleared the screen.
