At 16, sex is everything. When my girlfriend called on a lazy summer afternoon to inform me that she was feeling amorous and that her mom, dad, and grandma were all out of the house for the next four hours, I replied before she had even asked, "I'll be right over." I tell my brothers that I'm going to a friend's house and walk out to an empty driveway. "Shit!" I had forgotten that my car was having its brakes replaced, which left me with virtually no mode of transportation to my girlfriend's.
At this point I came to the realization that I had three viable options to choose from: A) I could call my girlfriend up, tell her that I wasn't going to be able to make it, and spend the rest of my day pissed off while playing my drums to old Operation Ivy records. B)I could walk to my girlfriend's house. After all, seven miles isn't an incredibly long distance when you run cross-country. C)Of course I always had the option of bicycling to her house. Never mind the 100+ degree weather. Seven miles on a bicycle would be a piece of cake.
My garage is a wasteland of cardboard boxes, tools, clothing left over from garage sales we never cleaned up after ("Let's just leave it out. We'll have another sale in a couple of weeks."), old furniture, broken appliances, discarded toys, and decrepit bicycles. I pick my dad's 10-speed that he hasn't used since 1988. Its tires are slightly bent and the brakes barely work but it'd get the job done. And so I embark on my journey. A right off of my street, a left on New World Dr., another left on to Farm to Market Rd. 78, and I stand at the mouth of the beast. Rittiman Road is a six-mile stretch of asphalt strewn with road-kill of various size and species. It runs directly beside the train tracks that I hear from my bedroom every night. Abandoned televisions and dusty armchairs dot the side of the road. Another little known fact about Rittiman Road is that it's a geographical anomaly. It seems to be the only road on the entire planet that is uphill from either direction. You walk east uphill. You walk west uphill. Rittiman Road, a geographical anomaly. Four miles into my trek is when the stench first hits me. The rotting carcasses of dogs, cats, possums, skunks, and armadillos has been lifted by the sweltering breeze and deposited directly into my nasal cavities. I feel like vomiting but don't. At mile five I notice the buzzard perch that is actually a light post signifying that I'm at midway. I'm halfway there. I'm halfway there. Sweet teenage sexual experimentation. I'm halfway there!
I finally leave Rittiman Road and turn onto F.M. 78 which is a fairly busy road. All the usual fast food, grocery, and convenient stores are present. I decide to stop at the 7-11 on the corner and get some water. I'm about to enter the convenient store but see the sign that reads, "NO BICYCLES, SKATEBOARDS, OR SKATES INSIDE". I don't want to leave my bicycle propped against the big glass window. Regardless of how many potential witnesses are present, my bike could still, very easily, be stolen. I see a man making his way inside the store and ask him if it would be possible for him to buy me a bottle of water if I gave him the money. He says sure, no problem, and I hand him a couple of crumpled up singles. A warm breeze hits me in the face and it starts… I feel faint. My legs go weak and they feel as though they're barely there. I want to vomit but not outside. Fuck the bike, I have to find a bathroom. I release my white-knuckled grasp from the bicycles frame and let it drop to the oily pavement. Stumbling into the store, I see the man with the bottle of water in his hands standing in line but I don't even care about the water anymore. I need a toilet, trashcan, bucket, something, anything. I make my way to the back corner of the store where they usually keep those festering bacteria closets known as public bathrooms but I start experiencing tunnel-vision. I see a door with a white sign on it, that must be it. Slowly, a grey/black nothingness starts eating the color from my eyes, everything goes blurry. I reach the door and am staring at the sign for a good twenty-five seconds trying to make out the words. Employees Only. "Shit."
I turn around and start limping towards the opposite end of the store. By now, my right leg is completely numb. This is definitely a heat-stroke. Halfway down the aisle I notice a box of pretzels that someone must have been re-stocking in the middle of the aisle. I try to step over them but even this is a feat of dexterity that I can't handle in my given state. I trip over the box, fall, and hit my head on the sticky, tiled floor. Everything goes black. S L E E P I awake and hear screaming. "Oh baby! Oh baby! I'm comin'!"
All I see is the faux wood grain tile and that damn box of pretzels. I taste blood in my mouth and feel it coming out of my scalp.
"Baby! Baby! Is you alright? Baby!" Before I know what is happening I'm being cuddled between two large breasts with a 7-11 name-tag on them that reads "Zee".
"Zee's gonna take care a you baby! Don't worry." Zee is a thirty-something year old black woman with the biggest smile I've ever seen. She picks me up off the ground as if I weigh no more than a toothpick and plops me on top of a rusty folding chair.
"You ain't goin' no where till youse alright. Here, put this on yo' head." I take the ice and apply it to my forehead. Instant pain. I look at the paper the ice is wrapped in and see it soaked in blood. I ask for her permission to use the bathroom. She laughs and tells me where it is. In the mirror I can see the cut just above my hairline. It's not bad at all, hardly a scratch really. I just wish the thing didn't bleed that much. Scared the shit out of me. My lip's also busted. I must have bitten it when I hit the floor. Nice battlewounds. These will so get me laid. I walk back out to the chair and Zee tells me that she's called a cab for me, she's also dragged my bike into the store.
