Held, Pushed, and 22918 (3 Complete Novels)

by Kimberly A Bettes

  I think it was her calling me a kid that pissed me off. I wasn’t a kid. If she really thought that, why did she let me smoke dope with her? Why did she try to fuck me? I was mad as hell at her for calling me a kid, a baby, and I went at her with a purpose. If she wanted to get off, I was going to make sure she did.

  I buried my face in her, using tongue and lips and teeth and fingers and all, doing anything I could think of that may or may not be the right thing to do. Apparently it was all wrong because she screamed and pulled herself up and away from me.

  “What the fuck are you doing, you idiot?”

  “I don’t know,” I shouted. “I don’t fucking know.”

  “You got that right.” She yanked her dress and boots on and started the car, pulling away without saying another word. She booked it back to town but didn’t drive me home, just dropped me off at the grocery store and forced me to walk home from there with my juice smeared across the front of my shirt and hers on the leg of my pants.

  I never saw Susan again after that night. She moved on to some other young boy somewhere else in the city. I was nothing more to her than a laughable memory, a joke.

  I tried to look on the bright side. At least I had been a miserable failure with a total stranger and not someone I cared about. If I’d screwed up with a girlfriend, I would’ve been absolutely devastated, more than I already was. So there was that. But looking on the bright side sure didn’t help much in the way of repairing my damaged ego.

  For the next few years, I focused on working and paid little attention to girls. The more I worked, the less time I had to worry about sex. When my friends teased me about not having a girlfriend, I told them I didn’t have time, which wasn’t a lie. I worked two jobs, stocking shelves at the grocery store during the evenings and pumping gas at a station on the weekends. During the summer when school was out, I worked three jobs, mowing lawns and trimming hedges during the day before heading to the store for my evening shift.

  Though the majority of my money went to the household, helping my mother pay bills and buy groceries, I did manage to save up enough to buy a car. I could’ve used my mother’s car, which mainly just collected dust in the driveway, but I felt that I should have one of my own, one that was solely mine. There was pride and a great sense of freedom in buying your own means of transportation.

  It felt good to fork over the hard-earned cash for my first car, a 1955 Lincoln Capri. It had as much rust as it didn’t, but it ran and that was all that mattered to me. I drove it straight to Charlie’s house, picked him up, and then we cruised the streets for hours before I took it home and parked it in the driveway behind my mother’s car.

  It was the last week in September of 1963 and I’d been listening to Charlie and a couple of other guys—John, a scrawny blond boy with a terrible case of acne, and Ben, a chubby dark-haired boy with a slight lisp—brag about how fast their cars would go. For weeks, the three had hung around the store while I worked, talking about their girls and their cars, bragging and teasing each other about whose was better.

  That’s how I learned that Saturday nights were race nights, the night of the week that all the fellas got together to show off to each other and their girls. One week, Charlie’s Buick would win. The next week, John’s Mercury would blow the doors off Charlie’s Buick. Sometimes Ben’s 1956 Plymouth Fury would win. Back and forth, on and on this went for the whole summer. By September, they’d convinced me to show them what my Lincoln could do. I was reluctant at first. I didn’t know a damn thing about racing, but I was desperate to be a part of it all. I’d spent the whole summer listening to them gush and seeing them all fired up over cars and races. I wanted some of that excitement.

  By the time I arrived at the long straight stretch of two-lane blacktop outside of town, there was already a crowd of teens and young adults gathered around a group of cars. Of all the vehicles there, mine looked the worst.

  I pulled off the side of the road and parked behind Charlie’s Buick and got out. Both Charlie and John came to greet me, holding up their beers and yelling my name. I smiled and acted cool, as cool as I could for a kid who had spent the day pumping gas.

  “Glad you made it,” Charlie said, smacking me on the shoulder. “See that guy over there in the red and white jacket?”

  I nodded.

  “He’s been bench racing all week, talking about how his car can beat any of ours. You know what that means? One of us has to take that asshole down, show him what’s what.”

