|
|
The Girlfriend
By
John Bruce, Jan 26, 2009
When Ed was in the third grade, his family moved from a medium-sized house just outside of town to a rental unit
in the town itself as part of an apparent cataclysm he never fully understood. The following year, his parents
moved the family away entirely, in some measure due to the humiliation of their social descent. For several
years, his father’s soliloquies over the injustices done him included the name Henry Sigurdson and something
about a country club; one issue may have been his failure to have his application accepted there, but he
certainly couldn’t have afforded it if it had been.
Indeed, his father had determined by the time Ed was in the first grade that furious spankings hadn’t
accomplished whatever it was he intended, so he’d switched to beating him with his fists. The third grade marked
Ed’s graduation to being whipped with a belt. It goes without saying that Ed was starved for affection, but he
didn’t really know it, since he figured this was the deal everyone got. On the other hand, maybe he wasn’t
completely off the mark.
The move to the rental unit worked out better for him in one way, since it was closer to school, and that meant
he could dawdle on the way home. The time between school and when he was expected at home was delicious. One day
he was detouring around the athletic field when he saw a girl standing near a clump of bushes. It was near some
big houses—in fact, the Lutons’s house was among them, and the Lutons were well off.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Ed.”
“What grade are you in?”
“Third.”
“I’m in the fourth grade.” This established an unquestioned superiority, of course. “You can be my boyfriend,”
she went on. If she was in the fourth grade, her face seemed older, and she would certainly be good looking as
she grew up. She was far enough advanced as well that she had Ed’s number.
Affection from any source was enticing, but Ed had enough of a sense of how things worked that the girl’s
proposal seemed odd. His puzzlement must have shown on his face. “It just has to be between the two of us,” she
went on. She squatted down, picked up a stick, and began drawing designs in the dirt with it as though making a
map of the future. “You can come here and see me every day.” It was a vast and improbable vision, like a sea full
of lifeboats.
The next afternoon, curious and even somewhat game, he detoured around the athletic field the same way. She was
standing in the same place again. “I’ve changed my mind,” she said grandly. “I don’t want a boyfriend after all.”
Eight or ten years later, this might have given Ed a pang. Right then, though, he had a pretty good idea what the
deal was in life, and it didn’t bother him much at all.
One of John Bruce’s short stories was nominated for the 2008 Pushcart Prize. His writing has appeared
recently, or will appear, in 13th Warrior Review, Backhand Stories, Cantaraville, The Cynic Online, Dark Sky
Magazine, Diddledog, DOGZPLOT, Eskimo Pie, Fiction at Work, Holy Cuspidor, The Journal of Truth and Consequence,
Lyrical Ballads, Pear Noir!, Press 1, The Scruffy Dog Review, Short Story Library, Why Vandalism? and Word
Riot. He has degrees in English from Dartmouth College and the University of Southern California.
Back
|
