day of the Tonneson’s Midsummer Party, Tom and I went fishing to escape the preparations and to avoid Kelly, who was still pissed that he’d forgotten their “anniversary.”
Tom showed me the scrapbook Kelly gave him, which I had trouble even holding, because it reeked like perfume, was full of pictures of them kissing, and was the pinkest thing I’d ever touched in my life. Not having a mother doesn’t expose you to many items in shades of pastels. Plus I wondered who the hell they made take all those pictures of them while they were kissing.
Midsummer was also my eighteenth birthday. My dad never did much for my birthday besides take me out to eat and give me some cash, so I was used to not making a big deal about it.
But while we’d been at Cub Foods buying stuff for Mrs. Tonneson, I’d kind of let it slip that it was my birthday to Tom, which I regretted, since the Midsummer Party looked like it was going to be excruciating enough with all the glitter and costuming and, unlike Baker’s barbecue, I had no way of avoiding it. Tom and I had been hanging out regularly due to his fight with Kelly over the anniversary, and there was no way I could duck out without him noticing. Which made me feel a little uncomfortable at first, because I wasn’t used to being actual friends with anyone.
“I wish I was eighteen,” Tom said, after we had been sitting in his boat for a while. “I’d take you to the dirty bookstore down on Shawton Street. But my birthday’s not for two weeks.”
Tom was grouchy, which wasn’t normal. He was usually pretty content in general, and fishing made him happier still.
He didn’t mind that I never brought my own reel, that I just sat there reading E. Church Westmore’s book and eating all Tom’s sunflower seeds while he listened to baseball games on his little radio. We were such a portrait of boyish goodness out on his boat fishing that I felt like we were in a TV movie on one of those wholesome family channels that shows reruns of Little House on the Prairie.
“You’ve lived all over the place, right, Evan?” Tom asked.
“Met a lot of chicks?”
“I guess,” I said.
“You ever go out with an Everything-But Girl?”
“A what?” I asked.
“See, Kelly’s got this pact with her big sister. A virgin-ity pact. Their mother got knocked up at like age sixteen or something. Had her sister and then Kelly real quick and never married the dad. I don’t even know if they have the same dad, actually. Anyway, then her mom found Jesus and that changed everything and now the older sister goes to some religious college in Missouri and has convinced Kelly that she can’t have sex until she’s married. They made this pact; they even have matching necklaces for it.”
“Necklaces? For not having sex? Seriously?”
He nodded and spit a bunch of sunflower seed shells over the side of the boat.
“Hey, man. Kelly’s great. But that’s sounds awful.”
“That’s where the Everything But comes in. Because …
there’s technicalities. So, maybe she won’t have regular sex. But that doesn’t stop her from blow jobs.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope,” he said. “But it’s like a trap. Like the free buffet at a casino. Everything’s open season, except that one key area.”
“So … Jesus doesn’t mind blow jobs?”
“I guess not.” Tom grinned a little, despite himself.
“What does Jesus think about oral on her? And … ?”
“He seems cool with all the rest of that too,” he said, his face getting red.
“I take back what I said before. That doesn’t sound too bad.”
“No, it’s worse. All I can think about is that one damn thing I’m not allowed to do. It’s ridiculous.”
It was ridiculous. Tom, with his baseball pennants and his pickup truck and his sunflower seeds, engaging in acts that were sexual crimes in some states. But I also wondered why he couldn’t write Kelly a dumb poem or buy her something that would make her feel better about
Tom showed me the scrapbook Kelly gave him, which I had trouble even holding, because it reeked like perfume, was full of pictures of them kissing, and was the pinkest thing I’d ever touched in my life. Not having a mother doesn’t expose you to many items in shades of pastels. Plus I wondered who the hell they made take all those pictures of them while they were kissing.
Midsummer was also my eighteenth birthday. My dad never did much for my birthday besides take me out to eat and give me some cash, so I was used to not making a big deal about it.
But while we’d been at Cub Foods buying stuff for Mrs. Tonneson, I’d kind of let it slip that it was my birthday to Tom, which I regretted, since the Midsummer Party looked like it was going to be excruciating enough with all the glitter and costuming and, unlike Baker’s barbecue, I had no way of avoiding it. Tom and I had been hanging out regularly due to his fight with Kelly over the anniversary, and there was no way I could duck out without him noticing. Which made me feel a little uncomfortable at first, because I wasn’t used to being actual friends with anyone.
“I wish I was eighteen,” Tom said, after we had been sitting in his boat for a while. “I’d take you to the dirty bookstore down on Shawton Street. But my birthday’s not for two weeks.”
Tom was grouchy, which wasn’t normal. He was usually pretty content in general, and fishing made him happier still.
He didn’t mind that I never brought my own reel, that I just sat there reading E. Church Westmore’s book and eating all Tom’s sunflower seeds while he listened to baseball games on his little radio. We were such a portrait of boyish goodness out on his boat fishing that I felt like we were in a TV movie on one of those wholesome family channels that shows reruns of Little House on the Prairie.
“You’ve lived all over the place, right, Evan?” Tom asked.
“Met a lot of chicks?”
“I guess,” I said.
“You ever go out with an Everything-But Girl?”
“A what?” I asked.
“See, Kelly’s got this pact with her big sister. A virgin-ity pact. Their mother got knocked up at like age sixteen or something. Had her sister and then Kelly real quick and never married the dad. I don’t even know if they have the same dad, actually. Anyway, then her mom found Jesus and that changed everything and now the older sister goes to some religious college in Missouri and has convinced Kelly that she can’t have sex until she’s married. They made this pact; they even have matching necklaces for it.”
“Necklaces? For not having sex? Seriously?”
He nodded and spit a bunch of sunflower seed shells over the side of the boat.
“Hey, man. Kelly’s great. But that’s sounds awful.”
“That’s where the Everything But comes in. Because …
there’s technicalities. So, maybe she won’t have regular sex. But that doesn’t stop her from blow jobs.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope,” he said. “But it’s like a trap. Like the free buffet at a casino. Everything’s open season, except that one key area.”
“So … Jesus doesn’t mind blow jobs?”
“I guess not.” Tom grinned a little, despite himself.
“What does Jesus think about oral on her? And … ?”
“He seems cool with all the rest of that too,” he said, his face getting red.
“I take back what I said before. That doesn’t sound too bad.”
“No, it’s worse. All I can think about is that one damn thing I’m not allowed to do. It’s ridiculous.”
It was ridiculous. Tom, with his baseball pennants and his pickup truck and his sunflower seeds, engaging in acts that were sexual crimes in some states. But I also wondered why he couldn’t write Kelly a dumb poem or buy her something that would make her feel better about
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