by Davina Lee
It’s Been Such a Long Time
By Davina Lee
Published by JMS Books LLC
Visit jms-books.com for more information.
Copyright 2018 Davina Lee
ISBN 9781634867900
Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com
Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
All rights reserved.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
* * * *
It’s Been Such a Long Time
By Davina Lee
Madison, WI—Present Day
I stand at the front counter of the little thrift shop where I volunteer almost every day. I’m running my fingers over a bunch of dusty old records in a scuffed-up plastic milk crate, pausing to look at each one as I flip through. Normally I don’t inspect every donation that comes our way in this much detail, but this one is different. This is the music I grew up with.
I continue flipping through the collection until I land on a familiar album cover with a flying saucer-looking spaceship on the front and the band name Boston under its dome. I can almost hear the sound of guitars in my head. I slowly raise my eyes from the LP dust jacket and settle onto the face of the woman who still has her hands resting on the milk crate.
She could be just another random person here to make a donation, but there’s something oddly familiar about her. Those enchanting green eyes peeking out from under her blue Milwaukee Brewer’s ball cap, and those full honey-colored lips, I’ve seen them before. I’ve kissed them before. And I remember they tasted like beer.
“Marianne?” I say. “Marianne Hoffman?”
I see the corners of her mouth begin to turn up as the flash of recognition spreads across her face.
* * * *
Somerset, WI—Late July 1979
I rolled off my inner tube and hit the cool clear water of the Apple River with a mild kerplunk. Most of my classmates had already cleared the final bend and were already on the shore. Some were standing around chatting, with beers in their hands. Others were more active playing catch or Frisbee. A few had even organized a slightly drunken sand volleyball match.
I squinted against the glare of the sun on the gently rippling water as I stood knee-deep in the river wringing my hair out. Before I finished, Brad was already behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and nibbling on my neck.
“Get a room,” someone hollered. Brad didn’t look up but did raise his middle finger in the general direction of the voice. A wave of laughter and heckling ensued.
“Don’t let your tube get away, lover boy.” I twisted around in his arms to face him, draped my hands over the back of his neck, and grinned. “You’ll lose your deposit.”
“Shit!” Brad exclaimed and went splashing off after it.
I waded through the shallows and onto the muddy riverbank, my toes squishing in the cool muck until I crested the rise to stand on the grassy shore. Some girl I didn’t know took my tube in exchange for a towel, and a guy I assumed was her boyfriend handed me a beer. Brad eventually caught up, with his tube slung over his shoulder, and was treated to the same.
“Hot dog or bratwurst?” someone called out. I looked up to see my across the street neighbor, Kevin, looking my direction with a pair of tongs raised in the air. I’m not sure who appointed him master chef, but for every outing this summer he was the guy with the grill and the charcoal.
“Brat,” I hollered.
“Make it two,” Brad said, and then turned to me. “Grab me a bag of chips babe?”
“Sure.” I smiled and dug two vending machine-sized bags of Lays out of a grocery bag while he went to find us a place to sit.
I threw my leg over the wobbly wooden picnic bench and lowered myself to sit. The late afternoon sun quickly banished the remaining droplets of water from my skin and made my bikini top feel a little less clingy. Brad deposited two paper plates holding brats in buns and sat down beside me.
“Your shorts are all wet,” I complained. “Don’t get too cozy.”
“I like to make you wet, babe.”
I rolled my eyes and mentally groaned. Brad and I had been dating all through our senior year and he’d been trying to get into my pants the entire time. So far, I had resisted his charms, if you could call his latest attempt at innuendo charming. Though now that we were sharing a tent on our last big bash of the summer, I figured I might finally have to give it up for him.
Despite his cheesy adolescent male pick-up lines, Brad was actually a decent guy and if I was going to put out for someone, he wasn’t a bad choice. I wasn’t completely convinced it was going to have the same appeal for me as it did for him, but it’s not like I wanted to be the only virgin when I went off to college in the fall.
“Maybe we can zip our sleeping bags together and I’ll let you finger me,” I whispered.
Brad’s face lit up, so at least one of us was excited about the prospect.
Strains of electric guitar were wafting through the air from a boombox somewhere while I took my first bite of dinner and watched another couple emerging from the river. It was Marianne and Tom. Like Brad, Tom had elected to float down the river in an old pair of cut-off jean shorts, and river water continued to stream down over his legs as he walked onto the shore.
Marianne on the other hand, was sporting an electric blue Lycra one-piece racing suit that glistened in the sun as it dried and did very little to hide her broad shoulders and narrow hips. I wondered what she would look like in a little red two-piece like mine and quickly decided that the sporty look suited her much better.
Tom and Marianne had been dating for as long as I can remember and made a cute couple. They were also both rather quiet, and after a full day of shenanigans on the river that was just fine by me. I motioned them over and they ambled up with paper plates and beers in their hands.
