TRYING NOT TO LOOK LOST

TRYING NOT TO LOOK LOST(L DOUGLAS ST OURS) TRYING NOT TO LOOK LOST

I was trying not to look lost,
14 years old wandering the drive-in theater's gravel parking lot,
bumper to bumper cars with teens old enough to drive,
the lucky ones unseen below the windows,
eager beaver boys, with girls right where they wanted them,
sacrificing any peek at the flick for the holy grail
of necking, petting, awkward fumbling over straps, zippers, and buttons
in an earnest effort to reach first base for an impossible run to an unlikely score.

That was not me, at least not yet.
I was clueless about sex.
I wasn't even sure what to do
with the imaginary girls I had in my dreams.

Suddenly I heard a girl's voice calling my name, but from where?
I didn't want to look too obvious in my loneliness,
passing and pretending not to peek through the endless array of steamed up windows.
Searching as a couple of cars were really going at it,
rocking like big metal fishes out of water.

"OVER HERE!"
"Wow!" I thought as a car door opened
and I was invited inside by three gorgeous chicks
whom I recognized but never before met
because they were three years older and out of my league by a country mile.
I squeezed into the back on cloud nine with two varsity cheerleaders
while the third fantasy in the front craned her neck as if sizing me up.

I was such a nobody runt, I was surprised when one of them knew my name.
For sure I knew them from watching their leaps and bends and shakes
leading Friday afternoon pep rallies on the auditorium stage,
sashaying to the drums in their saddle shoes and knee high skirts
while I was ogling the action from the safe and distant vantage of the cheap seats.

They immediately took control of me and the situation,
teasing and toying with me as I bashfully ate up
every jostling minute of their mock fawning attention,
touching my clothes in all the right places
and believe me when I say I lacked the balls to touch back.

Theresa, the prettiest, claimed I probably didn't know how to kiss.
I mustered up enough courage to insist I did.
"All right then. Prove it!"
I froze in fear and thought "Jesus Christ get me out of this!"
"Come on. It's okay! It's not gonna hurt. Come on silly...What are ya afraid of?"

I hesitated before puckering my mouth, closing my eyes, somehow staying steady
when she leaned in and our lips sort of met and flattened for a second or two.
"You call that a kiss?" She shoved me backwards and proceeded to ruthlessly
ridicule my feeble attempt. "That's how you kiss your grandmother!"
She was right, it was more buss than smooch, but hell I was nervous.

I guess she took pity on me because she unexpectedly turned nice.
"Here it's okay. I'll show you what a real kiss is."
And so I learned how to french kiss and for a couple of wet minutes
got to practice with each of them. Too soon they grew bored and kicked me out of the car.
They made me swear not to tell a soul and besmirch their lofty status among the real men.
And that was as far as I got, a sweet kick from a real lesson.

by L DOUGLAS ST OURS
May 2010