Now They Call Me Gunner

by Thom Whalen

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  That evening, I took Katie to see Dirty Harry starring Clint Eastwood. She hated the movie. It struck too close to home for me to like it, either. I kept imagining myself lying on the ground while Clint shoved his cannon in my face and growled, Do you feel lucky, punk? Well, do you?

  I didn’t.

  Afterward, we went up to Makeout Hill and made out. Rain was drizzling down from a heavy sky so we stayed in the back seat of Dad’s car.

  We began by finishing off the beer that Randal had bought for me the first time we talked to Gus at the liquor store. I still didn’t much like the taste and I don’t think that Katie did, either. But I’d have to pick up another six-pack when I stopped by. It wouldn’t feel right to feel up Katie without offering her a beer first.

  I was happy to caress Katie under her bra but I didn’t try to do more than that. We spent a long time holding each other, more hugging than kissing, more caressing than groping.

  I enjoyed feeling close to her and I think she felt the same about me.

  When it was time to go home, she brushed her fingers across the bulge in my crotch.

  I gasped.

  She giggled. “Some day, soon, we should drive up to Watertown and rent a motel room. Then we can do something about this.”

  She sounded serious.

  I was near delirious.