Comments? Criticisms? Should I post chapter 2?
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| City-feet members' message board > Barefoot memories&impressions > Barefoot Black Sheep |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira Sep 14 2006, 12:38 AM |
| Here's another story I've been working on. Hope y'all like it... _____ Barefoot Black Sheep “Our sun is one of 100 billion stars in our galaxy. Our galaxy is one of billions of galaxies populating the universe. It would be the height of presumption to think that we are the only living things in that enormous immensity.” -Werner von Braun “The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.” -Albert Camus “Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind.” -Dr. Seuss Part 1 * CHAPTER 1 By: Dennis Crabapple McClain & Lou Gojira Somewhere in America…1984… Her bare foot came down hard in the puddle. It wasn’t the puddle itself that worried her—cold as it was. It was what unseen treacheries might be hidden inside the puddle that worried her. Glass, sharp rocks, bits of debris, anything at all could be lying on the ground in this mucky puddle. Wicked things, laying like snakes in wait of a pair of bare feet. These were city streets. Maybe her parents were right. God it was cold, and she winced a little as the bracingly icy street water splashed up her ankles and doused the hem of her black jeans; jeans tattered by her constant barefooting. Barefoot season was way past over, by months, at least that was what her parents and everyone else told her. And she knew full well that she was not allowed to go outside barefoot this late in the year. Even in mid-summer her parents scolded her for it… endlessly. But now it was not only forbidden, but also cold, and people were looking at her funny. That was why she ran, for what good it would do. Her nosey, never-missed-anything parents were home already, and running wouldn’t change that, nor help to diminish her panic about their being home...but she ran on just the same. A quick glance over her shoulders and she bolted right past the Dairy Queen. It was way past Dairy Queen season also, but that didn’t stop the locals from coming. The locals that looked at her sneered and gawked as if she were out of her mind as she scurried past them, all nervous and barefooted. Locals that looked used by life like everyone else in her neighborhood. Used up by life, a little dried out, overworked and underpaid, used up by having to live here. On sunny days, all summer long, she could see the fragments, shards, and slivers of glass glinting all over these streets and sidewalks. Just because she couldn’t see them in the gloom didn’t mean they weren’t there. She felt miserably stupid, cold and stupid, her feet so tender, so cold-pinked and vulnerable, but she just knew that no matter how worried she was, no matter how terrified she was about what her parents were going to say, that she would have done the same thing all over again. Truth be told, the truth she was now old enough to understand and almost ready to accept: being barefoot made her feel more than a little funny. Especially being barefoot in out of the ordinary situations like this. This feeling resonated in her with more intensity than anything she ever felt for any of the boys. A new feeling, fresh and worth further exploration. More than all that, being barefoot—especially here and now—made her feel fully alive. She didn’t understand that and figured that she never would...she simply knew it, or rather she felt it to the bones and through the blood. Some days, many days lately, she just couldn’t wait to peel her shoes and socks off and run around in her bare feet. It didn’t so much numb her to her many frustrations as it buried them under the screaming sensation of being alive NOW. The very worst of it, worse than the glass, worse than the cold, worse than being stared at, was that she was very late getting home…punishably late. She’d had her fun, her sneaky barefoot time, but halfway home the rain started and she spent a good half hour huddled in the alcove, pressed back against the door, shivering. It was early in November, no sign of Indian summer, just gray chilliness. Apart from her bare feet she was dressed for the weather: long jeans, a baggy gray sweatshirt that somehow managed to be comfortable and unconventionally sexy, the old army jacket she customized with her own buttons. The jacket itself once belonged to her dad, way back when. Her dad who hated how she wore it—with buttons that said “Reality Sucks,” a button with an Ohm symbol, and her Beatles Butcher Cover button with all the dead babies and meat on it. Stephanie had a head full of ideas all her own, or if not all her own they were at least wildly different than those of her parents, and neither one of her folks could stand that. Her mother wanted her to fall in line and be like her younger sister—who played girl’s basketball and field hockey—and her dad, well, his only contribution to her life lately was the way he glowered at her. Stephanie often heard her mother speaking for both of them, or for her father anyway, as Stephanie doubted very much that her mother permitted herself any thoughts that weren’t his. “Oh God,” she whined to herself, noticing a man in a pick-up truck who showed no remorse about ogling her and her naked feet on the wet streets. It sickened her to think how her naked, cold and naked, feet might be thrilling him as much as they thrilled her. * * * Stephanie was more than pretty, as the picture on the wall attested, the picture her father looked at, shaking his head, and saying nothing, as was his way. He took the picture himself last summer during one of their family fishing trips. He often took the whole family out fishing, and could not at all understand why she sat on the shore and read. The idea that she might not like fishing never occurred to him, let alone the idea that she might not like him. He grunted to himself just thinking about what was not in the picture, her bare feet. Her Goddamn bare feet! She hadn’t even brought any shoes with her that day, which he hadn’t noticed until it was too late. But she was smiling in the picture, and in nearly every other way she was the daughter he could pretend he wanted her to be: smiling, big brown eyes, a heart-shaped face, and her long brown hair was blown by the wind. It worried him, how pretty she turned out to be, how her lips looked when she pouted, and noticing the way the boys looked at her as she passed nearly drove him to fits. That day, even in the picture, she was dressed for summer in a pair of denim shorts and a bikini top, which seemed appropriate to the weather and a day at the lake—at that time--but he would never allow her out in that again, not the way the boys all looked at her...grinning at her with what he saw as evil in their eyes. But the picture was, in his mind, sullied, not just by her unseen bare feet, her dirty bare feet, but by her make-up. The child-like innocence of her face was marred by the heavy make-up she wore around her eyes, all the eyeliner and mascara. The make-up made her look like a tramp, like one of the burn-out girls, like Tina, the daughter of the alcoholic mechanic out on Geauga Falls Avenue; at least that was how he saw it. Then there were her clothes, all summer her clothes had become more and more skimpy and showy. And now there was this new friend of Stephanie’s, this Ruthy to worry about. He glowered at the picture then turned his attentions back to the football game. Yes, his Stephanie was more than pretty. He shot a cross look at his wife, who wasn’t so pretty anymore. The mother, sitting at the table, caught the glower and shook her head, returning her attentions to her recent copy of Reader’s Digest. Nothing had to be said, they both knew what the other was thinking. Stephanie was running around barefooted again. One of their neighbors said she saw her walking past the gas station with a friend earlier today, out in the cold even! Though the neighbor, Mrs. Thompson, had asked about it with a certain good humor—Mrs. Thompson thought the world of Stephanie—she had spilled the beans. Even the idealistic and aging old hippie she was, she realized she had not taken into account just how uptight Stephanie’s parents were. * * * Stephanie figured that if she just slinked in through the front door, across the landing, then back down to her room, that her parents might not notice her bare feet. Sometimes the split-level of the house worked to her advantage, as her parents couldn’t see her feet down the stairs, not from the living room. As it was they sometimes failed to notice much, even her comings and goings over the shouting and droning of the television. It was her only hope. But lately their nosiness had even outweighed their obsessive television viewing. Unfortunately, even Stephanie’s silent bare feet weren’t enough to insure a sneaky passage through the door, not with her noisy tastes in jewelry; all the wrist bangles and bracelets she wore in layers. They jangled like a pocket full of silver coins. The nearer she got to home, and she was still quite a ways away, the more she felt so foolish for running off in her bare feet after all, the more she felt the sting of her disobedience. The glass all around, seen and unseen, scared the hell out of her, more than normal, and all she could think of was what a rotten day this would be to cut herself. Her heart felt like it was sputtering in her hollow chest. Even now as she was being so bad, so disobedient, it annoyed her how they always managed to get nosey at the worst possible times. It was like they had some sort of sixth sense. This now, all this dread and caught-in-the-act anxiety seemed to her to be the penalty, the flip-side to all the wild delight and freedom she felt when she had run outside without her shoes earlier this chilly afternoon. *Spip* *spap* and *splash* went her feet in the wetness of the streets and sidewalks, on past the day-care, only to take a short cut through the back streets. Sometimes she would leave the house in flip-flops, then, when around the corner and out of eyeshot of her house, she would kick them off, hiding them under a shrub. Many times this bit of playful deception allowed her to enjoy the whole day barefoot with no one being the wiser—living in some fear that her days were numbered; surely she was doomed to cut her foot and then would have to explain it to her parents as they rushed her to the hospital. But lately she had been being a little cavalier, not bothering with that bit of deception. To her, in her growing commitment to being barefoot, even doing that seemed like cheating. Somehow having the back-up flip flops also took the shine off the thrill of going barefoot, and that was something she was finding more and more frustrating. She just wanted to be left alone to go totally barefoot. Besides, it was her life—as she often shouted—and it was none of her parents’ business whether or not she wore her shoes. All the same, knowing they did not approve always managed to add extra spice to the thrill of going barefoot. It made it dangerous. Better than dangerous… wild! She turned the corner and dashed down the side street. “Oh no,” she whimpered to herself, noticing that same truck coming down this side street from a different direction, obviously stalking her. She had to stop before crossing the street to let it pass, the creepy guy inside trying to pretend he wasn’t staring at her. “Go on, just keep on going, pervert!” she whispered under her breath, darting across the street. She had to laugh, a sick little laugh, and wondered if she might not be better off being grabbed off the street by him and kidnapped rather than having to deal with her parents back home. Even Stephanie wondered if the many thrills of going barefoot were really worth it, or if she wasn’t as crazy as everyone who noticed her bare feet thought she was. It was, after all, pretty odd to be running around barefooted in this neighborhood and at this time of year. Just the same it was a thrill, hard, upsetting, but a thrill she could not deny. It just felt so good, however much self-conscious sourness it stirred up inside her. It was the same sourness she felt even earlier today when she slipped out of the house barefoot, knowingly disobedient. She knew what she was doing as she did it. She knew that at least conceding to slip out in flip flops and hide her shoes would save her a world of trouble, but she couldn’t help herself, she had to feel the total freedom of forbidden barefooting. But now she wished she hadn’t done it, wished she had a pair of secretly stashed flip-flops to slip on before going in. Right now she thought back on it and wondered if it was worth all this. * * * “Stephanie, its Ruthy,” her mother said, a disapproving look on her face, a look that promised a predictable lecture. Her mother was just headed out; her purse slung half over her shoulder. Even as Stephanie’s mom leaned in to kiss Stephanie goodbye she noticed her mother struggling with whether or not to kiss her or to lecture her. Stephanie had just managed to get her boots and thick warm socks off after school, and was sitting on the couch to watch TV, her bare feet still warm and shoe-moist from a day at school. First the peck on the cheek, then—just as Stephanie expected—her mother couldn’t help it. She glanced out the window just as Ruthy knocked on the door. “You know, dear, I really don’t think that I like you spending so much time with Ruthy. I hear she smokes.” “Mom,” Stephanie rolled her eyes in disgust and wiggled out from under the annoyingly clinging stare of her mother just as Ruthy rang the doorbell, not once, but in an aggressive repetition that left Stephanie shuddering as she knew that even the crass and disrespectful way Ruthy rang the doorbell confirmed everything her mother thought about this “bad influence.” Even Stephanie had to secretly admit that Ruthy’s ring was aggressive, pushy, rude, and even trashy. “Where are you going?” her mother asked as Stephanie padded across the carpet towards the stairs to the landing so she could let Ruthy in. “Nowhere, probably. We might just stay in.” “Don’t be out late. I know you say you don’t have any homework, but it is a school night.” “I know.” “Your dad will be home in a few hours. I do wish you’d have dinner with the family sometimes.” Outside, a petulant Ruthy kept at the doorbell, attacking with more impatience than before. Stephanie’s mother sighed. Stephanie virtually jumped over all the stairs not only to stop the ringing, but also to get away from her mother. The jump put a little distance between her and the nagging, and the way the hard landing rung through her delicate-boned feet helped block out the noise of her mother in her head. “If you go out, I don’t have to tell you it’s too cold for bare...” “...Mom!” Stephanie barked back, a God-what’s-wrong-with-you expression on her face. Stephanie flung the door open. It was cold, already, even at three-thirty. Even the day at its highest only managed to hit forty-six. Ruthy stood there, an indignant look on her face. As if to prove her mother’s point, Ruthy smelled acrid, like cigarettes, and stale from the unwashed dog in her apartment, but Ruthy was hardly dirty. Ruthy and Stephanie looked to many at school like sisters, both oft-times sharing the same wardrobe and being together so much, and though both knew it, Stephanie was the good-looking one. It’s not that Ruthy wasn’t pretty. She was just boyish, or “Puckish,” with her short cropped dark hair and freckled face. As with everyone else, it came as quite a surprise to Stephanie what Ruthy was really like. From a distance she didn’t seem to fit in with the freak kids—apart from her freak clothes—Ruthy was too “cute.” After meeting her and speedily getting acquainted it came as quite a shock to Stephanie just how foul-mouthed Ruthy was, and how she liked to talk trash. “God damn, Steph, it’s freakin’ cold out here! What was the big hold-up?” Hearing the back door shut across the house, Stephanie felt safe to say, “My mom, she was nagging.” “Yeah,” chuckled Ruthy, stepping in, “your folk’sre a trip. Well, at least they aren’t drunk off their ass’s all the time like my mom.” The contempt in which she held her mother seemed unfair to Stephanie, as Ruthy’s mom was never anything but nice, and had a load on her hands raising Ruthy all on her own. Stephanie, aware of her own naiveté, never even realized Ruthy’s mom was a drunk. Ruthy stepped in, underdressed for the weather as usual, wearing jeans and a sweater with no coat, and apart from bitching about it, she showed no sign of being cold. None of the freak kids ever did. “Christ, I don’t know how you stand it.” “I know, tell me about it. I really gotta get outta here for a while.” “Well,” Ruthy snorted, “we can’t go to my house, my mom’s totally fucking nuts today.” Stephanie bristled, even though neither of her parents were home, hearing the word “fuck” in her house unnerved her, as if her parents might be bugging the house, might hear it and have all their lectures about Ruthy confirmed. “So, you letting me in, or are we gonna stand in the door all day?” “Sorry,” laughed Stephanie, leading Ruthy upstairs. Not terribly interested in whether or not her mother saw her, she glanced out the window and waved as her mother pulled out of the driveway. “Let’s go do something,” Stephanie said with an impatient gesture, looking as if she had just drunk a pot of coffee all by herself. “Yeah, like what?” Ruthy snorted. “Like there’s anything to do in this lame-ass town.” Stephanie flopped down into the worn-out and over-stuffed sofa, her bare feet flat on the old and flattened out, threadbare and faded green carpet. She caught sight of her toes and noticed that her nail polish, cherry red, was way past needing removed and repainted. Her feet, she always thought, were especially cute: soft topsides, slender smooth and adorably tiny toes that had a flexible look to them, her ankles perfectly tapered, not too thin, not too thick. But her nails, perfectly proportioned on her toes as they were, they were a mess. The polish was all chipped and grown-out around the cuticles, a little dirt gunked into the corners of her nails. She didn’t like that, the dirt under the nails, and always tried to clean that out, but somehow hadn’t been as attentive as usual. Apart from her discarded shoes and socks, Stephanie still wore the clothes she’d worn to school, the