Tom was in a couple of my classes this past year, so we got along fairly well. Marianne I hardly knew. Even though they were always together outside of school, she had a different schedule during the day, and as a result I mostly knew her as the tall, shy girl on Tom’s arm at social occasions.
“You look a little pink, Tom,” I said. “Better put some aloe on that or you’ll be hurting later.”
“Yeah, I suppose.” He grinned.
Marianne didn’t say anything, but I wasn’t surprised, she really never did. She just sat down and tucked into her dinner.
“You decide what you’re going to major in yet, Marianne?” I asked her between bites, trying some easy conversation to make sure she didn’t feel left out.
“Not really,” she said. “Not even sure where I’ll be going to school.”
“Seriously? You’ve only got about a month to figure it out. I guess I figured you and Tom…” I paused. Marianne
wasn’t looking at me. Tom wasn’t looking at me. And I felt like I had just stepped in something.
Maybe they weren’t as solid as I thought. I didn’t get a chance to ask her about it though.
“Shit! Look out!” I heard, but too late. Some guy was running after a volleyball that just so happened to bounce right smack in the middle of our table sending Marianne’s beer can over onto its side with the contents ending up as a puddle in her lap. “Sorry!” the guy yelled as he ran past, still chasing after the ball.
“Ick,” was all Marianne offered.
“No kidding,” I agreed.
“I’m gonna need a shower,” she said and got up from the table.
“Hang on, I’ll go with you,” I said. “Got to rinse this river muck out of my hair or I’m going to be smelling like a dead fish all night.” I didn’t want Marianne going off alone in an unfamiliar place, but selfishly, I was kind of interested in what the heck was going on with her and Tom.
* * * *
I stood in front of a mirror that looked like it had seen better days and ran a towel over my long blonde hair. I was still wearing my bathing suit and had even kept it on in the shower, since this was a public facility, and I did not want to become an accidental exhibitionist. I could wait to change once I got back to the privacy of the tent.
Marianne emerged from her shower stall a minute later. She must have had the same idea I did, because she was still in her bathing suit too, and it was shiny from being wet. Ever the shy one, Marianne didn’t really meet my gaze as she stood next to me toweling off her short hair. Though every so often I swear I caught her checking me out in the mirror. I smiled.
I’m not surprised. My body had really filled out over the last year and I would catch plenty of guys fixing me with a lecherous gaze, and even some of the girls in what I decided must be minor fits of jealousy.
Marianne probably had it worse than most. Throughout high school she never really made it out of the gangly pre-adolescent tomboy stage and had very little going on in the chest department. She certainly grew up, just not out. Her slim figure was nicely tanned, and even I was well aware of her enchanting green eyes and full honey-colored lips. I could certainly see why Tom found her attractive.
“So, what’s with college, Marianne?”
“I dunno.”
“I always figured you and Tom were going to State together.”
“Nah. We decided to take a break. Do our own thing for a while.”
“Hmm.” Tom and Marianne had been a couple since freshman year, and I really pictured the two of them as the first to go off and get married. Their relationship was just so solid. Better than Brad’s and mine, which seemed to be based entirely on his constant desire to get into my pants. I often wondered if he would lose interest after I gave in to his never-ending quest to get between my thighs.
I was just about to press Marianne for more details about why she and Tom were apparently on the outs, but she changed the subject.
“Come on,” she said. “We don’t want to be late for the bonfire.”
I decided to let my curiosity rest and figured we could talk about something else for a while.
As we walked back to camp, I heard the same guitar sounds wafting through the air, probably pumped out by the same boombox as before, though this time the guitar was interspersed by the tremolo swell of a rock organ.
“What’s this music I keep hearing?” I asked Marianne. “I feel like it’s been following me since I got here.”
“The band’s called Boston. Guess where they’re from.” Marianne smiled. “That kid must have just gotten the tape too, because he’s been playing it non-stop since we got here.”
“Hmm, not bad. I kind of like this song. No words, that’s different.”
“It’s just an intro and only ever gets played on the album rock stations.” Marianne leaned in and whispered, “Don’t tell the boys, but it’s called ‘Foreplay’.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
“Well, don’t worry. I think Brad’s idea of foreplay is taking his pants off. Tom’s probably the same, huh?”
We both grinned and giggled. Marianne declined to comment on Tom’s views on foreplay, so I didn’t press it. The whole subject of Tom seemed a bit uncomfortable for her at the moment, so we talked about other things like the guy with the boombox, and the one tape that he seemed bent on playing over and over until he wore it out.
Our little conversation about that Boston album on the way back to camp was probably the most I’d ever heard come from Marianne’s mouth during our entire senior year. If I had known that she was into music we might have had something to talk about for the past year, but hindsight, as they say, is 20/20.
