First Kiss

by Richards

  “Excuse me,” I mumbled. “I need to go run an errand.”

  “Perhaps you can bring us all back some ice cream,” my grandmother suggested, trying to force a smile. “We could use a break about now.”

  Agreed. But the sort of break I had in mind was too big to fit into a cup or cone.

  There’s a reason I walk rather than ride my bike places. I remembered this the moment I pulled my piece-of-crud bike out of the garage. My parents salvaged it from the thrift store when I was nine. Somewhere in the long-ago past, it had probably been a kid’s prized possession with its banana seat, curving handlebars, and sparkly purple fenders.

  However, time had not been kind. Currently, white fluff poked from tears in the seat, the fenders were covered in rust, and the chain rattled even when not being peddled. Worst of all, it was perfectly sized for a nine-year-old kid but terribly sized for a guy teetering on the edge of puberty. But what was I supposed to do? Walk all the way to Harley’s?

  Halfway there, I concluded I should’ve walked after the air in the back tire spewed out and the rubber started peeling off the rim. I pulled to the side of the road and evaluated my options. Either the bike had to be left in the ditch or I did. The bike had a better chance of success with Harley, but the ditch smelled funny and the trickle of water at the bottom looked like it had oozed from an open sore. I could only hope the bike had the good sense to climb out and hitch a ride with a kindly family before I returned to claim it.

  Bike-less, the last mile breezed past like a middle school death march with only the occasional cow mooing to mark my progress. What exactly was I doing out here anyway? Since when did the fashion show matter enough for me to be trekking cross-country on its behalf?

  I rounded the last corner and halted in Harley’s driveway. The time for truth had arrived. I felt sure he wouldn’t throw me off his property but whether he’d hang me from Barb’s barbwire armpit was another matter. The sound of hammering drew me to Harley’s workshop in the barn. I found him bent over an anvil with a hammer in one hand and a red-hot metal fence post in the other.

  “Hey, Harley,” I called out.

  The hammering stopped. He pulled his safety glasses up.

  “Stu! What brings you here?”

  Yeah, about that. “Umm … just thought I’d stop by and see what you’re up to.”

  He wiped the sweat off his forehead with one arm.

  “Is your dad with you?”

  “No, just me. I was in the neighborhood.”

  He gave me a questioning look that seemed entirely appropriate since he lived in the middle of cow fields and his only neighbors were the mooing kind. I had just met several of them on my walk.

  “I’m sorry, what brings you here?”

  What brings me here? Well, the bike for darn sure hadn’t. Really, neither had my feet. Something deeper had drawn me. Something I couldn’t quite explain but that gnawed at the edges of my mind. Or maybe I was just gullible. Probably just gullible.

  “Well—I wanted to—you know—uh—talk to you—like about something.”

  If that didn’t clarify things I didn’t know what would. At least I had spoken real words.

  Harley scratched his chin. His eyebrows furrowed.

  “I’m not quite sure I’m following you.”

  Geez, did I have to spell it out?

  “Well, my grandmother invited Stefan to do the show with her this year, using local models.”

  “Yeah, I heard that.”

  “It was going to be at this big, really cool barn outside town. But it had a fire last night.”

  “The Wilsons’ barn?”

  “Yeah, and now the show is ruined unless we can find another place where we can have the show. A place big enough for everyone.”

  That was the easy part. Now for the part that might lead to me being hung from a barbed wire armpit.

  “And I was wondering … if maybe … we could use your barn for the show?”

  Harley took a step back. His hammer dropped onto the workbench behind him.

  “Did Elsa put you up to this?”

  “No, she doesn’t know,” I said in a rush. “She’s still really upset about—well, everything that’s happened.”

  He sagged against the workbench. For a moment, he looked exactly how I felt the last time I saw Becca turning away on her porch and closing the door behind her.

  “She hurt me pretty bad,” he said.

  My conversation with Elsa came back to mind.

  “She seems afraid she’ll have to give up her career.”

  He stuck the red-hot fence post into a bucket of water. Steam hissed in a cloud around him.

  “That’s crazy. I like that she has a life of her own. Something that she’s passionate about. I would never ask her to give that up. Not in a million years.”

  “Maybe you just need to show her that.”

  He rubbed his face with both hands.

  “I don’t know. I kinda wear my emotions on my sleeve. I don’t know if I’m willing to risk it again.”

  “Oh.”

  He slumped further, a giant of a man reduced to the size of a frightened middle school kid.

  “I don’t know,” he repeated to himself.

  He stood that way for what seemed like forever. Until his hands clenched. And his knees straightened. And his shoulders lifted as if he was slowly being filled back up with air. Suddenly, he stood before me like the giant-of-a-man Harley I had always known.

  “But the thing is, she’s worth it,” he said. “She’s worth it and I can’t forever mope around heartbroken like I’ve been doing most my life. And even if she doesn’t want me back, it’s the right thing to do for her, and for your grandmother.”

  The fire in his eyes burned hotter than the glow of the metal fencepost he had been holding. Okay, I might be exaggerating a bit. But something was going on in that man, and I, for one, was happy to once again be looking up at my larger-than-life superhero Harley.

