Pig Candy

The grass rubs our feet as we run, sticky and sweet. The heady scent of St. Augustine fills us, makes us giggle. Some of us wear shoes, some don't. I suppose we appear a motely group; there's Cindy with her sweet pink, knee length dress, carefully brushed hair and perfect heels looking every inch the prep; Robert in his mean streak leathers and boots and everyone else in between, laughing and shouting. Though, I suppose it doesn't much differ from what you'd expect to see in a gaggle of teens. All different, all the same. Anna runs beside me. Like me her hair is loose and wild, well fitting dress, though faded, haphazardly slung on, no make up. We are coming to the fences now, where the cars are parked and the movies play. We all climb up the rattling metal, some more easily than others. As always Ben has to reach up and help Peg jump down. Once over the crowd disperses, and I swerve right going up a few cars to the turquoise chevy silently waiting for me. I wriggle in through the window and my dress hikes up against the soft leather as I slide in. There you are, he says. I was wondering if you'd ever get here. Sure... I think. I'm always here 7:30 on the dot. He begins to kiss me in his usual fashion, first the ear then down to the jaw. I try to concentrate on the film playing in front of us before he gets to my lips. My concentration has definitely improved with time. His kissing is only a minor distraction now, and despite missing a few scenes every now and then I can pretty much follow the story line. I vaguely feel embarrassed. What must I look like to the other couples with my all too perfect boyfriend all over me, and me very visibly ignoring it all? The other girls used to say I took him for granted. And I used to listen and feel all rotten inside. I even had the gall to talk to Mr. Assenworth about it once, it bothered me so. Now I dont pay any attention to them. In fact they may even stil be saying those thing. Hmph. The scene changes to something lighter and Johnnie-O eases up on my face a little. I watch Cary Grant kiss that female actress, whose name I'll never remember. Tell her how much he loves her. Johnnie says that sometimes. I wonder if I should dump him, but i quickly reject the idea. Too quickly. He's sweet, and kind and perfect. The sort it would be easy to spend eternity with...Right?

Morning brings ice and crystal dew on green fingers, rustling slightly. We find ourselves in the park -Lover's Lane, or so they old stories said- strewn about on jackets and blankets like a pretty girl's rejected clothing. Murmurs and whispers fly around before we lazily rouse ourselves fully and begin the process of departure. There are shouts and peals of laughter here and there, but the gentle hush of morning has silenced us some and we mostly speak in whispers. We leave in our usual group, back tracking the way we came, through the field, across the old lot, over the ditch and fence to the silent houses. They're washed out now. No longer the inviting sentries of last evening. Now they have more in common with graves rather than homes. One of us, Robert I think, starts singing one of the old songs and soon the whole lot of us are screeching out the words.

Pretty Polynesian baby, I remember the night, when we walked on the sands of Waikiki, and I held you oh so tight...

Johnnie swings my arm in his and for a moment it's ecstasy. There's only this cotton candy sky, crystal breeze, and the sweet tune of memories better forgotten.

---

Running away from the cookie cutter houses with their warm lights glowing softly against the night. Its a certain safety we hardly take comfort it. The way you might keep a stuffed animal by your bedside every night though you seldom touch it anymore.