* * * *
The air had turned cool in the fading light of day and the warmth of the bonfire actually felt good against my skin. I never did change my clothes as I had intended, and was still only wearing my bathing suit top, so most of me was bare. I had covered my bottom half with a pair of shorts and the rest of me with a copious amounts of mosquito spray before joining the group.
I sat down in a spot that Brad had saved for me. A few feet away I saw my neighbor, Kevin, wringing his hands and fidgeting in his seat. While Marianne and I were away in the showers, our camp chef had gone from doing the grilling to being grilled himself. Just not over the fire.
“Truth or dare, Kevin. Just pick one,” Brad was saying. The game was his idea no doubt, because it’s one of his favorites. I swear he enjoyed torturing people with revealing their embarrassing moments.
“Aw shit. Truth,” Kevin answered.
“Truth. Truth. Truth,” went up the chant.
“Okay, truth. When’s the last time you did something illegal?” Brad said. “Besides speeding.”
“Oh, that’s easy.” Kevin was grinning. “Does smoking a joint last weekend count?”
A few high-fives went up from the guys. I’m not surprised.
“Mandy, your turn,” Kevin said looking at me. “Truth or dare?”
“Dare,” I said. No way was I going to be answering any truth questions tonight. No doubt they would be way more sexual in nature since I was a girl, like would you ever let a guy put it in your butt. I’d heard that one before. I’d rather chug a beer or eat an earthworm with a teaspoon of hot sauce or something.
“I dare you to kiss somebody,” Kevin said, and a collective groan went up from around the bonfire. “Wait, I’m not done,” he insisted. “It can’t be Brad.”
The groans changed to oohs of intrigue.
I looked around the circle and quickly settled my eyes on Tom. He seemed to be the safest bet, I figured he would at least be a gentleman about it and not try to grab my ass or ram his tongue down my throat. Tom saw my gaze come to rest on him and started shifting in his seat.
“And,” Kevin continued, “it has to be a girl.”
Tom began to relax, and the earlier oohs had quickly transformed into a cheer and chants of ‘kiss, kiss, kiss.’ I shifted my gaze from Tom to the person sitting next to him, his girlfriend Marianne. She was so shy and reserved I figured the whole thing would be over before it even started, and that was just fine with me.
Marianne wouldn’t even look me in the eye and seemed to shrink as I got up and walked over to her. But I had put away enough beers today that it gave me the liquid courage required to slip my hand behind her neck and lean in to touch my lips to hers.
I was honestly planning on a little peck, but once our lips met, I quickly changed my mind and decided to linger for a while. Marianne was soft and gentle and I could feel her warm moist breath as she sighed into my mouth. She tasted a little like beer, but then so did I.
I think Marianne was of the same mind as me, because she didn’t seem to be in too much of a rush to get away. She wasn’t out on the offensive either, attacking my mouth, it was more of a gentle invitation and I found myself being pulled in. I felt a little shiver run through me and a brief twinge down below.
>
Marianne wasn’t anything like any of the boys I had ever kissed. She certainly tasted better than an earthworm with hot sauce. Mostly she just felt good, and that kind of surprised me, but I wasn’t really in the frame of mind to analyze it. I just kept going, exploring Marianne’s mouth and running my fingers through her hair as my pulse raced.
The end of our embrace was met with a mixture of cheers and stunned silence. The cheers came from all the guys around the bonfire who probably figured we had staged that marathon kiss just to get a reaction. The stunned silence came from Marianne and me as we simply stared at each other while I tried to figure out what had just happened.
I went to bed that night still trying to figure it out. Brad hadn’t given up on the idea of getting me to put out, so I told him it was bad timing and that my period had just started. Not at all true, but it kept him from insisting on zipping our sleeping bags together, and it gave me some time to think.
Though it didn’t seem to matter how much I thought about it—all that night, for the rest of the summer, and partway through college. Even though Marianne’s soft honey-colored lips were in the back of my mind for quite some time, I never did figure out exactly what had transpired until many, many years later.
* * * *
Madison, WI—Present Day
The front door of the Saint Vincent de Paul thrift shop opens with a chime, and I look up from the clothing rack I’m organizing and into the angelic face of Katie Jones. Katie had started here a few weeks ago as a way to bolster her college application with volunteer hours, and she was still learning the ropes. I, on the other hand, had been volunteering here long enough that everybody comes to me when they want to know where something is.
“Hi Katie,” I say. “I thought you’d be in school today.”
“It’s teacher in-service day Missus Johnson. No school, so I came here instead.”
I know I’m old enough to be Katie’s mother, but it still wounds me just a bit to be called Mrs. Johnson. “Please Katie, call me Amanda.”
“Sure thing,” she says. “So, what needs doing today?”