  “I got a lot of work to do,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna get going. A few days isn’t much time to make this place fashion-show ready.”

  That was for darn sure.

  I found Diane and my grandmother huddled together at a corner table in the Sunshine Café.

  “You look like you’ve been walking for hours,” Diane observed.

  If dragging a broken-down bike for miles counts as walking. “Pretty much.”

  “What have you been up to?” my grandmother asked, passing me the other half of her turkey sandwich.

  I wolfed down the sandwich along with the glass of Coke the waitress set in front of me.

  “I found a venue for the show.”

  “You what?!” Diane exclaimed.

  “Yeah,” I continued. “Harley was hesitant at first, but he seems really excited about having the show in his barn.”

  My grandmother choked on her iced tea.

  “What did you just say?”

  “Uh … I said Harley was kinda hesitant at first but then he thought about it and agreed to host the show in his barn.”

  My grandmother pushed her iced tea away as if it had just been poisoned.

  “Are we talking about the same Harley?” she asked. “And the same barn?”

  “Maybe he has a new barn,” Diane added, patting my grandmother’s hand.

  She and my grandmother exchanged looks. Not good looks. Frightened looks like two rabbits about to cross a busy highway.

  “Any other ideas?” my grandmother whispered.

  “Not one,” Diane replied.

  My grandmother massaged her hip and let out a heavy sigh.

  “Stefan might agree if we don’t let him see the barn. But Elsa. I don’t know how she’ll respond.”

  She asked the server for the check, then stood.

  “Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

  We traipsed into the store and found Elsa behind the counter with shoulders slumped.

  “My dear,” my grandmo
ther said. “Take a moment from what you’re doing. We’d like to discuss something with you.”

  Elsa looked up. The vacant ghostly stare had returned.

  “What is it?” she asked in her mournful voice.

  “The three of us have been talking,” my grandmother continued. “And we’ve come up with a rather ingenious solution to save the show.”

  “Harley’s barn,” I squeaked.

  The look on Elsa’s face switched from haunted to terrified.

  “What? We can’t,” she faltered. “Not after what I did to him. I can’t face him again.”

  As if on cue, the door opened, and Harley entered. He stood in the entry like an Old West gunslinger brandishing a black vest and boots, his greasy handlebar mustache glimmering in the neon light.

  “Oh my,” Diane whispered, fanning herself.

  “Am I interrupting?” Harley asked.

  Elsa went rigid. “What is he doing here?” she whispered.

  Diane gave her a friendly push forward.

  “Talk to the boy. I think you owe him that.”

  Elsa shuffled to where Harley stood waiting.

  “They just told me you offered the use of your barn for the show.”

  Harley hesitated, avoiding her eyes.

  “Stu came by earlier. He said you needed a bigger place for the show. I know my barn’s not the most beautiful thing, but it has enough space and I’ve come up with some plans to make it look nicer for the show.”

  He pulled a paper from his pocket and handed it to Elsa. She unfolded it and stared at the drawings.

  “Can you really do all this?” she asked.

  He paused to consider.

  “There’s not a lot of time to work with, but I think I can get pretty close to what you see there,” he replied.

  She leaned in closer, her voice lowering.

  “This doesn’t change things. I just can’t be in a serious relationship right now.”

  Harley nodded, though I could see the hurt in his eyes.

  “I think it’s great that you have a career you’re passionate about,” he continued. “I get that. And I want to do something to help you and Rosemarie and the store. If you’ll let me.”

  The faintest smile curved her lips.

  “We don’t have much time and a lot to do to get ready. I hope you’re up for it.”

  His grin matched hers.

  “I better get going. I got a list of things to get at the hardware store. Just wanted to stop by and make sure the show was still on.”

  He nodded to the rest of us, then exited. Diane shook her head.

  “Honey, you got yourself something there that you do not want to let go.”

  “Well,” my grandmother agreed. “Looks like the show is back on again.”

  She gave me a hard stare.

  “Including finding the last models for the show, right?”

  That woman was relentless.

  “Uh—yeah.”

  The next few minutes seemed almost peaceful after all that had happened in the last few hours. Elsa got on the phone to make arrangements and my grandmother went straight to work on the pile of alterations still waiting to be cut and stitched.

  The moment they were both busy, Diane pulled me aside.

  “Do you think Harley can really turn that barn into something suitable for a fashion show all by himself in less than a week?”

  My memory of the barn came into sharp relief. The dirt floor littered with piles of dried cow dung. The beams and walls covered in cobwebs like a Halloween haunted house. And no lights anywhere except in his workshop. “Sure.”

  She gave me her you-can’t-fool-me look.

  “I appreciate your loyalty. He’s a wonderful young man with a heart of gold. But is there anyone who can help him?”

  When I thought about it, Harley overhauling his barn alone in a matter of a few days did seem optimistic. “He and my dad and the rest of the meat float crew are pretty tight. I’m sure they’d be willing to lend a hand.”

  Diane brightened. “That’s a great idea. Why don’t I stay here and help Elsa while you run over to your dad’s shop and ask him?” She leaned in conspiratorially. “We can keep it our little secret for now. No use worrying Elsa and your grandmother. They have enough to worry about already. Sound good?”