"Boy, didn't you know that it's 104° outside? You ain't goin' nowhere out in that heat. No sir, you're stayin' right there till that cab gets here. Now put that ice on your head an' keep it there!"
This sucks. My girlfriend's dad is going to be home in two hours. That leaves almost no time for, well, you know. That fucking taxi better get here. One hour and fifteen minutes later Zee notifies me that she's going on a cigarette break. I say okay and watch her exit through the infamous Employees Only door. Just then the cab pulls up to the front of the store. I'd like to say bye to Zee but my desire to get the hell to my girlfriend's is stronger. I scribble a note telling her that the cab came and I went with it. Bye Zee.
The cabbie is a bear of a man with a heavy Russian accent. He tells me to hurry the fuck up and get in. He has another fare after me. I ask him if there was any place I could put my bike.
"You have bicycle? Fucking shit goddamn! Fine! Fine. Hurry up. Put in back. In trunk.' He pops the trunk and I struggle to shove my bike in. I finally get it in and settle in the backseat.
"So how much do you think it'll cost to get me there? It's only like a mile or so." I ask him.
"Oh, not much, 6, 7 dollar." Shit, I only have two dollars and some change.
"Oh… umm, okay."
"Why? Why you say like that? 'Ho Hum Hokay'. You have no money? Do you?"
"No, no, I have money. It's just that, well, when we get there I can give you more."
"What? No money! Get the fuck out! You fucking kids always have no money!"
He bolts out of his seat and into the back, attempting to physically throw me out of the cab. I lock the door and scramble out the other side. He then goes to the trunk and hurls my bicycle out into the street. I drag it out of oncoming traffic before anyone gets a chance to run over it.
"You fucking little bastard fucking kid! You never fucking call me again! Fucking fuck fuck kids!" He gets in the cab and screeches away into the orange afternoon sun.
I hop on my bicycle that is now missing a pedal, thanks to the angry Russian asshole, and pedal the rest of the way to my girlfriend's house. I finally make it there about ten minutes before her dad is supposed to get home. Maybe, maybe I'll at least get to make out with her for a little.
I hop her fence and hide my bike behind the trash cans in case her dad comes home. I knock on her window and she comes running to the back patio door.
"What are you doing? What took you so long? Oh my god, what happened to your head?" She barrages me with questions.
"Well, umm, it's a long story but can I come in and tell you about it? Maybe while we're both naked or something?"
"What? What are you talking about? My dad's going to be home in like five minutes. You can't come in."
"Oh come on, I'm fucking bleeding here."
"Fine, hurry up. Hurry up." So we're in her kitchen and she hands me glass after glass of water that I chug down. I tell her all the events that have transpired. After this she's gonna tear my clothes off and we'll do it right here on the kitchen counter!
"Wow. That sucks for you." She says.
"Huh? Wha? That's all?"
"Yeah, that sucks for you. Why'd you do that. You can be so dumb sometimes. You should have just called me and said you couldn't make it. I would have understood."
"Are you kidding me? Miss "come-over-I'm-all-alone!"
"Oh please. Big deal. It's not like I won't ever be amorous again."
"…" The hum of an approaching engine interrupts my attempt at dramatic silence.
"Shit! My dad's home. You've got to go! Quick! Duck down before he sees you through the window." I crawl like a hermit crab on speed to the back door.
"I'll call you."
"No, I'll call you."
"Okay." We kissed briefly and then parted.
I toss my bike over the fence and wait quietly on the side of the house for the sound of the motor to stop. It does. I hear footsteps coming in my direction and my heart stops. I duck down behind the trashcans and see his shoes in the grass.
"I'll be damned. She actually took the garbage out today." I hear him say. At this point I wasn't sure if he was talking about me or the actual garbage so I stay hidden.
"I'll be damned." He says again. He starts whistling and then walks away into the house. I breathe the deepest sigh of relief in my short adolescent life.
So I pedal home. The sun's begun it's slow descent into the mesquite-lined horizon and the temperature has dropped to a cool 97°. The stench of my fellow road-kill along Rittiman Rd. is almost unnoticeable. The drive home is always shorter than the drive away. I pull up to my house and retire the 10-speed to it's familiar resting place. The air inside the house is cool and it makes me sleepy. I lie on the couch and let my sweat seep into the cushions (effectively infuriating my mother for months to come). I watch The Simpsons and sip on a watery coke for the next hour.
I was sore for a week after the ordeal. It was probably the most trying test I've ever experienced. My girlfriend and I did end up fooling around… many times throughout the course of our three and a half, on-again/off-again, year relationship actually. I guess we both learned all the "tricks of the trade" then.
Anyway, there's really no moral to this story. It was just a tale of teenage idiocy. A waste of time here at work. A nostalgic recollection of my youth. I'm terrible at ending so I'll just stop writing… now.
¬carlos zapata completelyvapid@aol.com