jeans, the sweatshirt, which, though baggy, was rather short. When she moved or lifted her arms the sweatshirt offered a peek at her sleek belly and navel. Underneath she wore no bra, her breasts so small, firm, and barely ripe, she didn’t need one very often. Sometimes, when she got up in time, she wore a bra for church. Her jacket still hung over one of the mismatched dining room chairs. The family rarely ate at the table, as it was a little sticky in places and usually covered in mail, old newspapers, and the this-and-that that collected there. Never feeling especially welcome in Stephanie’s house, Ruthy wouldn’t commit to sitting down. She stood close to the stairs, her freckled hands on the railing, the rings on her slender fingers rattling as she nervously fidgeted with the railing. “Hey, the guys’re all hanging out down around the river,” offered Ruthy. Surprise! Stephanie’s feet tingled at the promise of such a daring little outing. Not just an outing, but what felt like a little adventure. The very idea of going out shoeless on such a chilly autumn day had never crossed her mind as more than a ticklish little fantasy before. All through the summer Stephanie had been growing more and more daring by degrees, and this opportunity to run a little wild felt all too rich to deny; rich as a cheap caramel sundae. She curled her toes under a little. There was always glass down around there, and the last time she was there she happened to have had shoes on. Just the same, that was then, and she had no intention of putting her shoes on today. Needless to say, it came as a shock, the juicy panic she felt inside, the weird heat that crawled up her neck as she felt herself about to do something that probably wasn’t particularly smart; something that would piss off her parents, something that could even get her hurt. This feeling felt a lot like the feeling she enjoyed whenever she toyed with the idea of actually going to school without her shoes on, only this weird hot tingle felt not only more compelling but far more dry and ticklish. She shrugged it off and tried not to think about the many possible consequences of giving in and indulging this temptation, deciding she would just have to be careful. Shooting up off the couch, she made for the door—grabbing her jacket as she went—as casual as could be, checking the driveway as if her mother might still be sitting there after all this time, waiting to bust her. All this she did in one continuous motion. She feared that if she slowed or stopped she might chicken out, give in to a sensible impulse, and stop to pull on her shoes and socks. Perhaps if she just kept her body moving her brain wouldn’t have time to chime in and talk sense into her. They were out the door and halfway across the yard before Ruthy caught up. “Hey, y’know I really don’t give a shit, but shouldn’t you put on some shoes? There’s tons of glass and shit all around there.” “God, Ruthy, don’t you start, too. You sound like my fucking parents.” Somehow the word “fucking” didn’t come out of her mouth with the ease it came out of Ruthy’s mouth, it came out as if she had a mouthful of raw mushrooms. She skipped across the ditch and onto the roadside, pointy bits of gravel digging into her soles. Ruthy lit a cigarette. “Whatever, it’s not my problem, I was just saying. Don’t bitch at me.” “I wasn’t bitching!” Stephanie said defensively. “Neither was I. Its just common sense, I mean, sometimes maybe your folks’re right.” “Whatever, just shut up.” Normally Ruthy didn’t even bother about her bare feet; in fact Stephanie wondered if Ruthy—somewhat self-obsessed—had even noticed how often she went barefoot. “Don’t tell me to shut up!” Ruthy laughed, playfully shoving Stephanie into an ankle turning stumble. Stephanie laughed and caught her footing. “Besides, it’s cold, you freak!” “Yeah, you’re one to talk!” Stephanie shot back, pinching at the single layer of sweater between Ruthy and the cold. “Hey, I wasn’t saying I’m any smarter than you, it’s just that you’re the one that gets all the good grades and is such a Brain.” “Oh, here we go on the whole ‘Brain’ thing again,” Stephanie laughed, enjoying the feel of the cold street under her feet, and the fluid thrill of actually dong this, of actually going through with running all over town barefoot on a forty-five degree day for the very first time in her whole life. All around autumn leaves lay sprinkled on suburban lawns. It was still sunny -chilly- but sunny, but even now she could feel a wetness coming and saw the grayness rolling in. It was bound to get colder. But none of this, not even the many consequences from glass to getting grounded took any edge off the thrill of this outing. Her warm bare feet, having just been in shoes all day, were very sensitive to the cold and softened up so much that they were all the more sensitive to the textures of the street. Her feet actually tingled all over at the promise of this forbidden outing. “And I get a few A’s, B’s and C’s, Ruthy, that hardly makes me a ‘Brain.’” “Ok, whatever, and DON”T ever compare me to your parents again!” Ruthy said, finally feeling the sting of that crack, nudging Stephanie into a little stumble. Feeling more light-footed and agile than ever, Stephanie flowed with the stumble, practically dancing with it as she regained her footing and actually bounced in her step in the reckless glow of going barefoot to the glassy hangout down by the river, where she would be hanging out with kids she knew her parents would not approve of at all. When Stephanie was twelve she used to see a couple of the neighborhood girls hanging out in parking lots with boys. These girls, who she never knew by name, were always barefoot. What's more was that they appeared to be so fearless or impervious to all the dirt and glass. At the time it seemed impossible to her, especially in light of all her parents said about the dangers of going barefoot. But these were dangerous girls, and even though Stephanie’s mother lectured her about “those trashy girls,” Stephanie secretly thought about them a lot. Admired them. And now, as it tickled her from tip to toes, Stephanie was finally brave and wild like they were. She would even get to feel what they did. Perhaps Stephanie was even braver and wilder, she thought, since it wasn’t even summer anymore. She wondered if they felt all the things she now felt. She doubted it, as those girls were a little older, and they seemed too cool to feel this rush of sensations and emotions. She doubted that they second-guessed their bare feet, doubted they felt any sickness in their stomachs, and doubted even more that those girls cared what their parents thought. It was a long walk to the river, but Stephanie didn’t mind, not most of it. The delicious pleasure of walking over long stretches of freshly fallen leaves filled Stephanie with an ecstatic joy. She could almost taste the colorful leaves with her soles and toes. A lot of the walk took them along winding streets and even down a long dirt road to the bike paths. Paths made up of tiny white gravel, gravel that felt abrasive under Stephanie’s soles. The girls stopped once along the way to buy a couple cans of pop, long enough for Stephanie to notice that her soles were already getting a little brown from all the dirt, and her toes a little dust-stained. Already she felt in her feet a wonderful soreness that meant she had really been somewhere barefoot. And all around the edges a pink swell from the cold plumped her feet and toes a little. Even when they got to the parts Stephanie did mind and had worried about, she didn’t dare complain. There were shortcuts, and Ruthy in her sneakers didn’t think twice about crossing behind the old and mostly abandoned shopping center, carelessly walking over the broken concrete and debris. Debris that slowed Stephanie down as much as she dared without getting Ruthy going again about her bare feet. Stephanie’s heart raced, as she felt overwhelmed by the threat to her very bare feet. A sudden ploy came to Stephanie as she picked her way as quickly as she could over the debris, over a particularly bad pile of tires, lumber, and rubbish that looked as if it had been dumped on this spot by a flood. As a shudder overcame her, she realized it wasn’t all a ploy. She stopped to square up her footing on a board, rusty nails all too close to her heels and flexible toes. “Hey!” she called out to Ruthy, who was well ahead of her already. “Isn’t this where the old K-mart was, y’know, where Anita was stabbed?” Even though Stephanie knew full well this was the place, the story never seemed resolved in her mind. Which was odd, as Stephanie used to sit right next to Anita in Spanish class, and now Anita wasn’t there anymore. She understood that she was dead, knew that, but the rest of it was like a puzzle with only the border finished and all the other pieces hopelessly lost. Ruthy stopped and sighed. While Ruthy collected herself, Stephanie picked her cautious way over the worst of the rusty and splintery debris, skipping on her now very dirty and increasingly sore feet and caught up to Ruthy. She picked one foot up behind her, feeling a nagging little pain in her foot, but under all the dust and oil of the long walk, she couldn’t see much more than a tiny bump a little blacker than the rest of her sole. She ran her finger over it, and decided it was nothing. Just as she set her foot back down, Ruthy turned and seemed drained, not so much of color, but of attitude. “Wow. Ruth, I’m really sorry I brought it up. You guys were pretty good friends, weren’t you?” “Don’t be sorry, I can’t help but think about it whenever I’m around here.” Sorry as she was that she brought it up, Stephanie couldn’t help but be more curious than sorry. Stephanie looked at Ruthy, who appeared far more vulnerable than normal, and strangely, far less guarded. Quick as that, Stephanie watched the attitude rush back to Ruthy’s face like a blush of embarrassment. “I know who did it.” “Who did it?” Stephanie asked with a wide-eyed and morbid curiosity, though to be honest she very much doubted that Ruthy knew anymore about it than she did, and just said she did to be cool or shocking. “Yeah, like I’m gonna tell!” Ruthy snorted. “And get my ass stabbed.” “God, it’s creepy here,” Stephanie said, her nose crinkled up, rubbing her arms. She stood with her feet turned in, sweetly pigeon-toed, toes rolled up and out. “C’mon, let’s get down to the river.” “I know where they found the body.” That stopped Stephanie dead. She let go of her arms and stood flat-footed. “No way!” But this she believed. “Where?” “God you’re sick! You really want to know exactly where she was found, all bloated and fucked up?” Stephanie did. She was ashamed of it, thought there might be something wrong with her, but she wanted to know. Ruthy grinned. “Come on.” She led Stephanie along the expansive back wall and around the loading docks to a nook and cranny where the Dumpsters were. With some hesitation, Stephanie, feeling almost sick to her stomach with anticipation, followed Ruthy over the greasy black concrete around the empty Dumpster. Empty or not, it still stunk like a Dumpster. The concrete felt thick and rubbery under her feet, and she could not help but walk prissy and on tiptoe over it. “Gross,” whined Stephanie, finally finding herself standing on the nastiest surface her bare feet had ever tread upon. “Right there.” Ruthy pointed to a spot, a miserable dirty patch of concrete that butted right up against the back wall of the building. It was the most awful thing Stephanie had ever seen, and a lump like cold oatmeal caught in her throat. Though there was no blood or sign of violence, it just seemed to her the most horrible and degrading place in the world to die. In fact the lack of any sign of blood or violence and the super-real coldness of the scene only resulted in chilling Stephanie to the bone. All at once a shudder overtook her as she felt something of the full horror of what must have happened that night, a fraction of what Anita must have felt, and it hit her like a blinding flash of light. Stephanie crept back from it all. She didn’t want to look at it anymore, or even be near it, but the spot held a morbid and magnetic draw for her. Just over the hill, across the meadow of high brown weeds and rubbish she could hear it, the river…the very spot where everyone hung out. “You were with her, y’know, the last night, right?” Stephanie asked, pointing limply back towards the river. “Yeah, we were pretty stoned!” laughed Ruthy. “She just sorta’ wandered off, and that was that. I found out about it at school the next day.” The chill, the choking sensation in her throat, clung to Stephanie as she realized what all this meant. She hadn’t been here since before Anita died, that day when she actually had shoes on. The only word she could think of to describe what she felt was “surreal.” She knew all these people, had been to the same places they hung out at. Stephanie even knew Anita, might even know her killer, and might even be hanging out with him this afternoon. If not all that, at the very least she had a feeling that if Ruthy didn’t actually know what happened and who did it, then surely one of the kids at the river did. What stuck foremost in Stephanie’s mind was her own not knowing. Not just not knowing who did it, but not knowing all the sordid details of what had happened, as her imagination presented pictures far worse or not at all sufficient enough to really come to grips with the horror of it all; surreal…super-real…and also unreal. “They never caught the guy, did they?” “Who said it was a guy?” Ruthy grinned. “You know, she was running around barefoot that night… like you!” “Don’t say that!” Stephanie cried. Stephanie didn’t like that comparison one bit, and it lodged in her mind, feeling now the same places with her bare feet that Anita felt that last night of her life. But knowing this filled her with other questions. She wondered if Anita’s parents bitched at her for going barefoot, wondered if Anita cared, if Anita was ever nervous about going barefoot, or even if she ever got cut down by the river. And for all the time they spent sitting together it dawned on her just how little she knew about Anita, and she wished she’d have known Anita liked to go barefoot too. Ruthy started off towards the patch of scrub between the river and the crime scene. Stephanie followed tight on her heels, feeling pinpricks all up her back, shooting glances back over her shoulder as she began picking and climbing up over the hill, the ground hard and cold under her feet, threatening rusty objects jutted out of the ground like arms coming out of graves in the zombie movies she watched on late night cable at Ruthy’s house. This patch of ground she knew to be the most dangerous she had ever had to cover with no shoes on her feet. Looking at her own feet she wondered if someone were after her—a madman, a killer—would she run faster thanks to her bare feet, or would her bare feet slow her down? Would she find herself in trouble, stopped dead or thrown into a limp and hobble if she stepped on glass or something worse in her blind run? Had Anita's bare feet gotten her killed? Stephanie shook it off. She took one last glance over her shoulder and decided to pay close attention to every footstep while trying her level best to keep up with Ruthy and put some distance between herself and that greasy patch of haunted concrete. But some of the greasy horror clung like spiders to her cold and dirty bare feet. To Be Continued... |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira Sep 15 2006, 01:22 AM |
| Feedback y'all! Give me some feedback please! Comments? Criticisms? Should I post chapter 2? |
| Posted by: DG2001 Sep 15 2006, 03:32 PM |
| B E A U T I F U L ! ! ! Guess Stephanie could be any of the beautiful girls here in City Feet Please, go on with Chapter 2, great work!!! Regards DG |
| Posted by: DCC Sep 16 2006, 02:31 AM |
| Wow, mystery and barefeet. I would love to read chapter 2! |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira Sep 16 2006, 03:19 AM |
