Chapter 4

Her dad drove to work, and so she could never drive during the week. One Saturday in mid-June, he was fixing a cabinet hinge for her mom, but couldn’t find the screw he needed.

“Want me to get it?” she asked. Nothing good was on TV.

“Well, thank you,” he said. “I don’t like to go out dressed like this. I’d be grateful.” So, with a sample screw in hand, she drove to the hardware store.

Standing in the aisle was Craig! “Sandy!” he said. “Why are you here?”

She showed him the screw. He went down an aisle to boxes and boxes of screws. He picked out one box and showed it to her. It looked like the same kind of screw. “You sure he wants a Phillips head?” Craig asked.

“He wants one just like that. They have to match.”

“Well, that’s what you’ve got.” When he walked over to the cash register, he got behind the counter and waited for the owner to finish with a customer. Sandy realized that Craig worked there. “Look,” Craig said, “this is a bad place to talk. May I call you?”

“Sure.”

He didn’t call until Monday morning, though. “Sandy,” he said when she’d got on the phone, “this is Craig Schmidt.”

“Hello, Craig.”

“Are you still mad at me?”

“I wouldn’t say I was ever mad at you.” Not with her mom listening, she wouldn’t.

“Well, maybe saying it would have helped. You know, you never told me that you thought that was our song.”

It had been the first song they’d danced to. Sandy didn’t think she needed to point out things like that. ‘See that bright light up there? That’s the sun.’ “If I didn’t, how do you know?”

“You never told me. You told plenty of other people when you were mad at me.” Well, she may have mentioned it once or twice.

“So?...”

“So, I didn’t mean to hurt you. Your dad told me that I had to dance with other girls. You were there. I danced with another girl. You dumped me.” That wasn’t quite how it had gone. But she wasn’t mad at Craig anymore.

They talked until her mom made her hang up the phone.

Craig called again the next day. “Look, it’s a nice day. I want to talk. Your mom doesn’t want us tying up the phone. Want to meet me in Spencer Park?”

“Okay.”

“The entrance on Benson nearest your house.” Whatever she’d thought of Craig, it was typical of him that he chose the entrance which was easiest for her.

“Meet you there.”

Once there, they walked until they came to a bench with nobody around. “You work at the hardware store?” she asked.

“Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from 12:00 to 9:00. Saturdays, from 9:00 to 9:00. You’d think that hardware stores wouldn’t do much business weekdays when men are at work. You get an entirely different trade then, carpenters, plumbers and such who know precisely what they want. I’m only now learning to find what they need.”

She’d missed talking with Craig. She’d leave the issue of dancing their song with another girl alone. After all, he wasn’t her boyfriend; Charlie was her boyfriend. Craig was a boy who was, once again, a friend.

They talked until it was nearly time for lunch. “Thursday?” asked Craig.

“Thursday.”

Charlie called that afternoon, inviting her to the movies on Friday. “Want to go for some burgers, first?”

“Thanks.” She told her mom. Being -- whatever her mom thought -- grown up, she told her rather than asked her. She couldn’t simply not show up for dinner.

Thursday, she and Craig filled each other in on what they’d done in school. “You had typing for one marking period,” Craig said, “I’m going to take that next year. What was it like?”

She told him. “Remember you used to fill me in on the teachers?” He did. “Now I can do the same for you.”

“Yeah. And I’m grateful.”

“Don’t tell mom, yet. But I think I’ll take typing for a whole year. Miss Maxwell says I could. I’d start out ahead, but repeating the first practices would be good for me.”

“Why not tell your mom?”

“She wants me to take French. Really, she wants me to take Latin, but she knows that’s a lost cause.”

“French isn’t so bad.”

“It’s absolutely useless. Mom took Latin; she never uses it.”

“And you’re a girl.”

“Meaning?”

“I’ll admit I haven’t seen one. I don’t think I could read one, anyway. But there are supposed to be real racy books in French.” Of course, Craig would never suggest that she was the sort of girl who would ever want to read a racy book. And, being a good girl, she would never hint to him that she might want to. Anyway, there were racy books in English. Her girlfriends sometimes passed them around with bookmarks at the good parts.

She and Craig talked about their (rather nebulous) hopes for life after school and their struggles with their parents. Her mom was a full-time homemaker, which made the amount of work she expected from Sandy ridiculous. Craig’s mom still worked at the supermarket, mostly days like his dad. Linda had a summer job. So, Craig often had the house to himself when he wasn’t working.

What she didn’t mention to Craig was Charlie. It was none of his business, of course. When they parted, they agreed to meet again Tuesday.

When they got to the drive-in Friday, Charlie told the girl that there was no way she could fit the trays onto the jeep; she should just bring the food. At the movie, she somehow felt more exposed with Charlie’s hand under her light skirt. Nobody was looking, but they could have seen more if they had.

