Pink Heels and Rusty
(Current -- 2018.04.30)
Joel Matthew Rees
Copyright 2017, 2018. All rights reserved.
Rusty's
electric blue eyes bored into me, his expression a total cipher.
"You're
mad at me." I was regretting having trusted Pietra's advice.
"Mmm-mmm,"
he shook his head without taking his eyes from mine or changing his
expression. I couldn't look away. The grass under my feet scratched.
"Then
what?" Yeah, I was asking the obvious.
"You
said your shoes would match my hair." His voice was
matter-of-fact, just a shade cool, revealing no hint of what he was
really thinking. "I just want you to know that my hair is not
hot pink."
Okay, maybe not the obvious. But my
ears burned. I held up my heels, pleading with my eyes.
"And
my hair is not fuzzy. Curly, sure. Not fuzzy."
The
fake fur ankle straps. Mom had called them excessive. Did the corners
of his mouth twitch?
"But
they're cute, aren't they?"
"Sure.
But nothing on my head is as sharp as those stilts, not even my
nose."
Relief
flooded me. "Oh my gosh. You had me going."
He
tilted his auburn head. "You dance in those tonight and your
ankles'll be killing you before you leave." I couldn't tell if
he was warning or joking.
Maybe
both. Then he squatted down without changing his expression, and
without looking at my legs.
"Uh,
what should I do?" I asked as I watched him. I didn't know
whether to squat down with him or remain standing. Either way was
awkward.
He
pulled one of his own shoes off. "Well, you could go barefoot.
Me, I never pass up a chance to go barefoot." Then he pulled his
sock off and wiggled his toes. I know it sounds stupid, but his feet
were as perfect as his face.
I
think I would have died if he had let his focus drift even for a
moment to my thighs.
When
I was choosing my outfit, my thoughts were different. Pietra had told
me I shouldn't hide my body. So I chose the tight cutoff denim hotpants and loose, short, light blue v-neck tee-shirt specifically to
keep Rusty's attention on me. But when I arrived at his house for the
party, I could see I was out of place. None of the other guests were
dressed in anything nearly as skimpy.
He
had met me on the front sidewalk before I could quite decide whether
to say I must be at the wrong house, and had stared, just for a
moment, at my high-heeled shoes before saying, "Nice shoes!
Wanna take a look at the back yard? It's where we'll be dancing
later."
Not
really knowing what to do, I had removed the heels and followed him
off the sidewalk and around the corner of the house, before both of
us came to stand in the soft but scratchy grass.
And
now he had removed his shoes.
I
do not know how he managed it, but he straightened up without looking
once at my legs.
"Let's
leave our shoes on the porch."
"Rusty!"
A girl's voice called through the back door. "What ..." The
door swung open and Rusty's sister stepped out. "Ah, you must be
Cheryl. Rusty said you would be coming."
"Hi."
I
didn't know what else to say -- I was planning on seducing your
little brother? Right. That joke would not fly in this house, not in
this group.
"Cheryl,
this is Reba, my big sister."
"So
nice to finally meet you." She looked me over, not
disapprovingly. "Lovely outfit. Where did you find it?"
"
Just
stuff I had.”
"Could
you come with me? I could use an opinion. Mom wants to talk with you,
Rusty."
"Thanks,
Reeb."
"Uh,
..." I looked back to Rusty.
He
just grinned, and my awkward feelings seemed to vanish like mist.
"Reeb's a good friend. I'll go see what my mom wants."
Reba
came down the steps and hugged me, with a grin of her own. "Bring
your heels. Wouldn't want'em walking off without you."
I
followed her up the stairs, carrying my shoes.
"I'm
gonna change out of this dress, to make it easier to dance,"
Reba said as she led me into her room.
"Uhm,
..."
"Mmm?"
"I'm
dressed wrong."
She
started pulling pairs of jeans out of her closet. "Whattaya
think of this pair?"
"I
guess I misunderstood when Rusty said casual. Those look nice. Loose
enough for dancing in."
"Think
so? I have another pair that matches these. Not your kind of
casual?
”
“Maybe
… not my ... usual casual.”
“Here.
Do you think they'd fit you?"
"Fit
me? May I?"
Ten
minutes later, we descended the front stairs in matching jeans and
tees. She had found me a pink camisole to go under my tee-shirt, and
picked a tee for herself that matched the blue of mine. And we were
both barefoot. And friends.
I
don't exactly know how Rusty's family made me feel so at ease so
quickly, but I had even forgotten to worry what Mrs. Ellison would
say.
"Ah,
Reeba, Cheryl, there you are. Come help me with the finger food."
Of
course Rusty was right. I would have broken my shoes or my ankles or
both, dancing in the grass.
The
music was loud enough to dance to, but not loud enough to bother the
neighbors. In fact, some of the neighbors joined the party at
different times.
And
it was fun. Reeba and her date led a bit of formation street, and
some of their church friends showed us how to dance ballroom style.
And there were parlour games, which are kind of like drinking games
without the drinking. And nobody paired off to go submarine racing in
the bushes or anything.
I
got to help clean up, and I found myself driving home thinking that
she who had come to conquer was the vanquished. And I didn't exactly
hate the idea.
[JMR201804301216: Backed up here. ]