| Thanks for the nice words Gentlemen! Hope you enjoy chapter 2. Please let me know what you think. _____ Barefoot Black Sheep Part 1 * CHAPTER 2 By: Dennis Crabapple McClain & Lou Gojira Stephanie's father had barely cast a glance her way as she bounded into the house about an hour earlier, arriving home way past dinnertime, of course. He had this "I'm about to give up" resignation in his half-closed eyes, immersed in some show that just droned away on the television. He said hello to her, and she returned the gesture, but her mother immediately motioned for her to come into the kitchen. Her mother wasn't ready to let her have it with both barrels, not this late at night anyway, and Stephanie was thankful for that. Her mom just said, in a hushed tone, casting occasional glances into the living room: "You, your father and I are going to have a talk tomorrow, so no going out after school." "But-" Stephanie had said, more out of instinct than actually wanting to tempt an argument. Her mother shook her head, closing her eyes when she did so, and cutting Stephanie's rebuttal short with the motion. Stephanie realized then that she was in hot water, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. "No going out," her mother repeated. "Tell Ruthy to stay home tomorrow." Her mother pointed her to a plate covered with aluminum foil that rested on the stove, obviously the leftovers her parents were still nice enough to set aside for her, even though she wasn't in the best of their graces at the moment. She just nibbled around on the food therein, then re-wrapped the plate and slid it into the fridge once her mother left her alone in the kitchen. Her stomach was burning more out of worry over the bomb that was sure to drop tomorrow rather than hunger, so eating wasn't high up on her 'to-do' list. A planned, premeditated 'talking to' meant, if history was any indication, that some new rule or new set of rules were going to get enacted around the house, and naturally it'd be nothing but bad news for her. Add to that her father's nonchalant withdrawal, and Stephanie knew that the old man was really, REALLY storing up for the big day, the D-Day, the great and terrible, inevitable, tomorrow... Stephanie now sat on the side of her bed, dressed down in just a long and very baggy night-shirt and panties, her skin extra soft and smelling fresh from a warm bath, reflecting on the heads-up her mother gave her and working a cotton ball filled with polish-remover over her toe-nails. She pressed her cheek into the side of her bent knee as she observed that smelly cotton ball magically erase the color from the slender, spread toes on her right foot, the left one already finished and poised in a relaxed arch on the floor, Stephanie feeling the cold of the bed-rail touching her Achilles’ tendon. She contemplated throwing on the album Ruthy returned from borrowing to her a few days ago (sure to make plenty of fun of it as she did so, just being good ol' cynical Ruthy), but figured she'd better not press her luck too much more that night. Her parents made a fuss about her music no matter the volume once it got past nine o'clock, and considering the crap she was looking to face tomorrow, she didn't want to spray anymore napalm on the forest fire. 'It wasn't worth it...' Stephanie thought, now bending forward and going through her shoe box of polish bottles she kept behind the row of her paperbacks by the bed, a hint of the polish remover still lingering in the air. She wasn't regretting going out barefoot, not at all. That was the most rewarding thing she did for herself all day, all week if she thought about it enough. So rewarding in fact that she paused from going through the polishes and started examining her feet, holding one foot to face her at a time as she scanned it over with her hands and eyes. She noted how her feet didn't really 'look' rough, not yet anyway, but she did notice to the touch the soft-leathery feel the edges of her heels and the sides of her big toes were getting. She'd squeeze the fore pad of each foot, squirming her toes as she did so, and enjoyed the little burn her sole would produce from the subtle wrinkles rubbing together. Simple pleasures were usually the best kind to have... The time down at the river was, in a word, "alright", but after a while of it she should've made her way on home, not felt obligated to hang with Ruthy as Ruthy talked trash with some of the local "bad boys". Ruthy was a cool person, and Stephanie never really regretted making her acquaintance (aside from the two major fights they had at different points a long time ago), but she found herself losing respect for her whenever the "bad boys" were around. As unique and rebellious, and undoubtedly interesting as Ruthy could be most of the time, all of that tended to get shot down when the "dangerous" members of the opposite sex got within speaking distance. She held up the polish bottle of hot pink, thinking it may be a nice diversion from cherry red for a few days, and turned it some between her index finger and thumb. Yeap, the color was the same no matter what side of the bottle she saw it from. She smirked at her own behavior and started twisting off the top. * * * Ruthy's I.Q. seemed to dip into the single digits around these "bad boys", Stephanie recounted from then and other times before, and especially around that Tommy Dawson character. What she saw in that guy Stephanie had no clue, but Tommy and some of his buds were down at the river earlier that night slap-assing and joking around, just doing things groups of guys without much going on tend to do. Robbie obviously drove all four of the guys down there in his big black and silver pick-up truck, and Tommy was sitting on the dropped tailgate when she and Ruthy spotted them from over the hilltop. Stephanie especially remembered how her stomach began to knot once she saw the beers in their hands, knowing that Ruthy would feel the need to join in with any kind of drinking, and the pressure for Stephanie to join in was always sure to follow. Stephanie cut her eyes over to Ruthy. "You know, we could just go to-" "What's up guys?!" Ruthy belted out almost immediately, and picked up her pace to go down to them. Robbie was sitting sideways in the cab of the truck, dangling his legs out with the door hanging open. "Heeeeeeyyyy Water! What's up?!" he yelled. Stephanie already knew that little nickname was for Ruthy, she'd heard some of the kids around school murmur it plenty of times in reference to her, but she never bothered to find out the reason her friend got saddled with it. Ruthy eyed the four guys present from her distance, and then hollered “So where the hell’s John?” as she got nearer the boys. “Too good for us, y’know,” Robbie sneered Greg was standing and facing Tommy, telling him about something she couldn't hear very well from the distance, and Allen was on the other side of the truck, leaning in on the bed and only half paying attention to the conversation himself. Robbie had something unfamiliar blaring good and loud from the speakers inside the cab, but Stephanie dared not let on that she didn't know who or what band it was, and for that matter Ruthy wouldn't either. She also spotted a cooler with its top ajar sitting in the bed and resting against the cab, and deep down she started hoping it was already empty. * * * Stephanie ran her hand through her wet hair and had both bare feet in her eyesight, propping both heels on the side of the bed, gently blowing a tiny stream of her cool breath across the first fresh layer of hot pink. She gave her toes a stretch and a bit of a wiggle, liking the shine of the polish and the way the veins and tendons in the tops of her feet would get more pronounced when she did this. * * * A few minutes of idle bantering back and forth interspersed with jokes and various other forms of chit-chat followed the introductions as she and Ruthy got within the guys' parking space down at the river. While the initial bantering commenced, Stephanie started thinking back on where Ruthy pointed out that Anita was supposedly stabbed to death. Ruthy apparently made her way to the cooler and helped herself to a can of suds while Stephanie was thinking about all this, and had her thoughts jarred back to the moment when she saw Ruthy slurping some brew and holding up an unopened can for her. Stephanie just shook her head and let her focus go to the river, unconscious of how she was still walking to keep within Ruthy's space, getting lost in her thoughts again. Stephanie had wanted to scold her friend, reminding her that it was a school night, beside the fact that she was still under-age for alcohol, but of course didn't. She didn't know if it was the social setting that tightened her lips, her own day-dreaming preoccupying her, or fear of sounding like her own mother that made her remain silent. Or perhaps part of her wanted to join in and have a beer herself. But she couldn’t. Before she knew it, both she and Ruthy were seated on the tailgate, Ruthy beside Tommy of course, with Stephanie on the end and pretty much feeling like a third tit, still watching the river and letting her mind drift. Most of the conversing that went on was between Ruthy and the boys, while Stephanie mindlessly watched an old white-headed man walk along the side of the riverbank. She reflected on her delicious barefoot trip out there as the old man bent down to grab a rock, flinging it into the water. His head turned suddenly to make eye contact with her when Greg suddenly got extra loud. "Your parents could go to jail for that!" he said, pointing to her bare feet and taking a slight stumble, already being a few good sheets to the wind. Stephanie cocked her mouth side-ways, rudely being brought back to reality. "Huh? What about my parents?" She looked away from the old man to meet Greg's glazed, goofy-eyed gaze, all the while her feet softly kicked and scuffed one another has she dangled her legs off the tailgate. "Don't they buy you shoes?" Allen asked, still leaning into the bed of the truck and smelling of brew. She turned and saw that stupid grin which seemingly never left his face. For some reason, she was reminded of every time she saw Allen... either in a setting like this or in passing at school, and that guy just always seemed to grin. She wondered if he even kept that silly grin in his sleep. "Yeah, that's uh...uh..." Greg stammered, gathering his numbed thoughts. "That's neglect...burglar neglect...!" "Criminal neglect dumbass!" Robbie shot from the cab with a laugh, apparently only slightly drunk, compared with these other two anyway. Tommy hadn't spoken much since the introductions, so it was hard to guess his sobriety level. "Leave her alone..."Ruthy giggled, and then looked to Tommy seeming to want his attention, which she only halfway got at best. Stephanie just shook her head, and looked down at her naked, cold feet, all pink and a little puffy from the walk and the chilly November air. Her toes, perfect and elegant yet naturally chubby enough in the right places to maintain a surprisingly child-like cuteness, were plumper than usual from the cold. She spread her toes some and looked back for the lone old man she was starting to envy. 'At least that guy's not stuck with a bunch of drunks.' she thought, and suddenly noticed he was gone. * * * 'Maybe he jumped in for a swim.' she amused herself with a smile as she lay back on her bed, keeping her lovely bare feet in sight, now with two coats of pretty hot pink applied to the nails. She stretched her legs and pushed her heels into the footboard, liking the way the edge of the wood pressed into their fleshy undersides. Simple pleasures tended to rock... * * * More time had passed and Robbie was now standing and crunching a shard of glass under the tip of his boot as he faced Stephanie. She imagined how her bare feet could pull that off without cutting her toes to shreds when he spoke: "Are you always this quiet when you forget your shoes?" Stephanie felt her cheeks warm up, but was glad to hear Tommy, Greg, Allen, and Ruthy caught up in another conversation and not paying what he said any mind. "Well-" she smiled some "-it's not like I 'forgot' my shoes." She straightened her legs out and looked at her feet, then let them drop again to a dangle. Her butt and her legs were starting to get numb from sitting in that one cold and not very comfortable spot for so long. Exactly how long she didn't know. Maybe it was time to invest in a watch, she mused. Greg was standing at a lean against the side of the truck while Allen, Tommy, and Ruthy hadn't moved much either. Tommy was the only one still drinking by this point, while Ruthy was nowhere near as drunk as she pretended to be. "Tell you what..." Robbie said, fishing in his pants for his wallet. "I'll give you a brand new one dollar bill if you tell me why you're so quiet." He grinned as he held his closed wallet in his hand, Stephanie doubting he even had a dollar in it. "No reason..." she smiled. She was a little intimidated by Robbie. Not so much that she thought he was cute or anything as he certainly wasn't much to look at, not by Stephanie's personal standards. She just never talked a whole lot with him before. He was always "that guy hanging with Tommy" or "that guy with the truck" when she saw him. She'd never really conversed with him, no reason to before, and really not much of a reason to now. "You're just one of those quiet-types ain'tcha." he jokingly observed, "Quiet girls makes the good grades." Stephanie knew it was coming, but her stomach still tightened when she heard Ruthy suddenly pipe up, apparently having a listening ear still aimed her way regardless of what conversation she was involved in herself. "She's a big ol' fuckin' Brain!" then she laughed, leaning into Tommy and giving Stephanie's shoulder a shove. This little 'drunk act' of Ruthy's had a way of really driving under Stephanie's skin already. Involving her in a joke was the salt in the wound. "I'm not a Brain..." Stephanie said back to her, allowing the annoyance to show in her voice. She folded her arms and stared down at the ground. "Nothin' wrong with bein' a Brain." Robbie said, bending over to catch her gaze. "Shit, I wish I was a Brain. I'm failin' everything..." Greg said more to Robbie than anybody else. "Motherfucker yer' head's too fried for you to be a Brain!" Allen giggled. "Yer' mother's head's too fried..." Greg said in a retort. "You and yer' straight D's and F's...look who's talkin' bitch!" "Yeah, but I choose to make those grades..."Allen kept egging it on, laughing as he went "Motherfucker you don't have a choice." Robbie laughed at that line, and Stephanie found herself grinning over it too. She looked over to see if Ruthy was getting it, but Ruthy had her mouth in Tommy's ear whispering something. "Yer' mother don't have a choice when I stick my dick in 'er mouth!" Greg came back, and Stephanie wondered if the alcohol made his comebacks so lame or if he was just that way naturally. "You couldn't afford my mom, motherfucker!" Allen was really laughing at his own jokes now, and Stephanie surmised it must've been his silly giggling that made her smile at his comebacks over Greg's. "Don't feel bad, everybody can afford your mom. She's like the bus downtown, all the niggers c’n ride for thirty-five cents!" Greg was laughing as he ran around the truck to chase Allen; Allen laughing as he ran and started dodging Greg's swinging arms. Robbie laughed as he watched the two, then he turned his gaze back to Stephanie. "What's on your mind for real?" "Damn you're a nosey-ass..." Stephanie answered smiling, still a bit annoyed at his prodding. "I promise that if you tell me, I'll never ask you again," he said, holding his hands up. * * * 'Why did I have to answer the way I did?!' Stephanie regretfully thought as she had her purse open, sitting Indian-style in the middle of the bed searching for something. The night's chilly wind could be heard outside. * * * He wasn't going to leave her alone, Stephanie realized, but how was she going to answer him? 'I'm quiet because I'm a prude and too good to speak to al-cee's!' she mused, or 'I'm just thinking about running barefoot through dangerous places because I'm a weirdo!' No way she could explain her fascination of going barefoot to a guy she hardly knew, especially when she hadn't really understood it or had come to grips with it herself. She blurted out the only other thought she was having: "I'm just thinking about Anita." Robbie's smile dropped. Tommy leaned forward to look at Stephanie, away from Ruthy's mouth, while Ruthy had this 'what the hell?!' expression on her face as she watched Tommy. * * * Stephanie had the contents of her purse laying out on the bed as she found what she was looking for, some of the smaller items rolling into the crevasses her weight was forming on the sheets as she sat there. She was too engrossed in her thoughts to fully register the item she now held in her hand, she just knew she had what she was looking for as she went back to brooding over the evening... * * * She had walked with Ruthy all the way back to Ruthy and her mother’s little apartment first, more for a chance to explain her actions at the river than to see to the well-being of her 'drunk' friend. She took a wistful look around. Stephanie and Ruthy had spent many summer days and nights hanging around this apartment building, sitting on the stairs, even climbing up behind the garage to sunbathe on the roof. "You didn't say anything wrong girl, quit worrying so much!" Ruthy reassured her. Stephanie twisted the ball of her foot on the asphalt of the apartment parking lot, savoring the texture of the grain. "If you say so," she said back, wondering what it could be about mentioning a girl's name that shifted the mood so quick among those guys. "I know so. They're just drunk. You should've seen all the beer they had in that cooler." Ruthy told her as she skipped up the stairs to open the door. Stephanie couldn't help but be amazed at Ruthy talking about liquor so close to her mother’s earshot. She wouldn't dare try something that risky around her own mother, but then, Ruthy's mom was probably too drunk herself to even notice if she did hear. "I'll see ya' tomorrow, Water." Stephanie said with a laugh, her mood being lifted with Ruthy's reassurance as she started walking toward her own home. She didn't stop to think that Ruthy might not have actually liked the name. "Go home and hit the books Brain!" Ruthy laughed back at her as she slipped inside. Okay, fair enough, Stephanie thought as she checked herself from taking the Brain comment too seriously. Once Ruthy's door closed, she turned and darted, knowing she was too late for dinner already. * * * Stephanie’s thoughts were becoming more and more jumbled the heavier her eyelids would get... All those people stared at me running barefoot. The creepy guy in the truck passed me twice. Mom and dad are going to tear into me tomorrow. None of those guys were worth the time of day. That old man vanished into thin air. That had to suck, dying in a parking lot. My feet felt so good! Ruthy's cool when it's just her and me. I'll reheat that plate of food tomorrow. I sure had to scrub my feet tonight. I wonder what those people thought when they saw me? My toes sure got numb by the time I was home. I wonder what the white-headed old creepy guy thought when he passed me in the truck. Stephanie paused from what she was doing and stared at the wall. She wondered if the old man she saw down at the river was the same man that passed by her in that pick-up truck. Now that she thought about it, they did look pretty similar...they both had white hair anyway. Granted the old man down at the river was further away, a lot harder to see, but she was almost ready to swear it was he who passed her in the truck. She looked back down, and had to put a hand over her mouth to keep from yelling out of shock. Unbeknownst to her as she did it, Stephanie had taken her little eye-shadow kit from her purse, and smudged, with her fingertips no less, a shade of blue ALL OVER HER FEET! She just leaned back on her elbows, more stunned than anything and looked at her feet. Hot pink nails surrounded by light-blue skin, all the way up her ankles. The color was uneven in spots, naturally, but for the most part she was looking at her now blue feet and wondering how in the hell, why in the hell, she did that. She pulled her legs up and admired the work for a bit...her feet did look pretty that way, as weird as that sounded to her to acknowledge it. She worked her ankles and toes, watching the tendons and veins form in the blue tint, the lines across the tops of her toes deepening and catching the eye-shadow in them...her feet were beautiful...captivating... 'The hell they are!' she argued with herself, as she angrily threw herself off the bed and disgustedly stomped her way back to the bathroom to wash that color off, knowing her parents wouldn't hear her foot-falls on the concrete floor as they were already in bed by then anyway. To top things off she totally used up that one little square of blue and figured she had to replace the whole kit now On her way to the bathroom, strangely enough, mad and confused as she was at her own questionable behavior, she found herself still wondering if it was in fact the old man from the river that was driving that truck... To Be Continued... |