Parked afterwards, Charlie helped her off with her blouse and bra. He pushed her skirt up so his eyes, as well as his hand had access to her panties. After his strokes had brought her relief, he moved her hand to his zipper. “Open it,” he said.

Was she going to rub his hardon again? Was this their new standard? Well, he was willing to take care of her needs. She opened the zipper, with a little trouble. She pulled his hardon through the slot in his shorts. “Careful,” said Charlie. If he wanted it to be handled carefully, he could do it himself.

Charlie had brought a bunch of napkins from the drive-in. When he spurted, he caught most of it on two or three of them. Then he handed her another to clean off her hand. He let his napkins go into the air streaming around them when he drove back. “Look,” he said when they were getting close to her house, “the movie isn’t that important, is it?”

“Well, no.”

“How about, we go out again Wednesday? Tell your folks that you’re going to the movie again. We can pick up some food at the drive-in and eat it someplace else. Stupid to have a Jeep and only go where cars can go.”

She wasn’t so sure she wanted to lie to her mom, although she sure wouldn’t tell her how she’d spent the last hour. She was being hard on Charlie, though. She knew him well enough to know that, since he never minded lying, he didn’t think he was asking anything of her. “Okay,” she said quietly, “it’s a date.”

And, she realized when she was in her bed at home, it was a date to go petting. She was nervous Saturday telling her mom about the new date, but she didn’t hear any objections.

Tuesday looked more like the first of March than the 25th of June. When she met Craig at the park entrance, the sky was dark, and the wind was gusting. Shortly after they sat down, a few drops of rain began to fall. She didn’t want to stop talking now. “Can we move under the trees?” she asked.

“Too much danger of lightning. Look, want to come back to my house? Nobody’s home.”

Did she? Go into a boy’s house when nobody was home? What if the rain got heavy and Craig got insistent? What was she thinking? This was Craig, not Charlie. Craig wouldn’t get insistent. And indeed, in the hours that thunder rolled overhead, and rain poured against the windows, Craig never so much as touched her. They did split a bottle of Coke.

“Sandy,” her mom said when she got home, “you should have called.”

“Well, you knew I was going to be with my friends.” It had been years since she told her mom which friend, which was lucky since ‘I was in Craig’s house’ would have led to her murder. “I couldn’t leave until the rain let up.”

“Are you hungry? Did you have lunch?”

Typical of her mom. She should answer ‘Yes.’ But she didn’t. “I’ll fix myself something.”

“There’s soup on the stove.”

Craig hadn’t touched her, hadn’t even kissed her goodbye. But, that night in bed, she thought of all the other possibilities. He held her tight, his hardon pressing into her back. While she struggled, one hand went to her breast and the other went between her legs. Where had her jeans gone? She didn’t know, but her hand met naked flesh. So, his hand would too. She imagined her struggles and his explorations until her feelings peaked. She dropped back in the bed.

With all the work she’d missed the day before, and being scheduled to miss the evening as well, she slaved hours for her mom on Wednesday. She took too long in the tub, and Charlie was waiting inside for her when she came down.

“Yesterday,” Charlie said in the Jeep, “I thought we might end up going to the movies after all.” They couldn’t have a picnic if the rain had continued. She hadn’t thought of that; she hadn’t really thought about Charlie while she was with Craig.

They got burgers, Cokes, and milk shakes at the drive-in. She held all the food while Charlie drove to a secluded field outside of town. He spread a blanket on a dry, and rather high, clearing in the woods. She felt a little exposed there, but she could understand. Anything lower, and -- especially -- anything actually under the trees, would still be soggy.

They finished everything but the milkshakes before Charlie kissed her. Soon, her blouse was open, and her bra unsnapped. Charlie pushed her down flat while he kissed her breasts. In this position, he gave equal attention to both of them. But he raised her skirt above her waist before he finally kissed her nipple.

His hand stroked her thigh, rubbed her pantied lips. She was getting excited, getting close. Lying down, without the awkwardness of the Jeep seats, was better. She nearly panicked when she felt Charlie’s finger on her lips under the panties, but the feeling was even more thrilling. Then he stopped all contact.

“Lift up,” he said.

“What?” She felt his hands at the waistband of her panties.

“Lift up. We can’t do it while you’re wearing these.”

Do it? Her arousal was replaced by deep fear. Charlie was stronger than she was; she had no idea how to get home if he didn’t drive her; nobody could hear if she screamed. Well, he wasn’t threatening her yet. She pushed his hand away and pulled her skirt down. She got up and straightened her bra.

“What are you doing?” Charlie asked. Stupid question, but that question was better than a demand or a threat.

