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Teen Dreams

16 Years Old

Tommy flushed the condom down the toilet. He did not care if it went down or not; he turned, heading out of the too purple bathroom. The small space made his head hurt.
Minnie laid, stretched, on the pull-out and it's flimsy matress; back in her red shirt that matched her lips. She had quite a few shirts she could do that with. Tommy thought it was wonderful she even could.
"You wanna watch a movie or something?" she asked.
But Tommy did not want to stay. He was tired. It was after 11.
"I am already grounded. And I am here. I better go," he said to her.
And Minnie shrugged.
"Whatever," she smiled. And he did not know if it was nice.

Momma had been having a bad week. She had called home after midnight from Moonshines the night before last, telling him where the money was in her room. How he had to wait up for her to come in the taxi. The guy she had been with had left her and she was paranoid.
Because everyone there was talking about her.
She went back there last night, anyway.
And when Tommy had woke this morning, he found she was still not home. Or so he had thought until he opened the front door, backpack swung on his shoulder, to find Momma.
Laying there on the porch on her side, legs sprawled like the weediness of her skewed hair. The back of her light purple flowered dress was up folded to her waist.
Exposing one buttock, her old white underwear wedged over and in.

Tommy was cutting through the park on his way home. The park with the posted signs that had red lettering. Dawn Until Dusk Only.
The park had no order to the proud pine trees, that stood tall, wherever they pleased.
He came up to the more open space where the playground equipment was.
He saw she was there.
He knew her right away, even in the dark.
She sat, leaned against the wooden railings of the five-person swing set.
He approached her quietly and only announced himself when she looked up.
"Hey," he said, just loud enough.
"Hi," he barely heard her whisper and he knew she was sad.
He came to her, sitting down beside her in the grass.
"It is bad and I do not want to go back," she said, angry, facing her lap. "Can I stay at your house tonight?"
She looked at him then, her blue eyes clear in their pain. Some much hope riding on him.
He thought of how little she really knew.
And then he kissed her.
And she cried as she pulled away, pushing him with hands.
"Tommy, no, I love you, do not," she implored him with her eyes. She felt too much hurt already. She was scared of more.
And he could not help himself.
He grabbed her and kissed her again.


AJ said…
I like the texture of your "Tommy" stories, Queenie. Whispy, smokey; grainy and dimly lit. Wonderful theater of the mind...

Queenie said…
You create that.
It is you with the wonderful theatre.

I agree with AJ about the Tommy vibe. It's really wonderful. Feels like a Bogdanovich movie.
AJ said…
Maybe, but you cant build a house without the materials... :)

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