| Posted by: lv2drtyft Sep 17 2006, 10:15 PM |
| We need to find a way to make this into a movie. Loved the dumpster scene. "...followed Ruthy over the greasy black concrete around the empty Dumpster. Empty or not, it still stunk like a Dumpster. The concrete felt thick and rubbery under her feet, and she could not help but walk prissy and on tiptoe over it. “Gross,” whined Stephanie, finally finding herself standing on the nastiest surface her bare feet had ever tread upon." |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira Sep 18 2006, 12:37 AM |
| Thanks for the nice words lv2drtyft! If we ever had a movie made of this story, who would you like to see playing the part of Stephanie? Hope you like chapter 3. _____ Barefoot Black Sheep Part 1 * CHAPTER 3 By: Dennis Crabapple McClain & Lou Gojira This was not going to be good. All day at school Stephanie dreaded coming home. Not that school was ever much of a treat. Cute as she was, Stephanie was anything but popular, as she was considered “weird” by most of her fellow students. Right after school--her shoes and socks neatly removed at the door--she voluntarily exiled herself to her room where she stayed from shortly after three until her father got home at five, and since then her parents had left her in there twisting, she had a nerve-induced greasy lump form in her throat that dripped acrid dread into her gut. Needless to say, "Brain" or not, she hadn’t learned much at school thanks to the cloud of doom hanging over her, and now with school over the cloud didn't show any signs of dispersing. This waiting was the worst, worst by far than having to pick her barefoot way over that patch of scrub and litter between the old K-mart and the river’s edge. Lately her parents have been on her case nonstop about her running all over with no shoes on. No, this wasn’t going to be good at all. Undoubtedly last night was going to be some sort of “last straw.” It was already seven o'clock and for an hour and a half now she had been overhearing the muffled sound of her parents upstairs in the dining room discussing her fate. For a while Stephanie had tried to listen to music, but not being able to hear her parents at all only made her so sick to the stomach she had to go to the bathroom three times. Besides, she wanted to hear the footsteps of her mother—undoubtedly her mother, as her father always made her do the dirty work—coming down the stairs to deliver her sentence. And the music wasn’t helping at all, as it just kept bringing to memory the ribbing she got from Ruthy for it. She had loaned her favorite album to Ruthy, and still didn’t know what she could have been thinking, as she knew Ruthy would never be open minded enough to really listen to it. The funny thing was that she and Ruthy actually shared similar tastes and endured a lot of ribbing at school for liking "all that old shit." But even THAT similarity with Ruthy spoke more to their differences than to their similarities. Simply put, Stephanie liked the Beatles and Ruthy liked The Rolling Stones. Of course, from there their differences only branched out, Stephanie, Bob Dylan; Ruthy Neil Young. Even when it came to the newer stuff they didn’t much agree. They both liked the popular stuff, Ruthy more than Stephanie, but even that stuff they disagreed about. The guys, well, they liked what Stephanie considered to be trailer-trash soundtrack music: Lynyrd Skynyrd, Led Zeppelin, and of course Pink Floyd, who didn't fit the trailer-trash bill, but Stephanie found entirely too depressing and pretentious. New Wave, well, they mostly agreed that that stuff was pretty silly, and Punk, well, that was out of the question. "All Things Must Pass," was one of Stephanie’s favorites, and Ruthy said she couldn’t even “listen to a whole side of that boring shit” before shutting it off. So much for reaching out… Knowing what was coming, hoping to gain a little favor, she had removed all her make-up--as her father hated how she wore it. Stephanie had even pulled on what she considered to be her "church clothes.” Even now she was almost considering putting on some socks. Knowing what was coming, knowing that her bare feet were going to be the center of her scolding, the feeling of bareness radiating from them now was not at all pleasant. It was creeping and hot/cold, and the whole sensation left her feeling vulnerable and ashamed. "Stephanie," came her mother’s voice through the door, immediately followed by one quick sharp knock. Somehow Stephanie had missed the cow-like approach of her mother’s heavy walk down the stairs. Swallow. Lump in the throat. Stephanie lunged up from her bed, had to go to the bathroom again, but was glad that at the very least this was almost over; the waiting anyway. There would of course be the inevitable suffering through whatever punishment they would dole out to her. "Your father and I want you to come up now." "Ok, be right out." Stephanie checked herself in the mirror, and then waited a short spell because she didn’t want to have to endure the discomfort of walking up the stairs with her mother so close. Not now. She crept out her door and took each step on weak-feeling ankles, feeling every fiber of the old matted carpet under her soles. Her mom and dad sat in the living room like immovable megaliths. The smell of an eaten dinner hung in the air. She had smelled it from her room, it hadn’t smelled good then, and it smelled even worse now. How her toes tingled, she wanted to stomp on her own toes just to dull the acute sensation which felt like the physical equivalent of listening to someone rake their fingernails down a blackboard. The Lazy Boy always sat right at the edge of the stairs, and Stephanie stood behind it, using the chair as a shield to partly hide her scandalous bare feet, but mostly to keep some distance between her and her disapproving parents. The room felt miserable to her, heavy and sticky as beef gravy, gloomy in the sickening yellow light of the old lamps on the coffee tables. Her hands sweated and shook and she felt a hellish kind of warmth in her wrists, a warmth that crawled up her neck. This was the self-same feeling she got as a kid when she had to stay after school. "Don’t leave this house barefoot anymore," said her father. And that was that. That hot spot crawling up her neck rooted itself to the base of her skull. "It’s too cold," her mother added. Her father, a man of few words and an obvious addiction to television, had nothing else to say. But, if things held true to form, her mother would have to chew over every minute detail of this for at least twenty minutes. "And I don’t want you spending anymore time with that Ruthy friend of yours. She’s a bad influence." Stephanie groaned and rolled her eyes. "Don’t you roll your eyes at your mother," her father said sternly, surprising Stephanie that he was able to even catch the gesture in the midst of an episode of 'Barney Miller' coming to an end. "We have told you about this over and over again," her mother went on, elaborating right on cue. "You’ll get hurt, or catch cold." How lame that was, Stephanie thought. "Honestly, Stephanie, I don’t know what is the matter with you," her mother continued. They did not get it, could not get it, not at all. To Stephanie, it was the most natural thing in the world to go barefoot, not just an extension of herself, but an essential part of herself. Her parents just couldn’t get it. After all, how could she explain all the luscious tingles, the freedom, the exhilaration, to her stuffy closed-minded parents. Though even now she found the things she felt when she went barefoot to be “sinful” at times. Done. Her father got up and walked past Stephanie, a heat like sulfur came off him and chilled Stephanie as he passed her and went slow and deliberately to his half-finished side of the basement. Stephanie stood frozen. She had dreaded this, the final "NO" that would put an end to her barefoot fun. She wanted to cry. It didn’t make sense why this meant so much to her. What made less sense was how rigid her parents were about it. It just felt like such a mess in her head, like an impossibly knotted tangle of fishing line. After a moment Stephanie heard the melancholy sounds of Willie Nelson coming from the basement, followed by the sound of her father working out. She didn’t mind Willie Nelson, even rather liked him, but not now. The music was too loaded, too dark; too much her father. Once she got back down to her room she would have to put on her headphones to block it out should she be down there very long. “What about summer?” Stephanie asked in desperation. “I don’t think so. We can’t trust you to use good judgment.” Her mother shook her head, her expression changing to one of disgust. “Your father hated hippies when he was in Vietnam." "I’m not a hippie, mom!" Stephanie whined defensively. "God! ‘Hippie?’" It was such an outdated term. No one used it anymore, and her mother’s steadfast square-ness really grated on Stephanie, especially now. "I know you think you‘re 'cool’ or whatever, ‘grooving’ with your friends." Grooving. Now the heat in Stephanie’s head was simple embarrassment for her mother. Grooving. The word, whatever it meant—as no one used it anymore, and no one ever used it in this context so far as she knew—just plain annoyed Stephanie. To Stephanie it was obvious that her mother’s choice of words was an intentional scoff at Stephanie and her friends, but it simply came off as slightly pathetic. "And your father hates the way you wear his army jacket. You know hippies spit on him when he came home from Vietnam?" "I’m not spitting on dad!" "We just don’t understand you anymore.” Her mother retreated to the kitchen where she would most likely stuff a handful of chocolate chips in her face. Filled with dread, Stephanie went to her room. They had taken from her what was the greatest pleasure in her life at this point. She didn’t know what to think. What was wrong with her? Why was this so important to her? It did seem crazy at times, even to Stephanie, but no amount of logic and scolding changed how she felt about being barefooted. Of course, in her parents’ mind, this punishment didn’t seem particularly harsh, but to Stephanie it may as well have been a jail sentence. This caged bird wasn't ready to get her wings clipped off entirely though, so she at least went to work re-doing her 'preferred' look rather than stay with her 'this-should-impress-my-parents' look, which she was already feeling silly for having at the moment. The whole act of making herself up was therapeutic to a good degree, even if she was seeing the wire bars and seed-dish slowly beginning to materialize around her home life... After putting on her make-up, Stephanie changed into clothes she liked: a tight sweater; old worn and tight jeans with holes in the knees, ink drawings and band logos scrawled on them by her friends, and the zipper that tightened the hem above her ankles, showing off her exquisite sculpted ankles. She pulled on her coat—not the old army jacket—her sleeveless ski jacket, and almost tearfully, a pair of socks and sneakers. Last but not least, she snatched a little silver ring off of her dresser as she left the room and shoved it into her front pocket as she started up the stairs. Walking up to the living room, she made sure her mother saw her shoes, "Can I go for a walk?" Stephanie ventured, not exactly ready to tie herself down to a pair of headphones for the night, as the old man was only now finishing his arm-curls and still had an untold number of rep's to do. Her mother glanced at her feet, approved, but held a red forlorn look on her face. "What? I’m not grounded?" Her mother sighed. "It’s a school night." "I did all my homework." "You aren’t going to Ruthy’s, are you?" "No!" cried Stephanie. "I just need some air." "You haven’t eaten dinner." "I’m not hungry." Stephanie always lost her appetite when she was upset. "Don’t be out all night." "OK,” her tone more defeated than haughty. Finally free of the stuffy darkness of the house, the chill of the evening startled Stephanie at first, but the freshness of the air soothed a few degrees of the nagging fever-burn in her head. As she walked through the yard she felt her mother watching her go, but didn’t bother to turn over her shoulder to see. She resented being numb to the wonderful feel the fall leaves that crunched crisply under her shoes, wanting so much to feel them under her bare soles. Up the road she went, in the opposite direction of her usual shoe-stashing hiding place. Her feet felt wrong in the shoes, unnatural. “God, I really need to talk to an adult that isn’t crazy,” she fumed. In this neighborhood Stephanie knew of only one place to go to find just that, and she was at Mrs. Thompson’s door before she knew it. Even her doorbell was cooler than most. It played the first few notes of Beethoven’s fifth. Leah Thompson’s husband had left her years ago, so it was she who answered the door, the sound of her television squawked noisily in the background. Even though the TV bathed her living room in cool blue light, here and there scented candle-light flickered warmly, nothing like the sickly light that seemed to ooze and leak all over Stephanie’s parents’ house. "Stephanie, come on in," she smiled. "Hey, you’ve got shoes on!" she teased. As much as Stephanie loved Mrs. Thompson she wasn’t enjoying the teasing, but she got to work slipping the shoes and socks off before the screen door had even swung shut. She was quite happy to feel the old bluish carpet under her feet. Stephanie inhaled, always liking the smell of Mrs. Thompson’s house. Mrs. Thompson’s house smelled like plants and old books, and always faintly sweet from tea, and all the incense and candles she had lit over the years. Watching Stephanie shed her shoes and socks with such immediacy took Mrs. Thompson back. "I think I owe you an apology," Mrs. Thompson said, expecting the worst from Stephanie. "I’m really sorry, but, I think I got you into trouble." Stephanie looked at her funny. Worried for a second that even Mrs. Thompson may have turned into a real grown-up on her. Mrs. Thompson ushered her in towards the kitchen table, which was cluttered, but not like the table at her own house. This table was cluttered with books, and was clean under all the clutter. "Tea?" Stephanie nodded. It would be herbal of course, picked right from Mrs. Thompson’s herb garden. Even now a few bundles of herbs hung in the kitchen, waiting to be turned into tea or used in recipes. "You see," started Mrs. Thompson as Stephanie sat at the table and watched her busily making the tea. Mrs. Thompson was also barefoot, and wore jeans and a billowy shirt that Stephanie knew had to be a leftover from her hippie days. "I bumped into your parents yesterday, and I think I may have spilled the beans." "Oh," Stephanie said lowly. "I sometimes forget that your parents are..." Mrs. Thompson searched for just the right political words. She knew how delicate a position she was in, wanting to offer full support to Stephanie without entirely contradicting what her parents may have said. "Uptight, I think you mean uptight." Mrs. Thompson gave a noncommittal shrug. Lately Stephanie had been coming over more and more often, wishing so much that Mrs. Thompson were her mother. Mrs. Thompson saw in Stephanie a little of herself as a young girl; defiance, intelligence, a dreamer, and a lot of trouble with her parents. "What’d you say?" "I let slip that I saw you out barefoot yesterday. I’m sorry." "Oh, eh..." Stephanie waved. "It’s not your fault. They were going to notice when I came in anyways. They’re like the KGB, they keep track of everything I do." "Stephy... it was cold yesterday!" Mrs. Thompson laughed in a what-were-you-thinking-but-wasn’t-it-cute sort of way. "I know!" Stephanie moaned defensively. "Look at me calling the kettle black." Already the kitchen filled with the building whistle of the teapot. "What do you mean?" "I’ve never shown you any of my old pictures, have I?" "No." Stephanie smiled. "You mean, like from the sixties?" Looking around, Stephanie could see evidence of that all around her. Mrs. Thompson’s house looked a lot like an adult version of her own room. Instead of posters hanging on the wall Mrs. Thompson hung framed prints of Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin, and the Grateful Dead--who Stephanie secretly found to be the most boring band in the world. It suddenly dawned on Stephanie that her recent friendship with Mrs. Thompson involved a lot of her talking about her problems and very little listening, which suddenly felt embarrassing. "I’d love to see them." And she meant it. There were so many things she wanted to know about Mrs. Thompson, and she was sure she had stories to tell and points of view much more exciting than those of her own parents. "I’m not so sure I should show them to you." "Why not?" "There are things in some of them that... people nowadays... well, let’s just say I don’t think you should follow my example. God, but it was fun!" Mrs. Thompson rolled her eyes back and looked to the ceiling, smiling. She brought the freshly whistling teapot to Stephanie who was already basking in the glow of her favorite adult. Though Mrs. Thompson never treated Stephanie like a teenager. She poured the tea over the tea ball full of chocolate mint, and right away Stephanie could smell the fragrant steam. "So, what exactly is so awful now?" she asked Stephanie. "I’d rather see your old pictures." "We can do both." Mrs. Thompson motioned for Stephanie to follow her, and was down the hall before Stephanie had even finished preparing or taken a sip of her tea. So frequently did Stephanie visit, especially lately, that Mrs. Thompson expected her to dig through the cupboard and get her own honey or sugar, which she did quickly now, eager to join her mentor down the hall. As Stephanie stirred honey into her tea, a bright light caught her