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I’m always rushing, I think. The house is too dirty for me not to be busy; I do more of the cleaning than Dani does. I sweep through the hallway, swiffer up the bookcases, canoodle the broom to terminate dust in the kitchen. At least Dani has a forte in the kitchen; I cannot cook to satisfy a medieval peasant. She makes the most delicious stuff that I can’t remember the name of right now. But it always smells perfect. But enough of Ms. Beautiful; I rush. In traffic, my Chili Pepper CD’s fall out of the convenient holder up top by the mirror of my car; they fall on my lap, and I sweep them onto the passenger seat and pound my hands on the horn once again. It’s rather unpleasant to engage in rush hour, which most people assured me of when I was in Driver’s Ed, sophomore year. But do you really think I paid any attention during that class? Stefani Tracy was in that class, and the only attention I could pay during school hours was to her beautiful, wonderfully sculptured ass. Even when I look at Dani’s when she bends over for dropped Tupperware, I think to myself,
“Damn, that Stefani Tracy had the best ass in all of highschool.”
I remember the one time when Stefani looked over my way, just peeved at the resonate ring of the starting class bell, and she said to my face,
“You know, Tom, I was thinking; why do they need a bell that rings for so long?”
I, for one, was surprised that Mrs. Homecoming Chair Member cared about the class bell at all, since most popular people were late to class anyway; for two, I was surprised she even knew my name; for three, I had no idea she wanted to speak to me at all, since we had conversed a grand total twice during the first year of high. Once was I my freshman English;
“Hi, I’m Stefani.”
“Hello, I’m Tom.”
We were getting introduced to everybody else in class, and Stefani was too hot for me to say anything else.
The second was at a basketball game, second semester;
“Hey, aren’t you in my English class?”
“Yeah.”
“Tom, right?”
“Yeah, and you’re Stefani.”
“Uh-huh. Do you remember what we had for homework today?”
“Read through Chapter 6.”
“Oh, right, thanks.”
Well, I guess she had known my name all that time, then.
“I don’t know why they ring that long.”
My speaking (albeit, social) skills weren’t that much better from freshman year.
Stefani shrugged.
“Maybe it’s so Louis knows where he is every once in a while.”
We both muted our giggles in our hands; Louis slept in every class, everyday. He would plop into his chair at 12:15 for Driver’s Ed, and, promptly, be violently wakened by the bell at 1:05. Nobody even knew his last name, since he was asleep for introductions the last year.
“Yeah, but I heard he actually works after school at his dad’s warehouse, on cars and all that.”
“Really? I’d think that would be more the reason to stay awake for this class.”
“Guess not.”
The teacher then began to lecture us on the importance of halting at anything resembling a large, red Stop sign, and Stefani turned around; but not before giving me a bright smile and simultaneous wave.
I remember this with a bittersweet fondness; it’s sort of combo reminiscence of victory, and at the same time…
“Randy, can you reach the plates for me?”
“Sure, honey, just a sec.”
Anyway, while I’m writing this, my life is racing around me in obtuse shapes, and so I am never going to finish this. But I shall soldier on; well, soldier on after dinner.
So, bye for now.
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Ah the joys of being a teenager
Posted Feb 24, 2009
I loved the simplicity of this story! The exact same things run through my head in the middle of class and when you said "Stefani Tracy was in that class, and the only attention I could pay during school hours was to her beautiful, wonderfully sculptured ass." I automatically related. h... (
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