Bought camping equipment and clothes. “Isn’t this fun?” Aunt Phoebe asked, picking out an orange shirt that Eric knew he would never wear.
They checked used-car lots for a minivan, Ericwearing a baseball cap with the visor pulled low over his eyes and dark glasses. After three excursions, he found exactly what he was looking for. A nondescript beige minivan, six years old with low mileage. No air-conditioning and a manual shift, not even a radio, but luxuries were not important to him. His aunt placed a deposit on the van while Eric waited in the car. The transaction would be completed when he received his driver’s license.
His big moment each day came with the delivery of mail, when he looked for a letter from the Registry of Motor Vehicles announcing the day and hour of his driver’s test. He had submitted his application for the test before his release from the facility, having been advised of a two- or three-week waiting period before he’d be notified of his appointment.
He was running out of patience.
Suddenly, he had trouble falling asleep at night, tossing and turning in bed, unable to find a comfortable position. His brain and body clashed in an endless battle, visions crowding his mind, keeping him high-noon awake while his body moved restlessly, as if propelled by the visions.
The visions: soft feminine bodies, long black hair flowing to pale shoulders, glimpses of LauraAndersun and Betty Ann Tersa and, finally, the Señorita. Her note blazed in his mind:
Call me. I’ll be waiting
, like neon-lit letters.
He sat up in bed, sweating, breathing hard, as if he had just completed one push-up too many. Looked toward the window at a slant of streetlight to establish his reality in the bedroom. He had never had trouble sleeping before. Always dropped off as soon as he closed his eyes, waking up suddenly in the morning after a dreamless sleep.
He left the bed and went to the window, looked out at the backyard drenched with moonlight, giving everything, bushes and trees and the picket fence, a sheen of silver. The image of the Señorita blossomed in his mind. He wondered what kind of perfume she wore, what other scents emanated from her body. Wondered how her flesh would respond to his touch, whether her skin would be warm or cool or moist with perspiration. Her eyes were dark, but she’d always been too far away from him to know whether they were brown or black. He preferred black, to match the sweet flow of hair to her shoulders. He imagined looking deep into those eyes as he moved his hands across her flesh, fingertips tracing the lovely landscape of her body until he reached …
He turned away, did not allow his thoughts to go further, had to escape the agony of desire unfulfilled, unanswered. Danger in these thoughts.
Must not think of the Señorita too often. Not yet. He pictured the old lieutenant out there somewhere, in the shadows, around the corner, watching, waiting.
He saw the girl for the first time the next afternoon, a Saturday, his aunt resting after vacuuming the parlor rug, sipping tea as she watched an old movie on television. Bored and restless, as usual, he prowled the rooms, pausing now and then to glance at the TV set. All the women in the movie wore crazy hats and long skirts and smoked endlessly.
At the window, he looked out at the street, dimly angry at himself for giving in to his curiosity. Not curiosity really but merely a desire for distraction. The crowd had thinned to a few stragglers in the heat of the afternoon. No television vans in sight—in fact, TV crews showed up only intermittently now, for which he was grateful.
A sudden movement drew his attention to the big weeping willow tree on the lawn of the house across the street. A girl stood partially obscured by the long, drooping branches that almost reached to the grass. He caught a glimpse of her face peering through the branches. She suddenly stepped out onto the sidewalk, all yellow and gold. Long blond hair,
They checked used-car lots for a minivan, Ericwearing a baseball cap with the visor pulled low over his eyes and dark glasses. After three excursions, he found exactly what he was looking for. A nondescript beige minivan, six years old with low mileage. No air-conditioning and a manual shift, not even a radio, but luxuries were not important to him. His aunt placed a deposit on the van while Eric waited in the car. The transaction would be completed when he received his driver’s license.
His big moment each day came with the delivery of mail, when he looked for a letter from the Registry of Motor Vehicles announcing the day and hour of his driver’s test. He had submitted his application for the test before his release from the facility, having been advised of a two- or three-week waiting period before he’d be notified of his appointment.
He was running out of patience.
Suddenly, he had trouble falling asleep at night, tossing and turning in bed, unable to find a comfortable position. His brain and body clashed in an endless battle, visions crowding his mind, keeping him high-noon awake while his body moved restlessly, as if propelled by the visions.
The visions: soft feminine bodies, long black hair flowing to pale shoulders, glimpses of LauraAndersun and Betty Ann Tersa and, finally, the Señorita. Her note blazed in his mind:
Call me. I’ll be waiting
, like neon-lit letters.
He sat up in bed, sweating, breathing hard, as if he had just completed one push-up too many. Looked toward the window at a slant of streetlight to establish his reality in the bedroom. He had never had trouble sleeping before. Always dropped off as soon as he closed his eyes, waking up suddenly in the morning after a dreamless sleep.
He left the bed and went to the window, looked out at the backyard drenched with moonlight, giving everything, bushes and trees and the picket fence, a sheen of silver. The image of the Señorita blossomed in his mind. He wondered what kind of perfume she wore, what other scents emanated from her body. Wondered how her flesh would respond to his touch, whether her skin would be warm or cool or moist with perspiration. Her eyes were dark, but she’d always been too far away from him to know whether they were brown or black. He preferred black, to match the sweet flow of hair to her shoulders. He imagined looking deep into those eyes as he moved his hands across her flesh, fingertips tracing the lovely landscape of her body until he reached …
He turned away, did not allow his thoughts to go further, had to escape the agony of desire unfulfilled, unanswered. Danger in these thoughts.
Must not think of the Señorita too often. Not yet. He pictured the old lieutenant out there somewhere, in the shadows, around the corner, watching, waiting.
He saw the girl for the first time the next afternoon, a Saturday, his aunt resting after vacuuming the parlor rug, sipping tea as she watched an old movie on television. Bored and restless, as usual, he prowled the rooms, pausing now and then to glance at the TV set. All the women in the movie wore crazy hats and long skirts and smoked endlessly.
At the window, he looked out at the street, dimly angry at himself for giving in to his curiosity. Not curiosity really but merely a desire for distraction. The crowd had thinned to a few stragglers in the heat of the afternoon. No television vans in sight—in fact, TV crews showed up only intermittently now, for which he was grateful.
A sudden movement drew his attention to the big weeping willow tree on the lawn of the house across the street. A girl stood partially obscured by the long, drooping branches that almost reached to the grass. He caught a glimpse of her face peering through the branches. She suddenly stepped out onto the sidewalk, all yellow and gold. Long blond hair,
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