Chapter 4

Bill Hardesty’s turn:

I’ve just become Bill 3.0.

Cindy officially conferred the status upon me. “Bill 1.0’s my adopted dad. Bill 2.0’s Haley’s husband in Louisiana. Since you’re part of this now, you shall be Bill 3.0.”

Which is fine, except to Herself, the Vickster, I’m ‘Billy’.

“Cindy said you were ‘Billy’ when she first met you.”

“I was. I like to think that I’m mature enough to be ‘Bill’ now.”

Sparkly eyes. “Not ‘William’?”

“Bill.”

Snicker. “Billy.”

That snicker is one reason I’m in the shape I’m in. I’m nineteen, being tutored by a fourteen year old. There were four of them, Vicki being the youngest, but...

The ringleader, the terrible pTerridactyl, Terri Addison, got married the day after her fourteenth birthday to Jerry Stengall, twenty-two, and a degreed engineer. Two more, Rachel Weismann and Derek Helton, decided that they, having gone through the rites of Judaism that proclaim their entry into adulthood and having been hand-holding, sneaking kisses and hugs, have consummated THEIR marriage.

That left me with Vicki. Oh, sure, the others still participate. I get white-boarded frequently by a group that looks like they should be just outgrowing Pokemon. I’ve had my nose rubbed in polynomials and trig and calculus and positively shuddered when one of them turns to me with a look that says, on one hand, ‘are you really that dense?’ and on the other, ‘what do we expect from a football player?’.

I struggled getting my head back into the game, but I did. First, I passed up the math and science at the high school level – stuff that I’d mostly learned in high school but promptly forgot when I went to college on an athletic scholarship.

Now I’m back, and at the prodding of the Munchkins, I’m smack in the middle of second year math for engineers. Cindy’s going to get me swapped over from a Fine Arts major to engineering.

Vicki attacked me over that. “Maybe I don’t WANT an engineer. EVERYBODY’S got an engineer. Maybe I want a poet...”

“Roses are red, and we shouldn’t be picky. I’m an engineer, but I loves me some Vicki,” I said.

Got me a Vicki kiss. “You’d better be for real, Billy,” she said.

I’d better be. The whole community loves Vicki, and if I were to treat her dishonorably, I’d be dismembered, with the first chunks of me hacked away by my own parents.

Surreal, isn’t it? I mean, walk in and sit down to have a heart to heart talk with your mom and dad. “How do I start? I found ‘er.”

“When can we meet ‘er?” Mom asked excitedly, Dad letting her voice the words for both of them.

“You already have,” I said.

“Where?”

“At the community. She and I danced...”

Dad’s brow wrinkled. “Son, you danced with a lot of ladies there.”

I did. Even danced with Cindy’s mom and Mizz Lee, who’s seventy-something.

“The little honey-blonde.”

“You ... son, how old is she?”

“Fourteen.”

Dad hung his head. “Fourteen. The magic number.”

Mom sighed. “Just when you thought that the answer to life, the universe, and everything was forty-two, we found out it’s fourteen.” Heavy sigh. “Oh, son...”

“Bill,” Dad said, “I know because you’ve confessed to me ... other women...”

“Dad, none of them is, or ever has a chance of being, Vicki.”

“You haven’t...” Mom started.

“NO way, Mom. I’ve repented. That isn’t what this is.”

Mom looked relieved. Dad didn’t look surprised. “Prayers answered,” he said.

“But why Vicki, son?” Mom asked me.

“Why Dad, Mom?” I countered.

“I know. Affairs of the heart,” she stated.

“Heart’s certainly in it. But Mom, she’s just so utterly, inconceivably perfect.”

“And she KNOWS how you feel?”

“She does. She looked into my eyes and we told each other. Mom, Dad, she says it’s the forever kind of love.”

“And you can see that? Son, we’ve tried to bring you up well. You’re smart, you’re healthy, we’ve tried to educate you as well as teach you...” Dad told me.

“You succeeded, Dad. This is a sign of that. I know. Fourteen. But d’ya remember the first few times Cindy showed up with Mister Dan, then you found out they were married?”

“I know,” Dad said. “I struggled with that.”

“And now?”

“Now I see that there are possibilities outside the norms.”

“Vicki Duncan is an impossibility, Dad.” I looked at Mom. “Mom, you already understand.”

“Yes, son.”

“Well?” I questioned.

“We’ll stand with you, son. You may have a wait. Are you sure you’re up for that?”

“Yessir. I’ll stand for it.”

Since then, our two families have gotten together. Not much to talk about. Done deal and all.

