The voices in the dark are laughing. They’ve been chatting about a co-worker, a woman whose uniform was too tight for her big, bazooka breasts. They don’t seem to care if I hear them or anyone else for that matter. Although there is no one around, except those driving slowly by stretching their necks my direction to see if they might recognize the bedraggled woman in the back seat of the police car. I wish that darn cop had turned the cab lights off, but no, he left them on, shining brightly in my face to make sure that everyone passing could see the criminal he had caught. Criminal! That’s what I am now, a blankety-blank criminal! (I never did learn to cuss.)
Not One Iota
It was the summer of 1964 – a time when neighbors didn’t lock their doors, and they waved to complete strangers and set up lemonade stands in their front yards. A time when children played outside till after dark, as long as the porch lights were left on to guide them home. Hide and seek, hopscotch and baseball were the favorite outdoor games. When the summer heat became unbearable, Barbie dolls, Monopoly and various card games kept the children busy inside after running in and out of the sprinkler and up and down the Slip n’ Slide, fresh cut grass stuck to their feet and their bottoms as they frantically chased down the musical ice cream truck for that heavenly Dreamsicle or rainbow Pop-Up. Yet, all across the country it was also a time of eroding innocence, when a bible salesman could make a killing on guilt alone.
Go Home Mel!
“I guess you weren’t successful...you’re still naked, still in my robe...well, what’s left of the bloody thing, and you look just awful! What did you do this time, Mel?” she reluctantly asked, her patience wearing thin.
“It involves a chain-linked fence, your red scarf, and a dog with sharp teeth and a bad attitude! Oh, and half a box of Band-Aids. See?" he exclaimed indignantly, bending over to expose his bandaged bare bottom. "I really don’t want to talk about it. I’ll just say this…mission aborted!"