attention. The ordinary headlights felt to Stephanie like the searching eyes of a demon. She set her tea down and crept to the front window and pulled the curtain aside. Her heart stopped and her mouth fell open. It couldn’t be! But it looked for all the world like that same creepy truck she saw on the road yesterday. Just like yesterday, the truck rolled slowly and deliberately down the road, practically stopping before Mrs. Thompson’s house. Stephanie froze in terror, feeling a chill even worse and hotter and colder in turns than the chills she felt in her own living room as her parents were scolding her. Petrified, she watched as the truck sped up, then returned to its original stalking speed and then slowed almost to a stop as it rolled by her own house. Then, just like that, it rolled along its way, stopped at the stop sign, and turned and sped along just like any other car on the road. She shook her head, dismissing it as her just being overly dramatic. She and Ruthy loved to swap creepy stories about things that may or may never have happened to them or people they knew, but it always made for good late night talk. Stephanie returned for her tea and followed the light in the backroom. There she found Mrs. Thompson in her bedroom digging through a closet. "So, what’s troubling you?" she asked. "It’s so queer," Stephanie tried to laugh it off. "Whatever it is, I can see it’s preying on you." She stopped her stretching and reaching in the closet and shot Stephanie a knowing look. "Hey, it’s me, you don’t have to apologize for it. If it’s bugging you, you can tell me. I’m not here to pass any judgment." "It’s..." Stephanie sighed and felt herself tearing up. "I don’t know why this is so important to me, but my parents are freaking out about my not wearing shoes. They told me I’m not to leave the house barefoot anymore. God, it’s so embarrassing. I don’t know why it’s so damn important to me, but I just hate shoes." "Stephy," Mrs. Thompson dug for just a second more and tossed a box on her bed. "Come here, I want to show you something." She led Stephanie out the side door and around back. The concrete of her driveway felt deliciously chilly under Stephanie’s hot feet, and she felt vividly alive as the sensation washed over her whole body. She took a deep breath to fill her insides with all the chilly freshness and freedom she felt under her feet. Mrs. Thompson pointed to an old metal box that sat just to the right of her sliding doors. "I don’t even know why I kept this box all this time--no one delivers milk anymore, but there it is. I never look in it, so, if you were passing by my yard on your way out, and you stopped by and dropped something off, no one would ever be any the wiser." "Thanks, that’s so cool!" Mrs. Thompson hushed Stephanie. "I never said a word about this...understand?" Stephanie nodded. "I’m just saying that I don’t mind your cutting through my yard, and I never look in that box." Stephanie nodded, and could not believe how cool Mrs. Thompson was. "Now, isn’t our tea getting cold?” She headed back for the door, and then turned to add, “You might want to check for spiders before you go stuffing your shoes in it, though.” Once inside, Mrs. Thompson brought her box out into the living room, where they both sat on the floor as she opened it, the TV turned off and the radio quietly playing some innocuous jazz in the background. "Oh," laughed Mrs. Thompson. "Pretend you didn’t see that." she palmed a ceramic pipe and tucked it under her chair. Stephanie chuckled to herself. Mrs. Thompson pulled out a small handful of photographs and spread them loosely out on the floor. "Wow! Look at you!" Stephanie effused. Right there, before her was a smiling, young and more blonde Mrs. Thompson, her eyes so dreamy and young she appeared a little dippy. The pictures were black and white, but Stephanie saw clearly all the green and yellow of the clothes and the dripping sixties sunshine. She looked at Mrs. Thompson smiling. She always thought Mrs. Thompson to be cool, but hadn’t quite entirely accepted that she may have been not just young and beautiful, but such a, well, such a hippie chick. Not that it was much of a surprise. Mrs. Thompson grinned ear-to-ear, proud that she was obviously scoring so many coolness points with her young protégé. "I know you can’t see it in most of these pictures..." she sorted through them, trying to more or less hide the ones that had big psychedelic pot leaf posters in the background. Then, of course there were the naked pictures that Stephanie was aware enough to pretend she hadn’t noticed. Mrs. Thompson snorted. "They were cut off in most of these pictures... but, I ran away to Greenwich Village for a while–and don’t you ever do that! –And I lived a few years without any shoes." "Really!" Stephanie’s eyes were wide and bright, all the fever and misery of the day washed away as surely as if Mrs. Thompson had snapped her fingers and made the whole day up to now disappear. "Yeah, that was me. Ah! There you go." She handed Stephanie one of the few color pictures showing a dirty footed Mrs. Thompson standing outside a shop in the Village, smiling, love beads, bell bottoms, and all. "It was crazy then, good, but crazy." She laughed. "I hadn’t counted on how cold it was in New York all winter when I did it. But I got by." All Stephanie could do was sit there with her mouth agape in a big smile as she looked back and forth between the picture and the real Mrs. Thompson, who she now saw in an entirely different light. Stephanie no longer saw Mrs. Thompson as merely a cool old lady, in her eyes now she would be forever young. "So, how was it? I mean--I don’t know what to ask first. Even in the snow?" "Brrr... Oh yeah, I told you, I lived without shoes for a few years." “No way! I mean…that’s not even possible. You can’t go barefoot in the snow!” “Well, I did,” laughed Mrs. Thompson. “It wasn’t’ easy, and it wasn’t always comfortable, but, I don’t know, it was pretty cool.” "So... but... I see you in shoes all the time now." "Why did I change?" Stephanie nodded, still holding the picture, as if it obviously were now hers to keep, and she dug through the rest. "I don’t know." she shook her head, almost sadly. "I guess I just got older and it became too much of a hassle." "Well, not for me," Stephanie kept pouring over the pictures. "Keep the faith," Mrs. Thompson said just as the phone rang. She answered it and Stephanie looked up at her knowingly. "Your mom," she mouthed quietly to Stephanie, who rolled her eyes. "Yes, Mrs. Goddard... Mm Hm... She’s right here... What?... No... No... She’s no trouble at all. She’s a great kid... Shoes? I don’t know, I hadn’t really checked..." Mrs. Thompson pantomimed a heavy impatient sigh just to get Stephanie laughing, and it worked. "Yes, she has shoes on... OK... Yes... I’ll call you if she stays too late... OK... Goodbye.... No, it’s no trouble." She hung up the phone and Stephanie stood up, her foot having started to fall asleep, the picture still in her hand. “Your mother said she didn’t want you out past ten-thirty." Stephanie checked the clock, it was only a little after eight now. "Can I call Ruthy?" "Feel free." At that Mrs. Thompson handed her the phone. "Oh, you can hold on to that picture if you want it." "Wow! Really? How cool... thanks!" This new treasure Stephanie tucked into her safest pocket and dialed up Ruthy. To Be Continued... |
| Posted by: DG2001 Sep 18 2006, 03:28 PM | ||
Can you imagine a young Lyv Tyler as Stephanie??? How about Sandra Bullock? Of course, young versions of those actresses!!! :-) Regards DG |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira Sep 19 2006, 12:00 AM |
| Interesting choices DG! I hadn't considered those ladies! Hope y'all like chapter 4. _____ Barefoot Black Sheep Part 1 * CHAPTER 4 By: Dennis Crabapple McClain & Lou Gojira Stephanie still needed her walk. With Mrs. Thompson’s blessing she headed out to meet up with Ruthy in the parking lot of the Middle School, which was within walking distance of her neighborhood and Ruthy's apartment complex. Ironically enough, it was also the same school Stephanie was thankful she didn't have to attend any longer as those years even more hellish than High School thus far. Mrs. Thompson had promised to cover for Stephanie, but not past ten-thirty. Stephanie had every intention of honoring Mrs. Thompson’s curfew. Mrs. Thompson chose to remain inside--and in denial--as Stephanie slipped out the back door and dropped her shoes and socks in the old milk box. This act of outright disobedience tickled Stephanie instantly, biting to the bone the very second the lid shut on the box. She was now barefoot, wholly barefoot, and it felt great, naughty as could be, dangerous, and even more exhilarating than yesterday afternoon’s outing, because now it was officially forbidden. As she walked through the crisp cold grass every nerve in her feet felt the delightful shock of it with keen awareness. Her toes were still painted hot pink, but now she wore on her right index toe that small silver ring meant for fingers—toe rings were a thing she had read bout in stories, and a thing found shocking to most everybody she knew. Her ankles were bare, though sometimes she tied ribbons or wrapped beads of pearls around them, among a few other treasured and rare anklets. The blue of the sky was already dark enough that she could see a few stars. In the distance she could see the streetlights already coming on. In the glow of spending time with Mrs. Thompson, of getting to keep the photograph, and of having a safe place to hide her shoes, she had entirely forgotten about the truck until a pair of headlights approached her. Stephanie froze on the sidewalk, her heart in her throat. Being insubordinately barefoot quickly became the least of her worries. The lights slowed to a near stop, turning to pull into the driveway a mere few feet before her. The car turned, a big old Buick, and pulled into the driveway right ahead of her with all the grace of a fat lady with a walker. The kid in the backseat rolled his eyes at her and stuck his tongue out. Stephanie breathed a sigh of relief and held her hand on her chest, her heart threatening to beat right through her ski jacket. She could see her breath as she walked, and felt a slight sting in her toes as the cold air began to numb them, causing a queer little itch to ring under her skin. It was colder than her run home yesterday, forty-one or forty-two at best so far as she could guess. But the close call with the Buick had unnerved her, and she was desperate to meet up with Ruthy–whatever good Ruthy would do if some goon in a truck came after her. It had to be nothing, a product of her playful imagination. She loved to be scared, her and Ruthy both. They had hit every haunted house this last Halloween, and secretly Stephanie fantasized about going through one barefooted, but even she realized the danger in that, what with all the frightened teens in their heavy boots and shoes, pushing back and shuffling along like a panicky tethered herd. This thing with the Buick and the truck was just another story to tell Ruthy, something to giggle about late at night. Nothing more. She was far more worried about the real Boogey Men, whoever had killed Anita. Worse yet, there was Robbie, Tommy, Greg, and Allen. Drunken burnouts she knew to be far worse than phantoms in trucks. Just the same, it made sense, sort of, to wiggle through the back way to the schoolyard. The school sat butted right up against a patch of scrappy woods, a berry field, and the dirt path a lot of the kids raced their bikes around. Sizeable patches of woods not yet raped by urban sprawl. But even these little oases were fraught with dangers. Even in summer in broad daylight Stephanie thought of this stretch of woods as a “stupid place to go barefoot.” Under the big oak between the bike paths and the berry fields everyone knew to be a party spot, a hangout for burnouts. Granted, it was second-rate, as all the older cooler kids went to the river, and at least half the broken glass there was made up of pop bottles rather than beer bottles--as the "bad kids" who hung out there tended to be the younger brothers of the freak kids. Stephanie laughed, wondering if Ruthy was full of shit or not, but Ruthy claimed to have lost her virginity at age thirteen to an eighteen-year-old boy under that tree. Stephanie doubted the story. As much as she thought about it, she just couldn’t figure Ruthy out, couldn’t tell if she was more bark than bite. It seemed that she just said shit like that to shock people. That trait of Ruthy’s, more than any other, irritated Stephanie. Stephanie found herself at the final patch of concrete that disappeared into the woods before she could rethink it and take the less glassy and more public route to the schoolyard. Unfortunately now the sky was a heavy deep blue, and she couldn’t see a thing in the woods. Whatever light shone in the streets shone too feebly to hit the ground in the woods. And what little light shone in this corner revealed sparkles of glass on this final stretch of sidewalk. As she stood hesitantly at the end of the path, worried sick about her feet, she wondered if the wild girls she saw when she was younger would have worried. Wouldn’t they have been cool and confident enough to just march on through? Or at the very least, wouldn’t they have faked it? People like that amazed Stephanie. People who just didn’t care, or worry, people who seemed blessed. Or, perhaps that was just how they acted. Stephanie had no way of knowing, because she thought about things, a lot, and thinking always led to worry. Stephanie’s feet tingled all over again just recalling all the colored glass that she knew for a fact was sprinkled all over the stretch of sidewalk that disappeared under the growth, then she caught a chill thinking on all the glass strewn all over the dirt path ahead, some of it jutting right up out of the dirt. Glass that, all summer, she found hard to dodge even in daylight. Something came rushing out from the underbrush, screaming and flailing like a Banshee. Stephanie froze at first, then let out a hysterical scream and backed away, stumbling as whatever or whoever it was charged at her. She turned to run when whoever it was came down, crashing before Stephanie’s bare feet with a sick, heavy, and clumsy thud. Stephanie skipped back. "God fucking damn!" the ball of horror on the ground cried, and then laughed. "You should have seen your face! Fuck, Ow!" "Oh, fuck you!" cried Stephanie, kicking Ruthy where she lay. But this time when Stephanie shouted ‘fuck’ it came out natural as could be. "Hey bitch! Watch it," Ruthy said indignantly, pulling her self to her feet. "Oh, fuck. God damn, I think I sprained my wrist and fucked up my jeans." "Well it serves you right! You practically gave me a heart attack." "God, you should have seen your face!" Ruthy huffed, smiling, red-faced and bent over, resting her hands on her knees. "Yeah, real funny," Stephanie sneered, though her voice was slowly cracking, giving in to the unwelcome urge to laugh as well. "How did you know I’d come this way?" "I didn’t. I just hoped you would." Ruthy dusted herself off and stared at Stephanie’s feet. "God damn, girl, what’s wrong with you? There’s glass all over in those woods." "Whatever." "I thought you told me on the phone that you were like grounded from going barefoot or some shit." "My folks don’t know." "At least if we’re goin’ through that way let’s head back to my place for a flashlight or something for you." "Nah, I’m OK," Stephanie shrugged confidently, like she imagined one of the wild girls might have done. Still, she was touched by the surprisingly thoughtful gesture from the usually oblivious to anything-not-her Ruthy. Unfortunately, now that she had opened her big mouth and acted so casual she felt herself committed to going through there barefoot and in the dark. She stretched and curled her toes, wishing some of the unnerving tingling would die down a little. But this was strong, stronger even than her increasing awareness of her own peculiar foot fetishism. This was EXACTLY what her parents did not want her doing, and that made it seem all the more important that she do it. And that she do it now. And that rebelliousness may have been the very reason she felt an undeniable warm syrup surging in her loins. Ruthy turned and started through the branches and brush at the end of the sidewalk. The crunch and scrape of glass grinding, caught between shoes and concrete, caused a shiver to dribble like ice water down Stephanie’s spine. Firmly committed to go through this barefoot and in the dark, Stephanie followed, catching glints of glass in the last of the light. She could feel it under her sensitive soles, sharp bits of glass. Determined to follow Ruthy, she went on, feeling the last of the concrete give to a dirt path after a few more steps. Stephanie smiled, proud that she had somehow gone at least that far without getting herself cut. Then there were the patches of fallen leaves, which Stephanie did not know whether to be glad for or worried about. Were the leaves going to protect her feet from glass, or hide the glass from her all the more? Regardless, this long stretch of wooded path was so often used that most of the leaves were now off to the sides. In such low light even bothering to look for safe footing proved to be pointless. She walked blindly on, simply trying to take it one step at a time without setting Ruthy off about her being barefoot again. Each step she felt as she went, twice already just missing pointy bits of half buried glass in the dirt. Ruthy lit up a cigarette and rambled on and on about something, and Stephanie only nodded, all her attentions on her barefoot feel through this dangerous patch. Ruthy stopped talking, and turned to notice Stephanie straggling a little. "Hey, Steph, I been talking. You gonna catch up or what?" Stephanie stopped, hardly thirty feet in the woods. "I am barefoot you know!" she snapped. All of a sudden this wasn’t the fun she had thought it would be. But she couldn’t back out, not now. She hoped Ruthy might offer to go the long way around. But she knew that if Ruthy didn’t, she would have to go on. Ruthy stopped and sighed heavily, making her impatience known. "God you’re weird." She stood in place. Stephanie swallowed hard and shook her head. She walked up to Ruthy, so far unscathed, but there was still so much more path ahead of her. Of