Read Online Every Time I Think of You by Jim Provenzano - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jim Provenzano
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over his fly before zipping up. As we rushed toward, then past, the guard, Everett blathered some insistent excuse about his friend, in spite of the room’s closure, having to document the variegation of African flora for a very important thesis paper.
After a few more effusive apologies, we fast-walked ourselves back to the main lobby and outside into the bright chilly day.
Should I have scolded him, played the role of the easily shocked apprentice in comically licentious dares? Perhaps, but I didn’t. We were having too much fun.
“Now, that,” he declared, “was very educational. I love the Life Sciences!”
Chapter 10
“So, school.”
“Yeah, school.”
The spiked skyline disappeared behind us as we drove back east. Looming ahead of us, our imminent separation matched the grey skies hovering over the pine forests beside us along the highway. A real snowstorm was expected later that night, but we were driving though somewhat clear skies.
“Tell me more about Pinecrest. What’s it like there?” I asked, fighting our mutual exhaustion from the two days of strange adventures, dares, a bumpy makeshift bed, and what would have been a wall of awkward silence, were it not for Everett’s casual warmth. He seemed determined not to allow gloom into his life.
“It’s great,” he said. “I guess I can’t really compare it to yours, since I never went to a public school.”
He reached his hand over and rested it on my thigh. While it was not flirtatious and more of an appreciative gesture, I playfully gunned the gas pedal.
“Those legs!” Everett rubbed my thigh.
My legs are rather lanky. As a kid, I had once gone to the Carmike Cinema for a matinee of some Disney cartoons, including their version of the Ichabod Crane story. One of my childhood acquaintances, Billy Sanders, who was just part of a cluster of neighborhood kids who played together by convenient proximity, definitely lost any friend potential when after the movie he decided to nickname me Ichabod.
For years after that, I felt self-conscious about being taller than most kids my age. My ears and nose are a bit large, too. But the night before, with Everett having caressed my legs and other parts, like some kind of living statue worthy of such appreciation, I felt stronger, more self-assured.
“You’re blushing.”
“No, it’s the heater.” I reached over his arm to the dashboard, adjusted the temperature.
“So, Daddy Long-Legs, is that why you do cross country?”
“I guess. I tried basketball, some other sports in grade school. I just couldn’t care, you know? Where the ball goes, who wins. It really clears my mind, the repetition, the feeling of just running. Ever since I was little, I was already running around in the woods anyway.”
“Thank you for that!” Everett offered a hokey blessing to some god that resided above and beyond the car roof.
What would have happened if I had grown up with Everett? I would probably have known of him, but only seen him from a distance. The various cliques and social substrata of our school would have kept us separated anyway. He might have been just another more popular cute guy I knew more about than I should have. Gossip and stories about the smallest of events spread through my school like bee swarms.
“Are they strict?”
“No, it’s really the opposite,” Everett said. “I think, well, most of my schoolmates, the boarders, have to grow up faster. The day kids, they live nearby and sometimes come and go, and pay less tuition. Of course my parents…”
I understood. Money was not a problem.
“Dad went there, and I tested smart since, I dunno, kindergarten.” He told of a day, not in his memory, but bragged about often by his mother, when a teacher made some request of a five-year-old Everett, who replied at length in French. He denied any sense of talent, claiming to have probably been mimicking his sister’s taped lessons, which had fascinated
After a few more effusive apologies, we fast-walked ourselves back to the main lobby and outside into the bright chilly day.
Should I have scolded him, played the role of the easily shocked apprentice in comically licentious dares? Perhaps, but I didn’t. We were having too much fun.
“Now, that,” he declared, “was very educational. I love the Life Sciences!”
Chapter 10
“So, school.”
“Yeah, school.”
The spiked skyline disappeared behind us as we drove back east. Looming ahead of us, our imminent separation matched the grey skies hovering over the pine forests beside us along the highway. A real snowstorm was expected later that night, but we were driving though somewhat clear skies.
“Tell me more about Pinecrest. What’s it like there?” I asked, fighting our mutual exhaustion from the two days of strange adventures, dares, a bumpy makeshift bed, and what would have been a wall of awkward silence, were it not for Everett’s casual warmth. He seemed determined not to allow gloom into his life.
“It’s great,” he said. “I guess I can’t really compare it to yours, since I never went to a public school.”
He reached his hand over and rested it on my thigh. While it was not flirtatious and more of an appreciative gesture, I playfully gunned the gas pedal.
“Those legs!” Everett rubbed my thigh.
My legs are rather lanky. As a kid, I had once gone to the Carmike Cinema for a matinee of some Disney cartoons, including their version of the Ichabod Crane story. One of my childhood acquaintances, Billy Sanders, who was just part of a cluster of neighborhood kids who played together by convenient proximity, definitely lost any friend potential when after the movie he decided to nickname me Ichabod.
For years after that, I felt self-conscious about being taller than most kids my age. My ears and nose are a bit large, too. But the night before, with Everett having caressed my legs and other parts, like some kind of living statue worthy of such appreciation, I felt stronger, more self-assured.
“You’re blushing.”
“No, it’s the heater.” I reached over his arm to the dashboard, adjusted the temperature.
“So, Daddy Long-Legs, is that why you do cross country?”
“I guess. I tried basketball, some other sports in grade school. I just couldn’t care, you know? Where the ball goes, who wins. It really clears my mind, the repetition, the feeling of just running. Ever since I was little, I was already running around in the woods anyway.”
“Thank you for that!” Everett offered a hokey blessing to some god that resided above and beyond the car roof.
What would have happened if I had grown up with Everett? I would probably have known of him, but only seen him from a distance. The various cliques and social substrata of our school would have kept us separated anyway. He might have been just another more popular cute guy I knew more about than I should have. Gossip and stories about the smallest of events spread through my school like bee swarms.
“Are they strict?”
“No, it’s really the opposite,” Everett said. “I think, well, most of my schoolmates, the boarders, have to grow up faster. The day kids, they live nearby and sometimes come and go, and pay less tuition. Of course my parents…”
I understood. Money was not a problem.
“Dad went there, and I tested smart since, I dunno, kindergarten.” He told of a day, not in his memory, but bragged about often by his mother, when a teacher made some request of a five-year-old Everett, who replied at length in French. He denied any sense of talent, claiming to have probably been mimicking his sister’s taped lessons, which had fascinated
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