  “Yeah,” chimed in John. “He’s from Truman.” He said it like he thought the guy was a dick simply because of what school he had gone to. As far as John was concerned, that very well may have been the truth.

  Though he was a year younger than Charlie and me, John had attended the same school as us and I knew that despite his size, he was one hell of an athlete. He’d played baseball and basketball all throughout school and was damn good at both. Truman High School was Westport High’s rival, so there was a long history of competition between the two. John took his sports seriously, and apparently that competitiveness carried over from school into his adult life. He took the matter very seriously.

  “Everybody’s bet money on the races, and that shit stain keeps saying he’s gonna walk away with it all. Already telling us what he’s gonna do with the money. And get this,” He leaned in closer as if he was telling me a secret. “He claims he can get third gear scratch in that car of his. Can you believe that?” He shook his head and chugged at the beer.

  “Hey, where can I get one of those,” I asked. I wasn’t thirsty as much as I needed something to take the edge off my nerves.

  “I’ll get you one,” John offered. He turned and walked away, leaving Charlie and me to survey the crowd. I saw a bunch of people I knew—kids that I’d gone to school with—and several more that I didn’t know. I recognized a few of them from the store or the station, but I’d never talked to them before.

  Ben had landed himself a girlfriend a few weeks earlier. She was a plump girl named Lisa who talked entirely too much and too loud and laughed at everything. The two were now leaning against his car kissing. Guess that was the only way he could shut her up.

  My attention was drawn to a girl I’d never seen before. She was standing with a group of four other girls, all chatting and giggling amongst themselves. This girl was dressed differently than the others, wearing bell bottom jeans and a loose blouse as opposed to a short skirt and tight-fitting shirt. Her features were delicate, her eyes kind. Immediately, I wanted to know more about her. She was different, just like me. But she didn’t seem awkward or uncomfortable in her skin the way I did. I was intrigued by her and simply couldn’t stop staring.

  “If you look any harder, you’re liable to bust the zipper on them jeans.”

  I tore my eyes away from the lovely young woman and glanced at Charlie, who stood next to me with a broad smile smeared across his face.

  “What?” I asked, trying to act like I didn’t know what he was referring to.

  “What my ass. I saw you staring at her. You want some of that, don’t you?”

  John returned, handing me a beer. I opened it and took a drink, hoping the conversation would switch gears.

  “What’d I miss,” John asked.

  “Well it seems ol’ Lester here is on the make. He has the hots for that one over there.” He pointed, and John followed his aim.

  “Denise?”

  “You know her?” Charlie asked.

  “Not really. She was a paper shaker in high school. I saw her a few times at some basketball games over in Truman. Best looking cheerleader there. Always nice. Unlike those other stuck-up bitches.”

  “I thought you hated everybody from Truman,” Charlie teased.

  “I do. Everybody but her.” To me, he asked, “So you think Denise is hot?”

  I shrugged, playing it cool. “I don’t know. She’s okay I guess.”

  “Shit,” Charlie laughed. “The way you were looking at her, you think
she’s much more than just okay.”

  “You’re not wrong. She’s easy on the eyes, for sure. You want me to go get her?” John wasn’t teasing me the way Charlie was. He was being helpful, and I appreciated it. But the thought of being face to face with her, of having her looking at me, of having to think of something to say was terrifying.

  “Nah. It’s no big deal.”

  “It is a big deal.” Charlie clamped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me against him. “My buddy, my friend, we’re gonna get you laid tonight.”

  “No. You’re not. I came here to race.”

  “You will, you will. But when you’re done with that,” he pointed to my car. “You’re gonna get you some of that.” He pointed to Denise again.

  I shook my head and took a drink of the beer, wishing I’d gone straight home instead of coming here. Why had I fooled myself into thinking I could ever be a part of something like this, something that cool kids did? This was no place for a loser like me, a guy with only three friends in the whole world.

  “No,” John said. “She’s not the kind of girl you ‘get some’ of. She’s a good girl. The kind of girl you take out on dates.”