course, she realized it wasn’t all covered in glass, but the nastiest stretch of it lay yet ahead. The bad patch that spilled out under the enormous old oak was a serious spot of barefoot danger just waiting to get crossed. There it was again, loud and clear as the sense of dread she was feeling…another surge of undeniable arousal. "OK, you know what, fuck it, let’s just go the long way," said Ruthy, storming towards her. That was all well and good, but that meant Stephanie had to double-back that same patch of dirt, glass, and concrete. "Christ, Stephy, I hope this is making your pussy all wet or something, because this fucking barefoot thing is a huge pain in the ass." Thank God for the dark, because Stephanie went white as Ruthy said this. Did she know? Could she possibly know all the feelings being barefoot had been stirring up inside her? Her secret? "Well?!" Ruthy stood toe to toe with Stephanie. "God, Ruth, you don’t have to be such a big bitch! I just can’t run is all," and with that Stephanie headed off, straight through the woods, bare feet, fears, attitude and all. But at the very least she was no longer suffering over whether or not to go through with it. What was more, she was suddenly keeping up enough of a pace that safely shod Ruthy had to run to catch up. Ruthy ran up laughing. Then it happened. A sharp pain! Stephanie lifted her foot, feeling a terrible slicing sensation as she did it. She yelped and limped to lean against the big tree, forgetting all the glass around it in her need to fix this now. "God, you OK?" Ruthy darted right over, no more impatience, and no more making fun. In the moonlight, on her face, Stephanie saw nothing but the look of a friend worried about another friend. "Is it bad? You alright?" Stephanie picked her foot up and held it upturned on her thigh as she leaned her backside against the tree and leaned over her foot to study it. Ruthy pulled Stephanie’s long brown hair aside so both could see it. Her foot bled from the instep. "Oh man, that’s gotta hurt! We should get you to a doctor." Ruthy said Stephanie shrugged. Up close it wasn’t so bad. It bled, but it wasn’t gushing, and it wasn’t a gash, just a slit of a puncture, a warning more than a wound. Stephanie breathed a sigh of relief. "God," She sighed, then giggled, her hand to her chest. "I thought I was screwed." “Is it out? Is there glass in your foot?” “I don’t think so,” Stephanie sighed, checking again, feeling carefully over the cut with her finger. "You cool? You want to go home?" "Please?! Hardly." This was her chance. Stephanie shrugged casually. It came off just right, cool as she had hoped she could be. Just like those girls she saw would have handled it. Most impressively, it didn’t feel like bravado, it felt sincere. Stephanie wasn’t going to let a tiny little nick stop her, even here amid all this glass. A little slower now, hardly bothering to limp, she picked her way out of the worst of it and they began crossing the berry field. The cut hurt, and dirt ground into it, but she didn’t mind. Surprisingly Stephanie felt a wash of cheerfulness and a warm feeling inside that, at least for now, everything in her life was just as it ought to be. "So, your folks totally freaked out about your going out barefoot last night, huh?" Ruthy asked. Of course, they had covered all this on the phone, and stiff as it felt, it was Ruthy’s way of being supportive, and Stephanie appreciated it. "You have no idea," Stephanie cried, her pace more casual through the berry field path, which rarely had any glass on it. She walked with a playful careless ease as she complained bout her parents. "It’s my life, right?" "They didn’t ground you or anything?" "They will if they find out about tonight," she said heavily. Occasionally a twinge of pain would bring her back to the cut on her foot, but mostly she found it ignorable. Not entirely ignorable, it was becoming to her a small badge of honor, more a prize than anything to worry about. Not only had she actually braved that patch of dangerous woods in her bare feet and in the dark, she had suffered a small cut and found the courage to ignore it and go on her way. Best of all, being cut didn’t ruin being barefoot; in some inexplicable and unexpected way it just heightened the sensation of this little act of nudism. Occasionally as they walked and talked, in her animated talking and ever-playful shoving, Stephanie would stray or stumble from the path and feel a foot-full of sharp dry weeds and thorny leaves, but on she went, happy as ever that she had no shoes on. The last stretch of woods Stephanie always thought of as the thorny tangle around Sleeping Beauty’s castle, but the path was wide, and rarely glassy. Tonight it would prove more eerie than dangerous, even to her naked feet. As a "much younger" girl this path was part of her shortcut to school, and her favorite part of the walk home, as this particular patch of woods always fired her imagination. Even now she felt warmth for her mother, because she always read fairy tales to Stephanie when she was little, and those tales still inspired her. Those tales filled this patch of weird woods with wonder. Unfortunately, as the sun had gone down, it had grown colder yet, and Stephanie wasn’t as capable of controlling her shivers as Ruthy and the boys were. It was cold, and she wished she had worn her heavier coat. "God, I hate this bit of woods," Ruthy said, leaning in closer to Stephanie as they entered the patch of skinny black thorny trees. On they went. Stephanie smiled, her heart raced, and she felt herself and Ruthy falling deep into one of their scare-sessions. She stopped and picked her foot up behind her. With her thumb she felt over the spot and found a bit of dirt caked where it had been bleeding. "Is that OK?" asked Ruthy. "Yeah," shrugged Stephanie. "It stopped bleeding already. I got lucky I guess. I just freaked out." "I can’t blame you. Hey, I called the guys. They’re gonna meet us at the school." Though Ruthy delivered it as good news, Stephanie was not at all in the mood. She stopped and tried not to sigh, watching Ruthy step through the hole in the schoolyard fence that separated the final strip of woods from the vast open field and playground. Stephanie had gone to school here, a long time ago, Ruthy was still living East then. She really had hoped for a long cool-down walk with her friend. The thought of the boys getting in between them, beery and acting like idiots, blaring Lynyrd Skynyrd or some other loud shit, did not appeal to Stephanie at all. In fact, given the choice, she would rather have to go back and step harder on the very piece of glass that got her. Stephanie shook her head as she watched Ruthy pass through the last of the trees and out onto the field. "This isn’t gonna be good," she complained, making her own way through the fence, Ruthy already halfway through the field. She had pictures in her head of lots of inane talk, some shouting, probably a fight, and then--and this was not at all unlikely--the police would show up and everyone would have to scatter into the woods, her stuck running reckless in her bare feet. Then again, Stephanie grinned; she was feeling up for a little trouble. "Wait up!" she yelled, running off across the frosty field. To Be Continued... |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira Sep 23 2006, 11:30 PM |
Anybody want to see chapter 5? Let me know!  |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira Sep 24 2006, 12:55 AM |
| Barefoot Black Sheep Part 1 * CHAPTER 5 By: Dennis Crabapple McClain & Lou Gojira The rattling of the old pick-up truck would normally be unnerving to anybody stuck driving it, but not Ernie. He was so accustomed to the rattles of the dashboard, all the thumps and grinds that issued from the worn out engine, that he was totally oblivious to the noise for the most part. It was a means of getting him around, and he wasn't one to complain about that, especially since it sure beat walking, and he wasn't in the best of shape for that. Only now, as he was hoping for a little stealth, a little cover, he was starting to take notice of the old truck's groaning, and sitting while the engine idled away only seemed to make it rattle all the more. He turned the key and the reliable yet noisy and old vehicle puttered into a silence. He figured he was over-doing it some, thinking surely they would be out of earshot of his being there, but that didn't make much of a difference at this point. He wanted her to know about him, at least know he was around, and he'd accomplished that earlier, and at least a few times. If she caught wind of him again, this soon anyway, it would be overkill, and with overkill can easily come complications. He watched as the two silhouettes of the girls made their way across the playground of the school, looking about as big as raisins from the distance he was sitting, which was on a small hill that sat to the side and far away from the school. Most people would probably doubt their guesses on what looked like little drops of black ink drifting by in a field, wondering if said droplets were who they thought they were, but not Ernie. He was as certain about these girls, one of them anyway, as he was about the cold air that buffered him from both sides of the cab, having kept his windows rolled down all day. Even though he had a thick enough coat on, his old bones still managed to register the chill, and naturally with the night the chills just got worse. The woods... Ernie turned his head toward the patches of now pitch-black trees that were at the back of this school yard and behind the unfinished houses with that sudden thought. What about the woods? He saw who he was here for already, and she was getting all the more closer to the school building. What's so special about the woods? He wasn't sure, but he sensed something in there...something that he very obviously needed to go check out, or he knew his thoughts wouldn't leave him alone over it. He rolled up the windows and locked his door when he stepped out mainly out of habit more than anything else, because he knew nobody in their right mind would want anything in that truck, let alone the old clunker itself. He shot glances all around him at the little cul-de-sac he was parked within, and nobody was stirring. Sure, most of the houses lining the road were still being built, but there were the houses further back in the suburb he passed through to get where he was now that were finished and occupied, but thankfully everybody seemed to be in for this cold night. He put his hands to his lower back and gave his whole body a stretch, grimacing at the pain of what sitting while cruising for long periods of time tended to cause. He pushed a few strings of thin white hair away from his forehead and began his determined walk into the dark forest. He kept looking back at that special little black dot who was now around the side of the school building, frustrated, knowing this trek amongst the trees moved him further away from her. He just clenched his jaw, balled his fists, and kept walking. He had to find it, he knew something was waiting for him there. Hopefully she would stay where she was until he got her back in sight again, but for now he just followed his nose into the darkness. * * * Stephanie couldn’t help but feel relieved that the boys weren't there just yet, but she felt a little bit guilty over it all of a sudden. Here she was running wild with Ruthy and yet so annoyed or afraid of these boys. After all, weren’t they part of who she was becoming? Or was she just a poser? She knew things were changing for her, and fast, so perhaps the boys were just too much too soon for her now. Was she coming off as some prissy prima donna, too good to associate with these guys? Okay, none of them were all that appealing to her—except maybe John, who she had never spoken to and who seemed to have enough sense to avoid these boys himself--no big deal there, not every boy could appeal to her. She was allowed to have standards. But was she so "good" that these dull-witted yet seemingly good-natured young men actually repelled her? She had a memory of Jimbo flood into her head with the question... Jimbo, aside from being a guy in some of her classes, was a total enigma to her because he kept to himself, either being too shy to associate with her, or too wrapped up in his studies to have time for it, she didn't know. Naturally she wasn't going to cut a path to his door either, she was already enough of a wallflower and she had her own friends and things to contend with. Jimbo didn't seem to have a lot of friends, not that she had a flock of friends everywhere she went either, but he seemed quite a bit more "socially challenged" than she was, though she never ruled out the possibility of him maybe having a social life outside of the school. It's not like she sat and pondered the boy, he just had a way of seeming "alright" to her. He wasn't an asshole, and he sure wasn't going to win any male modeling contests anytime soon either, he just "was", and that was fine with Stephanie. Jimbo, like John, interested her, but she didn’t know what to make of either of them. She would see or hear a few of the other teens pick on Jimbo at times. Nothing really terrible, nothing most kids in high school don't have to contend with from time to time, but she was aware of his being the butt of jokes, usually more often than not. She never found her heart going out to his plight until the day Jimbo over-stepped his boundary. The incidents leading up to it would probably always remain a mystery to Stephanie, but she remembered the time she passed Jimbo getting the worst ribbing she could imagine a guy getting. She was just coming back from lunch, Ruthy flanking her on the left, and a girl named Beth beside Ruthy--whom Ruthy knew pretty well, compared to her own knowledge of her anyway--having spent their break out in the smoking area so Ruthy could light up and try, as usual, to gain some attention from Tommy. There huddled about ten feet from the cola machines were the preppy girls. Beth and Ruthy started feeding coins into the machines, and Stephanie turned her attention to these preps, wondering why they were giggling their pretentious little laughs so loudly. "Oh my God, he is such a geek..." one of the prep girls could be heard saying amongst the laughter. "Like I would go out with him..." Melissa Clowes, one of the higher-ups of the "preppy class" had said, Stephanie recalled quite plainly. "He can go jack off!" More laughter followed from the crowd. She remembered Melissa and the rest of the huddle turning and eyeballing Jimbo, who sat up against the wall further down the hall, his nose stuck in a book. Ruthy and Beth had their soda's in hand and they all three resumed the walk to each of their respective after-lunch classes. She cast a glance toward Jimbo as they passed him, still hearing the preppy bitches behind her. "Duhhhh.... let’s go to a movie!" she heard Melissa mocking, accompanied by the incessant giggling from the other girls. The image of the top of Jimbo's head as he very obviously tried to hide in whatever book he was reading burned into Stephanie's brain. Sure, it was just a glance she took, but she could almost feel the pain, the shame, the humiliation and total rejection poor red-as-a-beet embarrassed Jimbo got. All the pitiful, ignorant bastard tried to do, it seemed, was ask that snobby bitch Melissa out to a movie, hardly the worst thing in the world a guy could do. The construction of the social ladder at school was obvious to her, so how could Jimbo be in the dark about it? But what determined the ladder? Stephanie often wondered. Who built it? What made that Melissa bitch “too good” for a guy like Jimbo? A simple 'no' would've sufficed if she weren’t interested, so why did she have to keep stamping on him? That incident haunted Stephanie for days, even though she had no part of it. She never breathed a word of it to Ruthy, who remained oblivious to it when it happened, or anybody else for that matter. They wouldn't understand, not like she did, she figured, and she didn't want to get accused of having a thing for Jimbo by mentioning him. She just stewed in this little soup of hatred for Melissa, whom she never cared much for in the first place, just feeling sorry for dumbass Jimbo. Jimbo was ugly, she admitted to herself, but that Melissa bitch was beyond ugly, she was downright hideous. No matter all her expensive clothes or glamorous make-up jobs or stylish hair-do's, how many of the popular guys that wanted her, how many jocks she'd probably gave it up to, or the throngs of equally popular and attractive friends that seemed to never leave her sides, Melissa's own attitude made her more repulsive than a pile of maggot-ridden road-kill. And it was clear, to Stephanie at least, that Melissa was so mean, so cocky, and so well dressed all in an effort to hide, compensate for, or make up for her horse face. Stephanie felt a surge of fire run through her body at the thought that she may be unconsciously acting like the very thing she hated so much toward these guys, these "bad boys" Ruthy seemed so fond of. While Ruthy was telling some story about her dog shitting beside some neighbor-she-didn't-like's car in the apartment parking lot and giggling about it, Stephanie stared down at her own bare feet. She was standing on the concrete embankment of a streetlight that lined the bus ramp at the side of the school, holding onto the metal post. She had nothing but her toes on the concrete, arching her feet as much as they could arch, and took notice of how her toes spread and wrinkled, reddening up by supporting all the weight of her body, the concrete edge pushed firmly into the tips of her toes. Melissa would never go out barefoot, not like Stephanie did, she surmised. That bitch would probably shriek at the thought of her delicate little tootsies even getting *gasp* dirty, the horror of it all...Stephanie felt a smile make its way to her mouth. She was different from Melissa in that respect, most assuredly. Then again, in a fit of self-conscious and private blushing, Stephanie realized she was different than most girls in that regard. But she wanted to be different from Melissa in other ways, more important ways. Maybe she shouldn't clam up so much when the boys eventually showed up, she pondered. She looked up just in time to see Ruthy uncapping a shiny, metal flat bottle. "What the hell?" "Pretty cool huh?" Ruthy smiled. "Bacardi, ninety proof I think." she took a sip and almost coughed, her throat convulsing to hold the alcohol down. Stephanie shook her head disapprovingly as she looked back down at her feet, still grinning from her earlier thoughts. She knew how Ruthy hated her mother, her alcoholic ways being the bulk of the foundation for it, and she thought of the irony of it all. Here Stephanie feared that she seemed as snooty as Melissa, whom she secretly hated, and Ruthy was apparently on the fast track to becoming like her mom, whom she knew Ruthy hated. Too messed up, too many thoughts. She just wanted to go barefoot more and think a lot less. She got the idea to tread the blacker than usual asphalt suddenly, to savor the cool, yet subtly bumpy feeling of it through her soles, and maybe, if she could manage it, "accidentally" stepping down just right and striking that little gash in such a way to feel it sting all over again. 