“I’m getting dressed.” She buttoned up her blouse. Should she tuck it in? No. That involved unsnapping the waist of her skirt. She got her milkshake and sat down as far from Charlie as she could on the blanket.

“You can’t leave me like this.” Well, if she didn’t want to walk miles -- and miles in which direction? -- or hitchhike, she couldn’t leave him at all. “Look at how hard I am.” Oh.

“Do you want me to do you?” However little she’d enjoyed it in the past, she would be glad to get all of his stuff somewhere outside of her.

“Would you?” Now he sounded like she was in control.

“Stand over there.” She gestured toward the end of the blanket facing what looked like the thickest part of the woods. He was bright enough to face that way. She grabbed the napkins before walking up behind him. “You take it out.”

When he did, she reached around to grasp it. She stroked slowly just as he had taught her. When he finally spurted, most of it sprayed the field. What got on the blanket or his shoes was his problem. She wiped her hands on the cleanest napkin before handing him another.

She sucked the remains of the milkshake through the straw before looking at her watch. “The movie isn’t over yet.”

He looked at his watch. “I know. And do you really want to get back long before 11:00?”

Not really. But, compared to spending hours more with Charlie, “Sure.”

He didn’t argue. Probably he was as eager to get away from her as she was to get away from him. They sat on the blanket talking about teachers they both had while the sky darkened above them. She’d often regretted that Charlie didn’t talk to her as much as Craig had. Now, at the end of their relationship, she was getting the talk. She didn’t enjoy it.

Alone at last in her own room, Sandy began to re-experience the arousal that had disappeared in her panic. Charlie had held her there; he had rubbed her there. Would Craig ever do that? Probably not. She had ruined her relationship. But she could dream.

Craig was so much gentler than Charlie was. He’d touch her more lightly. She brushed her nipples one after the other as lightly as possible. She stroked her labia as lightly as she could stand, then the clitoris. Only when her tension overcame her decision, did she rub harder. The excitement peaked. “Oh, Craig,” she breathed into her pillow.

“You were home early last night,” her mom said the next day after Barb and her dad had left.

“You complain when I get home even one minute late.”

“I’m not complaining. This is your house, you can come home any time you want. Not from school, of course. Want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

Still, however plainly she’d been told that there was nothing to talk about, her mom kept looking ready for Sandy to confide in her until Sandy escaped to the park. She was sitting on a bench when Craig came along.

“Sorry, am I late?” Craig asked.

“I just wanted to get out early. And I didn’t want to phone.”

“Want to walk or want to sit?”

She got up, and Craig companionably fell into step beside her. Her mom, who demanded housework and not conversation from her all the time, had insisted on talk as soon as she saw that Sandy didn’t want it. Craig, who had come here specifically for talk, walked quietly beside her. She wished he would take her hand, but -- she understood -- he didn’t yet know he was allowed to. When they got near to the park gate closest to his house, he finally spoke. “Want to head back?”

“What I really want is another Coke. Do you have another bottle in your ‘fridge?”

“Sure.” Craig might be shy, but he wasn’t stupid. “Want to come home to get it?”

When he opened the door, he gestured her in. He moved the paper off the couch and asked, “Want to sit here?”

“I broke up with Charlie yesterday.” Well, actually, it was last night, but Craig didn’t have to know that. ‘Night’ suggested all sorts of things she didn’t want him to know.

“That’s too bad. For you, I mean. You don’t have a boyfriend now?”

“No.”

“Does that mean I’m allowed to kiss you?”

She looked at him with her mouth puckered. He took her in his arms for a gentle kiss. But he didn’t let go, and the kiss got more intense. She held him, too, and welcomed his tongue in her mouth.

They were still holding each other when he drew his mouth away from hers. “I’ve wanted to do that for the longest time, since we broke up, since I saw you dancing with Charlie when you wouldn’t dance with me. Well, I wanted to earlier, too, but -- you know -- I could. Not as much as I wanted to, though.”

Well, if he’d wanted to all this time, why was he stopping now? And soon his mouth was back on hers. His hands left her back to hold her face, and then to stroke her ears gently. When he broke the second time, it was to lead her over to the couch. He sat down beside her and ran his hands through her hair while kissing her again. His mouth only left hers to cover her face with kisses, then her right ear and the side of her neck. His hand cupped her breast through shirt and bra, then pulled away as though he’d been burnt.

“Tell me when I can’t,” he said.

“Don’t leave hickeys.”

He laughed. He held her breast once again while they shared a deep kiss. Then he unbuttoned her shirt and shoved it off her shoulders. His kisses moved onto her shoulder. She was cramped in the shirt, and she could feel that one button was still buttoned and hidden by the waistband of her jeans.