  “Oh hell,” Charlie said. Before either of us could say anything else, someone from the crowd shouted, “Let’s race,” and everybody cheered, scattering to their cars and to the edge of the road, where a line of onlookers watched in anticipation.

  I followed Charlie and John to the edge of the road, where we stood among the crowd, waiting for our turn to race. I was glad I wasn’t going first because I’d never raced before and wasn’t quite sure what to do.

  The first two cars lined up side by side, a black Chevy and a blue Ford. I watched the procedure closely, memorizing what to do and when to do it so I wouldn’t look stupid when my turn came.

  When the cars took off, wheels burning rubber, smoke rising in plumes, the crowd cheered louder than before. The race was on, money on the line.

  Car after car flew down the stretch of highway, leaving long black lines in their wake. Each set of cars returned to the cheering crowd with one driver angry and one happy.

  The guy from Truman had beaten out three other guys with his red 1963 Ford Fairlane by the time it was Charlie’s turn to race him. John gave him a quick pep talk before the race started, which mostly consisted of things like “kick that bastard’s ass” and “don’t lose to no asshole from Truman”. Real motivational stuff.

  Both Ben’s red and white 1956 Plymouth Fury and Charlie’s 1954 sea foam green Buick Century lost the race, but neither lost by much. It didn’t seem to bother them as much as it did John, who was so angry, you would’ve thought someone had just slapped his mother. He was even angrier when he lost to Truman a few minutes later.

  “That damn Montclair just wasn’t fast enough,” he said, kicking the loose gravel at the edge of the highway. “Goddamn Mercury anyway. I had it to the floor,” he explained dramatically, as if he was a man on trial and we were the jury. “I gave her all she had. It just wasn’t enough.”

  By the time it was my turn to take on Truman, I had four beers in my belly and enough confidence for ten men. I never considered myself to be cocky, but I was damn sure cocky that night. I’d just watched this guy beat all three of my friends, my buddies, and I wasn’t about to let him beat me.

  I lined up beside the Fairlane and stopped, waiting for the signal. I glanced over at the driver, the hated guy from Truman, Westport High’s rival, and I saw him looking at me. He was smiling, but it wasn’t the friendly kind of smile that you might expect from someone wishing you luck. This was a greedy and hateful smile, a sneer really. The arrogant bastard had beaten nearly every car there already and just assumed he could beat mine too. After all, his Ford was new and shiny, chrome sparkling in the glare of the other cars’ headlights. My Lincoln was a rust bucket. What little paint was still on it was faded and chipped. He probably thought the ol’ girl didn’t have much giddy-up left in her. I was about to prove him wrong.

  I turned my attention back to the signal girl. She stood between the fronts of our cars with a white handkerchief held high above her head. Her shirt rose with her arms, baring her pale, flat belly. I hoped that was a distraction for Truman, but it wasn’t for me. Instead of looking at her bared skin, I kept my eyes trained on the white handkerchief, waiting for the signal.

  When the handkerchief dropped, I slammed down the accelerator and took off, keeping up with Truman for a while. The race was a quarter of a mile, and we were dead even for half of that. Then Truman started to pull away from me. Just before his bumper pulled ahead of mine, he stuck his arm out the window and flipped me off.

  What he didn’t know was I still had some juice left. I pressed the pedal the rest of the way to the floor, passing him with ease. I beat him by half a car length, which was more than enough to piss him off royally. I thought John took defeat badly but this guy was positively steamed.

  Back at the starting line, I pulled my car to the edge of the road and got out to the cheers from the crowd. Everyone that had been beaten by Truman was thrilled to see someone finally take him down.

  “You cheated,” someone shouted. I turned around to see Truman coming with his arm outstretched, finger pointing at me. “You cheated. You souped up your car.”

  “No I didn’t,” I said calmly.

  “Yes you did, you red-headed asshole. There’s no fucking way that piece of shit car can beat mine.”

  “Well it did.”