'Talk about messed up...' Stephanie thought about herself, but felt the urge to do it get stronger the more she contemplated it. * * * As his legs gave him grief, shooting spurts of pain that started in his knee caps and went clear through his hips, collecting into that achy old back, Ernie became more determined to find what it was that brought him here. Maneuvering among the trees with little to no light to go by wasn't any kind of problem, it was his old, decrepit body that he whispered curses about in between his deep inhalations of air. He stopped his flustered walk suddenly. It was close; he could feel it in his gut. He eventually leveled his tired breathing out as he stood there, all alone, and couldn't help but take in the eerie stillness of the forest at night. He turned his head up a bit and took a deep whiff through his nose. It hit him. If you were to ask him what it smelled like, he wouldn't be able to put it into words, but he recognized it, and it was coming from a very certain direction. He picked up his pace as best as he could, knowing it wouldn't be long now... * * * "I don't see the fascination..." Stephanie told Ruthy, continuing their conversation and in reference to Tommy as they sat side-by-side on the concrete edge of the bus ramp. She'd pranced some on the asphalt already and talked, but eventually joined Ruthy when she saw her plop down, and she was now mindlessly playing with her dirty toes as she sat there. She figured she probably fondled her exposed toes a lot during the times she sat barefoot and her mind was idle. The cold her fingers felt in her toes gratified her somehow, in some new and fascinating way. The newness of going barefoot in the cold exhilarated her in ways she had never imagined. She felt funny about the way she had cleared her mind, taking that quick barefoot scuttle on the asphalt...was she actually addicted to bare footing and needed a fix to relax? Stephanie wished so badly she could talk about these things, but she knew no one would ever understand. Hell, she didn’t understand, she just felt. Ruthy just shook her head, uncapping and recapping the flask, giving her hands something to do. "Fascination..." she mocked. "Brain bitch is over-analyzing, as usual," she laughed, trailing it with an eye-roll. "I'm not over-analyzing." Stephanie defended. "I'm just trying to see what it is you think you see in Tommy. I mean, it's not like I have anything against him, but do you need to be reminded of his trips to 'juvie'?" "I'm not worried about that..." Ruthy stared off, and then took a sudden sip of the bacardi. She didn't shudder over it that much this time, Stephanie observed. "Everybody fucks up, he just got caught." "Four times?" Actually, Stephanie wasn't positive about Tommy's supposed four trips to juvenile delinquency centers, those jails for the younger teens…that just happened to be the word that lingered around the campfire. Tommy was 18 now, if he screwed up again it'd be the big house this time, she realized. "Awwww!" Ruthy gave a dismissive wave with her hand. "He's a good guy Steph, he just needs somebody to love him, to understand him..." Stephanie could hear a little *tink* when Ruthy set the flask to her side on the sidewalk. "And you think you're the one..."Stephanie asserted with a smile, pointing her feet at each other and fisting her toes. "You sayin' I'm not?" she cocked her head on her shoulder. "Not what?" Stephanie asked, relaxing her toes and then spreading them, tracing the tendons of her toes along the top of her foot with her fingertip. "Not able to love him or understand him." Ruthy's eyes were fixed on Stephanie now, and Stephanie realized she may have hit a nerve. "No doubt you like him..." she grinned, a little nervous that she may have actually offended her friend. She lifted her hand from her foot and locked her fingers together, resting her elbows on her knees. "But do you think you could figure him out? I'm not trying to be mean...But four trips to juvie? He does have issues." Ruthy squeezed her eyes shut and belted out a loud string of cackles. Stephanie just grinned as she watched her friend laugh, at ease over worrying if she offended her or not. Ruthy slowed to a chuckle, leaned forward, resting her head in her hand, then with her free hand pointed at Stephanie's bare feet. "Pot-kettle-black..." "Oh fuck you!" Stephanie said, about half serious, giving Ruthy a shove in the shoulder. "I haven't been to juvie for it..." Ruthy straightened herself upright from the shove, re-situating her elbow on her knee while her hand still cupped the side of her face. "You actually got grounded for going barefoot though." "I got grounded FROM going barefoot." She leaned her bare feet back on their heels and spread her toes, the pink polish all shiny, reflecting the street lamp. "I got grounded FOR staying out too late with you and Tommy and everybody." "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I think Greg and Allen won't be coming tonight." Stephanie shrugged, and then looked away. "Two less drunks to worry about." "What's that supposed to mean?" "I mean it can't be much fun for you when we're all drinking and you're not." "I'm alright." "Take a gulp..."Ruthy said, suddenly shoving the flask into Stephanie's face. Stephanie felt her head instinctively recoil away from it. "I don't think so..." "Brain's not afraid of a little alcohol is she?" "You know better than that WATER." Stephanie emphasized, getting annoyed with Ruthy's apparent falling back on the Brain nickname she was really getting tired of hearing, hoping the Water reference would bother her right back. "I can't go home smelling of that shit, I'm already in trouble." "So what's the big deal?" Ruthy asked, not phased in the slightest by the Water comment. "You're still out with me, the bad influence that I am, and you've got those feet bare—even though mommy and daddy said you aren’t allowed to, bad girl. And now you're gonna wimp out at drinking a little? Loosen up already. I swear, if you weren't so repressed..." "I'm not repressed." Stephanie said, leaning back on her hands and straightening her legs out, crossing her ankles. But she did feel “called” on being the poser she feared she was. Ruthy looked at Stephanie's decidedly bare feet. "No, you're just gunnin' for a case of frost bite, which is why you oughta' take a drink." She shook the flask a little. "It does warm you up." "Fine!" Stephanie snatched the flask away, uncapped it, and in her aggravation took a bigger gulp than she planned. She coughed as the fiery liquid lit her throat and chest up. Ruthy just laughed. "That's the spirit. If you're gonna say 'fuck the rules', go all out!" Stephanie re-capped the flask and handed it back. "Pushy bitch..." she wheezed, a hand to her chest. "Whatever. Tell me you don't feel better already." Ruthy un-capped it and poised the bottle by her mouth, ready to take another sip herself. "I don't feel better." Stephanie was telling the truth as she felt the burn in her chest try to subside. In fact, now her stomach felt like a ball of fire, and the reason why hit her; aside from not being used to the harder stuff, she suddenly remembered that she hadn't eaten a full meal in almost two days. Granted she had a lot on her mind and a lot going on, but skipping out on eating for the most part was pretty out of character for her. "Give it a minute and it'll kick in." Ruthy turned the bottle up to her mouth. Stephanie felt her eyes go wide...what if drinking on an empty stomach really did mess a person up a lot quicker? She never knew this to be true or not, as she's only been mildly drunk at best before, being able to count the number of times on one hand, with fingers to spare, and on a full stomach during those times. She regained her cool, or at least tried to, finding herself angry at her own giving in, nervous about possibly going home tipsy and smelling of liquor...and no doubt her parents noticing. "Give it a minute and I'll kick your ass. Don't pressure me into doing shit anymore Ruthy." "You wanna kick my ass? Go ahead..." Ruthy laughed, leaning over to sit on one butt cheek, showing the other to Stephanie. "You're gonna break your toes if you do. I got the hardest, tightest ass in town!" Stephanie giggled after a few seconds. "It's an easy target, big enough anyway." "You wouldn't dare..." Ruthy sat back up. "Kick my ass without shoes and break those pretty painted toes you're so obsessed with? Your foot'd be all black and blue for weeks. You couldn't stand that, not being able to show your feet around. You'd look like you just stepped on a Smurf." Stephanie laughed about that, and then felt her chest tighten suddenly remembering how she COLORED her own feet blue the night before. Her head started swimming at that thought…still not sure why she did it and amazed that it slipped her mind so easily afterward. Being reminded of it suddenly, the shock made her thoughts all clump up, and the fire in her stomach get a few degrees hotter. Damn, she really needed to take a walk...a good, rough, tantalizing, satisfyingly barefoot walk... * * * Robbie hadn't said a whole lot that night as he drove himself and Tommy to the school where they were going to meet up with Water and probably her quiet and strangely barefoot friend Stephanie too. He'd shoot an occasional glance over to Tommy, but every time he did he noticed Tommy's fixed gaze stare straight ahead at the road. He knew something big was on Tommy's mind, and though he wasn't quite sure what it was exactly, he felt his own nervousness grow bigger and more consuming the closer they got to the school. He also knew that whatever it was Tommy was thinking about, he was going to be as good as in on it. They went back a ways, Tommy and Robbie, and Robbie found himself loyal to his friend despite his personal scruples in almost too many things. It was around 30 or 40 minutes ago that Tommy called his house and told him they were invited to go and hang out with Water. Robbie didn't have a lot going on, so he was happy to oblige, plus Tommy sounded pretty eager for it. He'd asked Tommy if he should give Allen or Greg a heads-up, but Tommy told him that he already told Water those two couldn't come. That was Robbie's first indication of something being up that night. He knew that Greg had a part-time job flipping burgers for McDonald's, and Allen was known to lend a hand around his uncle's scrap yard from time to time, but he knew that both of those guys would drop whatever they were doing if it meant hangout time and beer. Tommy obviously didn't want them along for a reason, Water wouldn't have been none the wiser as to why, so he didn't question it either. Once he picked Tommy up, he offered to go back and snag a case of beer out of his father's fridge in the basement, but Tommy said not to worry about it. They both knew that there were less than six beers left in the cooler from the night before, so why didn't Tommy want to re-stock? He didn't ask, but he had a feeling about it... Good ol' beer, Robbie had shared many beer-drinking sessions with Tommy, to be sure he was always a fun guy to get drunk with. But aside from beer drinking, Tommy was into other things, and Robbie found himself introduced to these other things on occasion. Tommy had connections, and Robbie never really wondered how he got them, he just knew he had them and said connections got both of them around. Just over a week ago Tommy had the both of them at somebody's house, somebody Robbie had never met before that evening, but before the evening was over and everybody had left the party, being a huge turn-out of total strangers (to Robbie anyway), they were both screwing a couple of brunettes in their late 20's. That was a cool night, Robbie reflected, knowing he wouldn't have met girls like that on his own. Then there were the drugs...about any kind of drug a person could imagine, and Tommy always seemed to know a guy here or a guy there who had whatever you wanted. There was one particularly fun time when they gave this girl a quarter bag Tommy had scored, Allen and Greg being along for that trip and originally intending to help smoke it. She polished all four of their knobs right there in her living room as they stood in a circle around her. Those guys weren't complaining about lack of pot when they left that apartment, and Greg's stupid ass didn't shut up about it for almost a week afterward, tending to talk about it even in all the wrong places. That got Greg excluded from the next few outings with them... But then there were the not so pleasant times with Tommy, times that Robbie made himself forget, but would occasionally come back and haunt his thoughts anyway. Aside from the petty shoplifting and thievery, which Robbie never could get accustomed to though Allen and Greg never seemed to have much problem with it, there came the sporadic vandalism and occasional violence. The most recent being a month ago when they all four met with some guys from the other side of town, and wound up fist-fighting with other people he'd never met before. As unnerving as all that was, though it was fun while it happened in an abstract sort of way, that was peanuts compared to what he and Tommy got into about a year ago. Robbie couldn't remember the details of all of that, and he wouldn't allow himself to. He just remembered being glad that Greg's bigmouth wasn't around and Allen was absent too... the rest was just a haze now... It wasn't long after he'd picked Tommy up that Tommy insisted they stop for a minute at this lady's house. Robbie had never met or even heard of the woman before, and Tommy had to show him how to find her house, but he could see her through the front window while he waited alone in the driveway. He couldn't swear to it, but he thought he saw Tommy and this woman eventually kissing for a bit before he came back out the door. He was perplexed some, wondering why they'd even finish going up to the school to hang with Water when some potential action was right here. The woman came to stand in the door as Tommy got back in the truck, and though she was an older girl than he'd imagine Tommy or himself messing with in the first place, she still looked pretty hot. Tommy just patted his coat pocket and told him to hit the road, so as always he didn't question it. Maybe the old girl gave him some condoms and he was going to stick it to Water that night? She was whispering a bunch of stuff in his ear the night before at the river, and she wasn't the most hard to get girl at school, or so he understood, so there was no telling what she claimed she could do for him. If he was lucky, her friend Stephanie would be there and maybe he could lay some game down on her and get a little action himself while Tommy was busy porking Water. She was quiet and a little weird with those dirty bare feet in this cold weather, but she had a pretty face and a sweet enough bod...hopefully the old girl gave him more than one condom... Tommy's expression remained rigid through the rest of the trip. Even as they were pulling in the lot and could spot the girls from where Robbie chose to park, Robbie being secretly happy that Stephanie was present and barefoot, Tommy didn't say much at all. He must've been psyching himself up for something. Was maybe getting a shot of Water's, as he heard, "huge wet pussy" something to mentally prepare for? Probably not...and that's when Robbie's nervousness really hit. What was Tommy going to get them into? * * * Ernie crouched and mumbled yet another curse with the movement. However, the aggravation caused by the persistent, and now throbbing ache in the lower region of his spine was quickly replaced with the feelings of accomplishment that filled his head when he picked up that tiny shard of broken glass. He just eyed it for a minute, with the same rewarding feeling one would get from spotting and then snatching up a twenty blowing across a parking lot, and then stuck it up to his nose. He closed his eyes and savored the scent of her on it, drawing in as much as his nostrils could hold. Granted it was only a minimal spot of blood that was already dried on the sharp end of it, but it was undeniably her's. He knew there was only one more thing left to do, just a final precaution, and he did it without even thinking about it. He jerked his head around and almost cursed pretty loud, the cut on his tongue smarting like all get out. He just meant to taste her blood, not jab the glass into his own tongue. He held his fingers to his mouth for a minute, swishing around his saliva mixed with blood, wanting to curse his own tongue for the misjudged lick. No, no cursing this time...even though he tasted his own blood a little too plainly for his own good, he got what he wanted. It all fell into place, and any doubts that Ernie may have had in his old head before now vanished. She was it. She was the one. That other girl, the one from before, the one in the parking lot behind the shopping center was a mistake. There would be no mistakes this time. His eyes shot to the night sky suddenly, and every muscle fiber in his body tensed up tighter than banjo strings. He had to go! He didn't know in what way, but he knew he had to run, and right at this moment. He ran faster than even he thought he could, following his instincts... * * * Introductions had hardly been made between the girls and Tommy and Robbie when Stephanie spotted him. She thought she heard some booted foot falls, but when she turned to look where the noise was coming from she felt her heart stop. The old man, the creepy