before anyone saw her. But the crowd from the car was too fast. She reached the bottom of the hall steps just as they tumbled through the door.
“Whoa!” said George Siminoski blocking her path. Looking outlandish in his dashiki and leather headband, he held two cigarettes up to her face. “I got a couple joints. I’ll share!”
She pushed the cigarettes aside. He grabbed her arm, squeezing so hard it hurt.
“Let go!”
He loosened his grip. “You stayin’ for the party?”
“No! Get your hands off me.”
When he released her arm, she pushed passed him. He grabbed her hair with one hand and slid the other beneath the back strap of her halter. She froze. He tugged at the strap. She elbowed him in the ribs and he pulled harder. “Stanleeee…”
* * *
In a fog of sweet-smelling blue smoke, George Siminoski sat dazed on the hallway floor; his right arm and shoulder pounding with pain. His left eye began to close where Stanley had punched him. He fumbled around the floor for his glasses. When he found them, the wire rims were bent, but the lenses were still intact. His hands trembled as he put them on. By the he couldn’t see out of his left eye at all.
With Stanley and JD now out on the porch, George reclaimed his arrogance. He walked into the living room, where a skinny girl was draped across Walter’s favorite chair, smoking a reefer. Since his own cigarettes were trampled in the scuffle, he snatched it from her. He would stay at the party. And that had nothing to do with Stanley’s threat, Step out that door and I’ll kill you!
Ignoring the crude remarks from those he felt beneath him, he retreated to a dim corner of the dining room where he leaned against the wall. The pain in his shoulder had subsided but the left side of his face was beginning to swell. He studied the smoking joint for a few moments, brought it to his lips, screwed up his face, dropped it onto the carpet and crushed it with his foot. He would wait until Stanley and JD smoked themselves brain dead—which wouldn’t take long—then he’d leave. Next week he would be off to the university and out of this hellhole, away from this filthy mill town and its moron mentality. For all he cared, they could all drop dead. He was a far better breed.
* * *
On the porch, Stanley and JD were laughing so hard it was difficult to tell whether it was sweat or tears running down their faces.
“I can’t believe it!” JD gasped. “Anna Mae never swears. She called him a four-eyed f…fu…”
“Fuckin’ pervert!” shrieked Stanley, holding his side and stumbling back into the house.
JD tripped on the doorstep and fell flat out on the hall floor. “….and an idiot ass-hole.”
“Stop!” begged Stanley who was doubled over from the pain in his side.
JD stood upright, staggered, then assumed a military posture. He turned to the bleary eyed teenagers sprawled about the living room and announced, “Let it be known by this esteemed assembly…”
“Man! Them’s big words!” someone called out.
“As I was saying, this esteemed…”
“Speak English!” shouted another.
“Shut up, you imbeciles!” ordered JD, squaring his shoulders. “As I was about to announce to this esteemed assembly…”
“Esteeeemed asssem…” Another heckler.
“Damn it!” Stanley shouted. “Pay attention!”
With exception of an occasional spurt, the laughter subsided.
Walking back and forth imitating George’s ridiculous swagger, JD continued, “I will now divulge that the virtuous and pure Miss Anna Mae Lipinski…”
“McBride,” Stanley yelled. “Her name’s McBride.”
“The saintly Miss McBride has succumbed to Mr. Siminoski’s low life plane of existence. Albeit a disappointment to those of us who admire her untainted goodness, Miss McBride blasted the little twerp with the wildest of wild harsh and evil words. And in her absence, we applaud her!”
Most of the kids didn’t have
“Whoa!” said George Siminoski blocking her path. Looking outlandish in his dashiki and leather headband, he held two cigarettes up to her face. “I got a couple joints. I’ll share!”
She pushed the cigarettes aside. He grabbed her arm, squeezing so hard it hurt.
“Let go!”
He loosened his grip. “You stayin’ for the party?”
“No! Get your hands off me.”
When he released her arm, she pushed passed him. He grabbed her hair with one hand and slid the other beneath the back strap of her halter. She froze. He tugged at the strap. She elbowed him in the ribs and he pulled harder. “Stanleeee…”
* * *
In a fog of sweet-smelling blue smoke, George Siminoski sat dazed on the hallway floor; his right arm and shoulder pounding with pain. His left eye began to close where Stanley had punched him. He fumbled around the floor for his glasses. When he found them, the wire rims were bent, but the lenses were still intact. His hands trembled as he put them on. By the he couldn’t see out of his left eye at all.
With Stanley and JD now out on the porch, George reclaimed his arrogance. He walked into the living room, where a skinny girl was draped across Walter’s favorite chair, smoking a reefer. Since his own cigarettes were trampled in the scuffle, he snatched it from her. He would stay at the party. And that had nothing to do with Stanley’s threat, Step out that door and I’ll kill you!
Ignoring the crude remarks from those he felt beneath him, he retreated to a dim corner of the dining room where he leaned against the wall. The pain in his shoulder had subsided but the left side of his face was beginning to swell. He studied the smoking joint for a few moments, brought it to his lips, screwed up his face, dropped it onto the carpet and crushed it with his foot. He would wait until Stanley and JD smoked themselves brain dead—which wouldn’t take long—then he’d leave. Next week he would be off to the university and out of this hellhole, away from this filthy mill town and its moron mentality. For all he cared, they could all drop dead. He was a far better breed.
* * *
On the porch, Stanley and JD were laughing so hard it was difficult to tell whether it was sweat or tears running down their faces.
“I can’t believe it!” JD gasped. “Anna Mae never swears. She called him a four-eyed f…fu…”
“Fuckin’ pervert!” shrieked Stanley, holding his side and stumbling back into the house.
JD tripped on the doorstep and fell flat out on the hall floor. “….and an idiot ass-hole.”
“Stop!” begged Stanley who was doubled over from the pain in his side.
JD stood upright, staggered, then assumed a military posture. He turned to the bleary eyed teenagers sprawled about the living room and announced, “Let it be known by this esteemed assembly…”
“Man! Them’s big words!” someone called out.
“As I was saying, this esteemed…”
“Speak English!” shouted another.
“Shut up, you imbeciles!” ordered JD, squaring his shoulders. “As I was about to announce to this esteemed assembly…”
“Esteeeemed asssem…” Another heckler.
“Damn it!” Stanley shouted. “Pay attention!”
With exception of an occasional spurt, the laughter subsided.
Walking back and forth imitating George’s ridiculous swagger, JD continued, “I will now divulge that the virtuous and pure Miss Anna Mae Lipinski…”
“McBride,” Stanley yelled. “Her name’s McBride.”
“The saintly Miss McBride has succumbed to Mr. Siminoski’s low life plane of existence. Albeit a disappointment to those of us who admire her untainted goodness, Miss McBride blasted the little twerp with the wildest of wild harsh and evil words. And in her absence, we applaud her!”
Most of the kids didn’t have
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