  He lunged at me and before I could register what was coming, he took a swing that landed solidly against my jaw. My head snapped to the right under the pressure of the blow. The hit knocked me off balance. I stumbled, but I didn’t fall. That would’ve been embarrassing as hell in front of all these people. Cool kids, no less.

  I quickly assumed a fighting stance, with my fists balled tightly and ready to swing. Before any other blows were thrown, two other guys jumped in and grabbed him, leading him away from me and back toward his car. A few minutes later, he sped off, peeling out as he went.

  My jaw hurt, but the beer numbed the pain to a tolerable level.

  “Are you okay?”

  I turned to find Denise standing there, worry evident on her face.

  “Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks.”

  “That looked like a nasty hit.”

  “I’ve had worse,” I lied. I hadn’t. In fact, the only other fights I’d ever been in were schoolyard scuffles in which no punches were thrown, just awkward wrestling maneuvers, some girl-like slaps, and a bit of hair-pulling. I couldn’t even remember what those fights were about. But I would never forget this one. I actually won at something. I beat a cool kid at his own game. The memory would be forever etched in my brain.

  “So this is your car, huh?” She stepped around me.

  “Yeah. That’s it. Doesn’t look like much, but it gets the job done.”

  “I bet.” She walked from the front bumper to the driver’s door, letting her fingers glide across the metal. “How does it handle?”

  “Good I guess.”

  “How does it ride?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Good.”

  She smiled. “Show me?”

  “Sure.” As she got in on the driver’s side and slid across the seat, I held the door open for her, looking around for Charlie or John or Ben. I didn’t see either of them. As strange as it was to have a woman in my car, I played it cool, like it was no big deal and something I did all the time.

  She smiled up at me, and from that moment on, she had me. Maybe it was the adrenaline that pumped through my body, or maybe it was the buzz from the four beers I’d consumed earlier. Whatever it was, a warm, fuzzy feeling went through me and I suddenly felt the need to have her. Not necessarily sexually. I just wanted her in my life, whether it was as a friend, a girlfriend, or whatever. It didn’t much matter. I’d never felt that way about anyone else, and I knew right away she was special.

  3

  Driving down the hi
ghway with Denise sitting next to me, I asked, “So where do you want to go?”

  “I don’t know. Anywhere. I’m just glad to be away from that whole scene.”

  “You don’t like watching those guys race?”

  “Standing around watching a bunch of guys argue about whose car is faster—which, by the way, is the same as arguing over whose penis is the largest—is not really my thing.”

  “So what is your thing? What do you like to do?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. She was so relaxed, so calm and at ease. I was perpetually uncomfortable and she was the exact opposite. I adored her for that.

  “I like to read and dance. I know it sounds silly but I also like to go for walks.”

  “For walks?”

  “Yeah. You know. Around the block. In the woods. On the beach. Wherever. I just like to be outside, moving. I could never be one of those people who just sit inside all day with their nose glued to the television screen. There’s so much going on. The world’s a big, beautiful place. There are so many things to see and do. I don’t want to miss any of it. Do you know what I mean?”

  I nodded.

  There wasn’t a beach within six hundred miles of us, but I got her drift. It wasn’t hard to imagine her strolling along, fingers twirling the ends of her dark brown hair as she went, lost in thought. It was an adorable sight, even if it was only in my mind.

  “So what do you do for fun?” she asked, turning slightly in her seat so she could look at me.

  “I don’t know.” I was nervous. Not only was there a beautiful woman in my car, sitting just an arm’s length away, but she was asking about me, wanting to know things about me. I was always uncomfortable talking about myself. Not that anyone ever asked.

  “You don’t know what you like to do?”

  I clenched my hands around the steering wheel. “I work a lot.”

  “But that’s not fun.”

  “No, I guess it’s not.” I hoped she would sense that I didn’t want to talk about myself and move the conversation in another direction, but she didn’t. She just sat silently, waiting for me to reveal myself to her. “I work three jobs, so I don’t really have time for fun. I only came out tonight because those guys kept at me about it. I went just to shut them up.”