  Uh, sure.

  A burst of optimism swelled inside as I headed up Sequim Avenue. Yes, the show had been on the brink of ruin, but that didn’t mean things couldn’t still turn out all right. With my dad’s help and the meat float crew backing him up, anything was possible. Looking around I couldn’t help but notice the sky shimmering blue and the day bright with opportunity.

  Why, right there in front of me a lovely young lady had just stepped out of Ben’s father’s hardware store. The zombie warlord grabbed my larynx and attempted to strangle me from the inside out.

  Becca turned, and our eyes met.

  “Uh, h-hi,” I stammered.

  She hesitated, her lips trembling.

  “Hi.”

  The entirety of the debate over asking her to be my partner for the show flashed through my mind in a jumbled blur of anxiety-riddled confusion. The simple conclusion: there would never be a better chance than the one in front of me right now.

  “Hey—um—I was wondering—”

  The door behind Becca opened, and her little sister, Carly, exited onto the sidewalk holding a plastic tool belt filled with plastic tools.

  “My mom promised her a tool belt if she did all her chores for two straight weeks,” Becca explained.

  “Oh, that’s nice,” I mumbled, trying to regain my focus despite the tool-belt-wielding distraction tugging on Becca’s arm. “Um—like I was saying—I think you know the fashion show is happening this Saturday right before your party.”

  “Yes,” Becca replied. “My family is planning to come.”

  “Becca,” Carly whined.

  Becca pulled her arm out of Carly’s grasp. “Just wait a minute,” she scolded.

  Her eyes turned back to me.

  “Um—well—the thing is—I was wondering—”

  The door opened again, and Carly’s best friend, Jess, exited carrying a tool belt of her own.

  “Becca,” Carly whined again. “Let’s go.”

  Becca snorted like an angry bull. “Will you be quiet?” she snapped at her sister. “Just be patient for one minute.”

  She gave me a shrug. “This is what my days are like.”

  Time was running out. I needed to just up and ask her and get it over with.

  “Look, the thing is, my grandmother wants me and a couple of my friends to model in the show. It will mean walking the runway just like the adults. And—anyway—I was wondering if—”

  The door opened again, and a creature from the deep suddenly appeared, his lone chin hair gleaming in the sunlight. The zombie warlord staggered back against my rib cage. He was with her? Now?

  “Hey, Stu!” Jackson said.

  C’mon, couldn’t he shrivel up and die already? “Hey, Jackson.”

  “What were you saying?” Becca prompted.

  She didn’t seriously expect me to ask her in front of Jackson? And with the tool-belt-wielding sisters watching? With my luck, there were hidden cameras transmitting the event worldwide. But I couldn’t turn back now. It was too late.

  “I was wondering if you’d like to be in the show with me,” I squeaked out in a voice that would have made a baby mouse proud.

  Becca beamed in response. “Sure! Runway models! That sounds like fun.”

  “Whoa, that sounds cool,” Jackson commented.

  She looked back at him standing behind her.

  “Oh, can Jackson be in the show, too?”

  What? No! “Sure, of course. We need more models.”

  “Awesome!” Jackson exclaimed, giving me a high five. “Models in a fashion show!”

  “Is anyone else going to be in it with us?” Becca asked.

  The zombie warlord slumped
down and began playing a funeral dirge using my intestines for bagpipes.

  “I was going to ask Ben and Kirsten,” I replied.

  Becca’s eyes lit up. “I’m gonna see Kirsten in a few minutes. If you want, I’ll ask her for you.”

  “Sure.”

  The foursome hurried off down the sidewalk, two tittering about their new tool belts and two tittering about the show. At the corner, they turned and disappeared, leaving me standing in the middle of the sidewalk with my mouth gaping and my intestines still moaning.

  What had just happened?

  At least the conversation with my father went smoothly. Diane seemed relieved when I told her the news back at my grandmother’s store.

  “Thank the heavens,” she said, peeking over the rack of dresses we were hiding behind. “Maybe it won’t look like the Taj Mahal, but I’m sure it’ll all pull together.”

  According to what Ben once told me, the Taj Mahal was built entirely of white marble. Comparing it to Harley’s barn required a serious reach in logic. It’d be enough for me if people could walk across the floor without needing rubber boots or foot sanitizer.

  My grandmother sauntered over, cane in hand, to our hiding spot.

  “What are you two up to?” she asked.

  “Oh, nothing,” Diane replied. “Just sharing some town gossip.”

  My grandmother pursed her lips.

  “You don’t really seem like the gossip type. What else are you two conspiring about?”

  The topic needed to change, quick. “I was just telling Diane I almost have the volunteers lined up for the show.”

  The zombie warlord resumed his slow dirge on my intestines.

  “Well, that’s good to hear. I’d like you all here tomorrow morning at ten a.m. to get fitted. Can you make that happen?”

  “I think so. If it’s okay, I’ll leave early and talk to the last two on my way home.”

  My grandmother clapped me on the shoulder.

  “I like your can-do attitude. Go ahead and take off. But make sure they’re all here in the morning.”