I met up with that little brunette again at the Spring Dance. French and I had a few nips of Vodka and headed down to the dance. In our small town the dance was a good night out. When we got in French said: "Look I am gonna hook up with that little red headed runner". He pointed to this tiny 5'2 girl that was an amazing long distance runner, she had a mass of curly red hair that went all the way down her back. He continued: "Problem is my little brunette may show up. I'll keep my red head over by the stage; your job is to keep the little brunette over by the gym office". French took off through the crowd and started to dance to "Shook Me All Night Long" with his new girl. He picked her up and whirled her around; red hair flying.
Sure enough, the little brunette showed. She was so pretty and sweet; I thought this was a pretty good gig, at first. I held this nice little thing, perfect in a jean skirt and Aerosmith t-shirt, through some awkward dances. I spotted French a couple of times and turned "my date" away and worked her further away and deeper into the crowd.
I took her out to the drink stand and bought her a Coke. Telling her that French maybe out here. This went on for a while, once I saw French wink and raise a thumbs up over the back of his little runner. French then signalled that he was leaving and I saw him leave hand-in-hand with little red out a side door.
During the next slow dance the little brunette said: "French isn't here is he?" I said "No sweety he's gone".
2 comments:
Really good. A nice slice of life post. Funny, sad, youthful. Liked it a lot. They're never boring, these stories of yours.
OO,
I feel bad for that sweet thing. Maybe that night you would take her back to your room in the basement of the folks house, and shoot more than just a game of pool?
HP
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