Markwildyr.com,Post #254

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Well, how did you like meetingCharlie and Red Leg over the last two weeks. Think you might get some interestup if you met those two?

Let’s try some flash fiction thisweek. Read on and meet a shy, high school senior Army brat and see if you canshare any of his feelings.

* * * *

THE WHITE-VINED PARK BENCH

“Hi, my name’s Layton Dunelton,and I’m an army brat who gets transferred around a lot.”

That brought a rumble oflaughter from my new senior class at Harthbrow Academy. I mean to say the classwas new to me, not that the class was new. My dad’s an Army major, and you’dthink I’d grow accustomed to switching schools, but the truth is I’m shy ashell and have a hard time meeting new people. Sometimes I hate my dad’sprofession, although it’s been good to us. You know, great medical benefits andrespect and all. But it’s hard on the kids, I can tell you.

Anyway, this was my first dayin class at a new school, always the hardest. I could readily spot people I’dlike to get to know but didn’t always make the connection. Guess that’s anawfully shallow way of picking friends—by the way they look—but nobody’s ever accusedme of being deep.

I made it through the day andstarted for home, by foot since we lived no more than four blocks from theAcademy. Before leaving campus, I stopped off in the boy’s room to drain thepipe for a more comfortable walk. Like lots of places I’d attended, Harthbrowwas not immune from graffiti. I casually read and dismissed them, but onecaught my eye. Obviously old, the ink was faded, it simply read, “Meet you atthe white vine tonight at eight.” I guess it snagged my attention because Iwondered if there was a teen joint in town I hadn’t heard about.

I got my chores and homework doneearly, there wasn’t anything else to do. Boredom drove me away from the boobtube and out looking for something to occupy my time. Not far from the house, Ifound a nice city park. At first, I thought it was just a small thing, but as Iwandered around, I found it went on for blocks. The broad swath of green wasfringed by trees as thick as a wild forest and interspaced with heavy, ironbenches with backs fashioned like interwoven vines. A perfect place forwalking. This’d be my hiking spot. I did a lot of hiking, my form of physicalexercise. As I explored, I found little sheltered nooks. A little green spacewould open unexpectedly through the trees, and as a dedicated loner, I gravitatedtoward sheltered places.

A little after passing theobligatory His and Her restroom hut, I came upon a really attractive place.This little park was almost totally screened from view by trees. Pulled by asense of serenity, I entered the little place. No more than twenty-five yardswide in any direction, the glen felt like another world. Spotting one of thoseremote cast iron benches even deeper in the trees, I walked over and sat down.Surprisingly comfortable, although it probably wouldn’t wear on the butt well.I sighed and decided to claim the place for my own.

A few minutes later, a manwalked past the screen of trees, or at least, I thought he was going to.Instead, he claimed a bench I’d not noticed no more than ten yards in front ofme. One not so deep in this little glen, but still somewhat isolated from thebigger expanse of green beyond. His back was to me, but he looked a littleolder than my eighteen years. Like a junior or senior at the college in town.

At any rate, he had a sort of—Idon’t know—expectant air about him. There wasn’t much traffic in the park atthis time of day, but there was some. As I observed—a loner’s often a greatobserver of life around him—I noticed something. If a woman or girl walked by,he nodded courteously, but if a man—especially a young man—approached, hespread his legs and watched the guy approach. Like a hunter watching his prey waswhat came to mind. But what was his bait?

After about ten minutes, a guywho looked like he was another student walked up and stopped in front of thebench. I could hear voices but not words. Didn’t need them. The second guy satdown beside the first and took a long look either way before moving his hand.Although their backs were to me, I would have sworn he was groping the otherone.

They got up and moved deeperinto the trees. If they hadn’t been so intent on one another, they would haveseen me, but I remained as still as a stone. When they were well screened fromthe public portion of the park—but easily within my sight—one of them, a curly,dark-headed guy, leaned against the bole of a tree while the other pressed againsthim. I could swear they were kissing. They were! Moans reached me. Then theblond-headed one dropped his britches, baring his butt to me. It looked likethe other one’s trousers drooped, as well. More moans and groans as theymassaged one another.

Damn, if this wasn’t beginningto get to me.

They halted their activity andstarted discussing something. I couldn’t hear plainly but enough to realizethey were compatible—whatever that meant. Then I heard, plain as day. “Myroommate’s gone for the night.” They restored their clothing and started backto the public area. One looked startled when he spotted me, but grinned andflashed a thumbs-up behind his partner’s back.

Damned, if that didn’t sendsomething crawling around inside me.

When they were gone, I got upand walked to that bench. Sitting—and spreading my legs, I have to admit—I kindaexperimented with the feeling. Then I noticed something I hadn’t before. Thepark benches were all painted different colors. This one was white. A white-vined park bench. Could that be what the note on the toilet wall meant?Yeah. This was a pick-up spot. A meeting place for those people. Those people?

Damn, I had a raging boner.Did that mean anything? Naw. Well, maybe.

Anyway, I was sure as hell gonnacome back tonight and see what developed. Hell, maybe I’d sit down and spreadmy legs now that I knew what the bait was.

My, my, what doyou suppose he’s figured out the bait was? Will it work? Will it be okay withhim if it does, or will it be a case of the dog catching the car? Figure it outfor yourself. Or… I might write a second story, we’ll see.

Website and blog: markwildyr.com

Email:markwildyr@aol.com

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Twitter: @markwildyr

Now mymantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing.You have something to say, so say it! (Don Travis keeps reminding me I stole it from him, but he didn’tcopyright it. His bad.)

See you later.

Mark

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