Vicki’s turn:

It’s NOT a crush, it’s a connection.

I’ve heard the ‘it’s a crush’ thing. Did an analysis. Yes, you can go ahead and hang all those ‘fourteen-year-old’ criteria on me, but don’t you think that if I know ‘criteria’ and I have a college degree that some of that might not apply to me?

Fourteen? Physically. I have been on this earth that long. I dunno what happened between Dad’s genes and Mom’s genes to get ME, but something happened. Understand, my father is an engineer, and by all measures, a GOOD one. He IS smart.

Mom? Not so sure about Mom. She left Dad for another guy. Left that one for another. Et cetera ... I can plainly see that in some ways, Mom’s not smart. And don’t get me wrong. I’m talking about my birth mother, not Dad’s forever wife, my sister slash step-mom slash friend.

That’s Kim. Kim’s wonderful and smart like me.

So being a research engineer in Real Life® I did some reading. Studied. Investigated.

This is not puppy love. It’s not a crush. It’s real.

I kissed him first, you know. I don’t know how long I would have to wait if I didn’t.

He acted appropriately mortified, made the correct sounds about age-appropriate behaviors, and in a burst of self-restraint (NOW it shows up, after the kiss) I didn’t tell him that it was not unusual for college students to kiss. Of course, I’m a college grad now, but I still maintain R&D affiliation with Auburn, so theoretically I’m a student.

Since then, we’ve made it known, much in the same fashion that Terri and Jerry were known and that Rachel and Derek were known.

Of course, Terri’s married now, and everybody knows, but nobody discusses openly, that Rachel and Derek are a consummated couple.

Consummated. Sounds like a step in soup production. I cannot fathom how that word got tied into what I imagine to be a divine event.

Why do I think that? Among the Munchkins, I’m sort of the best researcher, so when I started having questions, I sought answers. And I have two sisters with recent experience on the subject matter.

“Was it painful?” I asked Terri.

“Nope, but I did what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing, then?” I asked.

“Asking questions. I asked. Nobody admitted to pain more than clipping a hangnail. A couple of them admitted to sort of pushing things to stretch that area out.”

“Good to know,” I said.

“Seriously, Vick,” she told me, “I love him. He loves me. That day, it was the most special, the most wonderful. So hurt? Nope.”

Rachel pretty much mirrored Terri’s message, but she’s the one that said ‘hangnail’. “But I wouldn’t’ve stopped, Vicki. I couldn’t. It was me and my husband. That made two people ONE. And since then, it gets better...”

That part I didn’t need to hear. Okay, I already KNOW it’s entirely too popular an activity to be a drag to anybody.

I say all this because I found out that a good kiss makes me glow all over. If I was stupid, I’d think that something was wrong with me. I’m NOT stupid, and I understand the physiology and the psychology and I find that Billy and I can find places and times for a few good kisses.

And hugs. Like I’m supposed to fit him and he’s supposed to wrap strong arms around me and I’m then the most protected, most cared-for girl in the world.

So both families sat down together for the Talk.

The adults in my life recognize the inevitable. So do the parents of Billy. It’s going to happen while I’m fourteen, just like for Terri.

Dad says there’s always a serpent in paradise, though.

Mom. Not Kim, who certainly recognizes that real love is ageless, but Mom, who is in a bad place financially. She blames it on her last guy, but I’m of the opinion that the pattern skips from one boyfriend to the next.

Mom.

Tim Duncan’s turn:

I once had a technician who solemnly told me, “Tim, there’s two important things about shit. The first is, it stinks. The second is, the more you stir it, the worse it stinks. And if you don’t know that, you don’t know shit.”

Well, at least he grinned when he said it. But right now, that’s what I’m thinking, and it ain’t funny.

The way THAT developed was by text from Kim, followed by a phone call from Karen, who is our precious “gift that keeps on giving.”

“Tim, I’m having financial issues again.”

“Karen, what’s the issue this time?” I said, “Did you pay off those debts like we discussed?”

She said, “Tim, I couldn’t. The thing is, I had to make a couple of trips to Baton Rouge to get things lined up with the new job, and then I couldn’t get the condo I wanted. They said my credit wasn’t good enough, so they’ll rent one to me, but the only way they’ll sell it is with a LARGE down payment, and I don’t have money for it.”

I said, “Maybe you should try something smaller, until you get established. Have you thought about that?”

She said, “I actually did, but Tim, those rentals are in lousy neighborhoods, and I don’t want to live like that. And then, my Lexus is nearly four years old, so I didn’t trust it to drive across the whole country, so I got a new one, and I had to make a large downpayment on THAT, because of bad credit.”