When I was fourteen and living in the heat of Louisiana, I fell in love with a boy named Johnny. Now everyone said he was a bad boy, but he was what I wanted. I planned to marry him.
My friend Betty Lou got married when she was fourteen, and she seemed okay with it. She was hoping to get a baby. I knew it might take me til I was fifteen to make Johnny into a good boy so I could marry him without Daddy always telling me he was a bad boy, but I was willing to work on him.
So I set to it. I was friends with his sister and so I nuzzled up to her to get invitations to supper at her house. Her bedroom was at the back of the house, and if we left the door open we could pretty much see everything that was going on. That was the way her house was made. I really liked it. I could watch Johnny in his room off the side of the hall and see him snoozing on the bed. That’s pretty much all he did, so I made up my mind that I would make him get up and do something. I tried lots of things, but what he turned out to like best was putting his hand on my tits and moaning. So I let him do that. I also stole some ciggies from my aunt and he liked those, too.
I knew in my heart he wasn’t a bad boy, because his Mama loved him. She made sure he washed his face and that his jeans were patched. She never shouted at him like my Mom shouted at my brothers, telling them that she was on her last nerve. Instead, she was always trying to love on him and he would just knock her away but still, he couldn’t be too bad of a boy if his Mama loved him.
One day his Mama brought a plate of spaghetti into his room for supper. He didn’t like the taste of it so he threw it against the wall and a big glop fell onto his bed and his Mama got rags and a bucket of soapy water and carefully started cleaning the red steamy greasy stuff up. That’s when I saw the truth.
The truth is, I might never get married and want babies like Betty Lou.
© 2015 Just Lynne - 10/16/15