old man, the one who had watched her and stared at her pretty bare feet from his pick-up truck came stomping up in a clumsy run. She squeezed her eyes shut and gave her head a shake of disbelief, thinking maybe the hard stuff had gotten to her on her empty stomach and she was imagining him. No such luck. The old man was real; he was coming out of the woods and getting closer, wild-eyed and bloodied around his mouth. She screamed. Before Stephanie could even think about it, she was tugging Ruthy's arm as hard as she could and running for home. Ruthy stumbled a few steps with her before she got her arm back. She wanted to ask Steph who the man that freaked her out so bad was, but figured Stephanie obviously knew that running was a good idea at that moment, because she was making some serious tracks. She cut a look to Tommy and Robbie, a look mixed in apology, fear, and loyalty to her friend, and decided to run after her, already planning how she'd explain this to the boys later. Why was Stephanie so scared of this goofy looking old man? Ruthy hadn't seen the wild eyes, or the blood around the mouth, so naturally she was more than a little confused. "What the fuck's your deal old man?!" Robbie yelled at Ernie as he stood there panting, gasping for breath, with traces of blood crusting up at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, you got a fuckin' problem?!" Tommy said as he balled his fists, stepping towards the old man, and then turning to see the girls as they disappeared into the night. Ernie's mouth trembled at first, but his words came out crystal clear: "Ya’ both stay away from her..." "Wha-?!" Robbie said, stepping in along with Tommy, his words cut short more out of surprise than anything else. Ernie cast a glance at Tommy's coat pocket, and then looked up to make eye contact with him. "Yer’ a pawn." Tommy grinned an unbelieving smile through his aggravated expression toward Robbie, then back at Ernie. "Yer’ a pawn.” The old man repeated. "Don't play innocent with me." "I'm gonna play upside your fuckin' head here in a min-"Robbie started, and then his throat choked his own words short with the sight he beheld. For a minute he was so dumbstruck with fear that he forgot that Tommy was even standing beside him or there were two girls that just took off running. The sight was Ernie's eyes glowing a very bright white, illuminating both of the young men's frightened faces, so bright you couldn't see the old man's pupils. "Yer’ bein’ used, an’ too stupid t’ see it." Tommy gripped the handle of the butcher knife in his pocket and eyed the old man's throat. "Do it an’ die." Ernie told him, as if reading his thoughts. He wasn't aware of it at the time, but Ernie would realize later that he had a beaming smile at the prospect of maybe getting to turn this belligerent young bastard inside out with his bare hands. Ernie could imagine the blood that was probably on this asshole's hands... Robbie was already climbing into the big black and silver truck, trailing a stream of his own piss and hitting the seat with a soaked pants *splat* when Tommy finally turned and ran, his fear and survival instinct eventually quashing out his violent urges. The truck peeled out on the asphalt, leaving skid marks and fish-tailing a bit as Tommy hit the floor of the truck bed in a gasping thump, having jumped the closed and quickly escaping tail-gate. Ernie realized as he watched the truck disappear into the night, the opposite direction the girls had taken, what a mistake he'd made, running out there all of a sudden and scaring her off like that. His eventual making contact with Stephanie took a major setback that night, if he'd ever make contact at all now he gloomily lamented. Frustrated, wanting to fully unleash the fury, but thinking better of it, Ernie simply stuffed his hands back into his coat pockets and resigned himself to making his way back to his pick-up truck. He hated having scared her off, but at the moment he didn't seem to have much of a choice. He figured he probably wouldn't have been so frightening if he didn't have the blood oozing out of his mouth, but then, who's to say? Things would get better, he reassured himself, it'd just take some time. Unfortunately, time wasn't something he felt he had a lot of now. To Be Continued... |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira Sep 29 2006, 02:02 AM |
| Barefoot Black Sheep Part 1 * CHAPTER 6 By: Dennis Crabapple McClain & Lou Gojira The knock at the door puzzled them both. “Stephanie doesn’t knock…” Stephanie’s mother Barbera said, her gaze going from the door, to her husband, then to the clock. Stephanie was late. Not just any ordinary late, but grounded-for-life late. The second round of knocks, more authoritative, went straight to Stephanie’s mother’s heart, a stab right into her motherly intuition. But these knocks knocked the anger right out of her. “Oh no!” she said, her voice cracking with worry. “You don’t think…” David, Stephanie's father, pulled himself up from his chair, his chest puffed up and filling with a quiet indignation. He gestured for his wife to stay put. Unlike Stephanie’s mother, he was not worried, not at all, just redder and redder in his motionless rage. With the same controlled deliberateness that he did everything, he walked down the stairs. Turned the knob. Opened the door. Stared straight ahead. Said nothing. “Mr. Goddard?” His chest tightened. Standing there on his doorstep was a policeman. Immediately his head filled with pictures of what stupid thing his daughter must have done, obviously put up to no good by that Ruthy. “Yes,” he grunted at last, shooting a knowing look at his wife, a look that chilled and darkened the whole room. Mrs. Goddard stood at the top of the stairs, her hand over her mouth. “It’s about your daughter, Stephanie.” Mr. Goddard bit his tongue and nodded. So intimidating a father that the officer himself felt somehow to blame. “Oh God!” cried Mrs. Goddard, clutching the railing, feeling her way down the stairs as if someone had turned out all the lights on her. On the landing she clutched her husband. Mr. Goddard gestured with his head for the officer to come in. “Is she alright?” cried Mrs. Goddard. The officer sighed, his cheeks puffing out as he stepped in and weighed what to say, and how much to say. “Earlier this evening we found your daughter and a friend up by Route Forty-three. She was pretty upset.” Mr. Goddard grunted and pulled himself up to his full height, shooting his wife another of his steely looks. “It was that awful Ruthy-girl, wasn’t it?” Mrs. Goddard said, her voice cracking. “Is my daughter OK?” “She seemed well, just a little… unnerved. We were hoping she made her way home safe and sound.” “You let her go!?” Mrs. Goddard cried out, incredulous. “Some police department we have! You didn’t bring her home yourselves?” As he feared, this was not going to be as neat and clean as he hoped, but as messy as he had feared, and he realized that somebody might get into trouble if he didn’t handle this just right. “Ma’am, please, calm down. We were in the process of bringing her home when and incident occurred, and she ran off.” “My daughter! You lost my daughter!?” * * * Still in her mind Stephanie could see the old man, his wild eyes and bloody mouth, his whole face seemingly lit up with a strange rabid smile. Her sole thought had been to beat feet and put as much distance between herself, the schoolyard, and the creepy old man as possible. Hard she ran, fast and reckless in her bare feet, even winding through backyards and scrambling over fences. Now, with some distance between her and him, she became aware of just how much her feet hurt, and she felt a stitch in her side. But that wasn’t even what stopped her, it was Ruthy, screaming at her to stop for just a second. Out of breath, Stephanie fell down in the grass of someone’s backyard, only a block from home. Her whole body shook and she felt a shattering crying spell welling up inside her. Her free hand, as if to ground her, reached around behind her and rested on her chilled foot, she caught her breath as she sat propped up on one arm in the frosty grass. Her sensitive bare feet smarted from the sting of the cold and the hard smacking of all her heedless running. Her head swam more than ever from the gulp of alcohol Ruthy had pressured her into drinking. The place on her foot where she had cut herself ached with a dry solid pain. “What the fuck?” Ruthy said, catching up. She slowed to a stop, leaning over with her palms on her knees as she caught her breath. “What was that all about?” “It was that guy!” Stephanie gasped, feeling comforted by the quiet of the night but unnerved by the dark. As sure as she was of anything, she was grateful that she wasn’t alone right now. “That creepy guy.” “What guy?” “This creepy old man’s been following me.” Stephanie pulled herself together enough to get up and hobble into the shadows under the eaves of the nearby garage. Wood chips crunched underfoot but she barely felt them over all the other sensations raging through her over-stimulated feet: Little scrapes, bruises, dents and dings, the nip of the cold. Bending over, her backside pressed against the garage, she reached down and felt over her icy toes, curled them, and felt a warm shudder of appreciation as she secretly pleasured in being barefoot, even now after all this. Though even her bare feet weren’t enough to pull her out of her panic. “God, I think I’m gonna be sick.” One hand she draped across the other, the other hand she held out before her face just to gauge how badly it was shaking. Badly. “You OK?” “I don’t know,” Stephanie sighed. “OK, Steph, well, yeah, he was pretty fucked up, but he was just an old man. I mean, Christ, I could kick his ass!” Stephanie giggled nervously. It was true, but he seemed, even now, more monstrous than that. As the blood rushed into her feet and toes, they began to tingle, causing the wood chips to feel itchy underfoot. She scrunched her toes in them and felt them sticking to her frosty-wet toes, soles, and instep. “He’s been following me for a couple days now. I saw him by the river,” she gestured in the general direction of the river. “And then on the road in his truck, and outside my house even. I think he’s crazy or obsessed with me or something. God, gross!” Stephanie shook her whole body distastefully. “You didn’t see his face, he was crazy. I’ve never seen eyes like that, and his mouth was all bloody!” cried Stephanie. She picked her foot up and brushed off the wood chips with her hand before stepping cautiously back out onto the lawn. She did the same thing to the other foot, and stood full in the white frosted grass. “I just… God… I just don’t wanna end up stabbed to death behind some Dumpster like Anita or something.” “You won’t! You won’t,” Ruthy said as calmly as possible, resting her hand on Stephanie’s shoulder. “And besides, maybe it wasn’t blood on his mouth. You know, he was pretty old, maybe it was just chocolate or something.” Stephanie laughed, though remained shaking. “I don’t think it was chocolate.” “Come on, it’s alright. Really, we’ll tell the guys, they’ll kick his ass.” “If he did it, y’know, if he killed Anita, you gotta tell me. If you know who did it, you gotta tell me,” Stephanie pleaded in desperation. Ruthy sighed, wishing she didn’t have to blow her cover. “I was just messing with you, I don’t know who killed Anita. Tommy told me he did it, but I never believed him. Tommy always talks shit like that when he gets 'shit-faced' drunk..." she paused. "Oh no! God, Stephanie!” Ruthy looked at Stephanie, her eyes and mouth wide open. “No way! No way, you don’t think the old man did it? No way, that’s not possible,” she shook her head. “I need to get home,” Stephanie started through the yard. In a hot flash she suddenly realized that he knew where she lived. The very thought soured in her stomach and her whole insides felt like they were made up of sour milk. More carefully this time, Stephanie wedged her toes into the mesh of the chain-link fence and she started a shaky climb over into the adjoining backyard. It felt good to hop over the fence and into the lush frosty grass. She wiggled her toes and concentrated on feeling the grass as it tickled her soles and teased around her toes, hoping all these barefoot sensations might distract her from her panic. Though both girls kept their eyes peeled, the starry skies of this working-class suburb and the soothing walk slowly began to bring Stephanie down from her hysteria. Even the soreness of her feet gave her something to focus on besides the old man. Having Ruthy so close, cocky Ruthy and her promise of protection at the hands of her friends…also comforted Stephanie. A little. Comforted or not, Stephanie felt drained from head to toe. They cut through one last yard to cross into Mrs. Thompson’s yard so she could get her shoes and socks on and go home, though she couldn’t imagine sleeping, not with her basement bedroom window facing the street like it did. The same street where earlier tonight he drove by so slowly, staring at her house? No way in hell… “Oh… my… God!” Ruthy gasped. “I don’t want to freak you out, but I think that’s him.” With a tug that yanked Stephanie off her feet, Ruthy pulled her behind the shed. All the blood drained from Stephanie’s face. She peeked around the shed and saw him clear as day in the security light that hung off Mrs. Thompson’s garage. Paralyzed with fear, heart pounding, she hid herself behind the shed in the yard of Mrs. Thompson’s rear neighbor. Ruthy peeked out. “What the fuck?” she said louder than Stephanie was comfortable with. “Don’t! Be quiet, please.” “Fuck him. Quiet my ass, I’ll fuck him up.” “Don’t!” Stephanie reined Ruthy in, keeping her behind the shed with her. “Oh God, what’s he doing?” Hesitating, Stephanie finally peered around the corner with Ruthy and watched. For the first time, Stephanie saw him clearly in the still and light of Mrs. Thompson’s backyard; no longer the phantom stalker in his truck, or the gray old man in the distance, or even as the blood-mouthed madman. In this light and stillness he was far too scrawny, gray and hunched in his tatty work clothes, looking like any old grandfather as he lurked suspiciously around the concrete patio, to be the monster she saw in her head. Just watching him caused Stephanie’s naked feet to crawl with a pinprick feeling like change jingling and grinding together in her pocket. “Oh no!” Stephanie gasped, both hands over her mouth as what he did next chilled her to the bone. He lifted the lid of the old milk box. Her heart leapt in her chest as he reached in and pulled out the shoes and socks, her shoes and socks, and just seeing this act caused a creeping itch to radiate out form her ten little frosty toes; an itch that turned to an icy ache in her ankles. Her determinedly bare feet now felt hopelessly exposed, and she suddenly knew what it must feel like to be topless in public. As if he had found a wine of rare vintage, he brought her shoes and socks up to his face, sniffed and savored them, smiling like a junkie getting a fix. “Gross!” Stephanie whined, clutching her arms across her belly, feeling violated. “What the hell?” gasped Ruthy. “Aren’t those your shoes? He’s, like obsessed with your feet or something.” “Sh!” scolded Stephanie, slapping Ruthy’s leg. The slap turned to a clutch. How good it felt--something warm and real as her head spun--the contact of a friend. The old man rubbed his face into the cotton socks and canvas shoes. “This is some sick shit, Steph!” A stoned grin on his face, he looked around, then tossed the shoes and socks on the corner of pavement farther from the house. With his lighter, he carefully lit one of her socks on fire. Vigilantly he tended the flickering flame, catching her other sock and both shoes on fire. Standing back, he watched them burn, a satisfied look on his face. Once they were reduced to ashes and bubbling rubber, he stomped on them with his work boots. The old nutcase didn't leave until he was obviously satisfied that the fire was safely out. All knees and hips, he headed down the driveway as if he’d just finished a job. Both girls remained frozen behind the neighboring shed while the old man played pyrotechnics with Stephanie's socks and shoes, and unconsciously stayed that way a few minutes after he was gone. A faint whiff of burning rubber eventually brought them back to whatever reality was left them. Just enough reality that they looked at each other, mouths and eyes wide open, registering the disbelief in the each other’s faces. “I can’t go home,” Stephanie said, shaking her head as she stood. She scrunched her uncomfortably naked toes under. Her bare feet screamed with pinprick tingles that reminded her of the time she shocked herself on the electric cord of the old cheesy organ at her grandmother’s house. Her parents had told her not to touch it. She shook her head and shuffled her feet around nervously on the gravel behind the shed. “My folks’ll kill me if I go in barefoot.” Creepy as what she had just witnessed was, the fever she felt now was far more ordinary, as she knew how much trouble she was in. Real trouble, not like whatever the hell this madness was. Worst of all, she had actually meant to save herself the trouble and wear the shoes in, but she couldn’t now, and she knew that her parents would not believe that some old man had burned her shoes. She might as well have a teacher believe that a dog ate her homework while she was at it. And at that, what good would it do? After all, if she told that story and they did believe it, it would turn out as nothing more than a confession that she had been running around barefoot again, and her parents would freak out, taking all this as proof that she should not be allowed to go barefoot for fear of attracting perverts. “I’m serious,” she said numbly, “I’m, like totally screwed.” At just that moment, like a light going on, it came to her again, but harder this time, she looked at Ruthy wild-eyed. “I can’t go home!” she shook her head. “He knows where I live.” Stephanie shot up to her feet and started pacing frantically. “God, I’m fucked! I’m so fucked!” “Does he know where I live?” “I don’t know. Probably. I don’t know.” Just thinking about it began winding Stephanie up more and more. “He knows everything about me. He knew about the river, about Mrs. Thompson’s place, about my house…” “Come on,” Ruthy took Stephanie by the arm and pulled her in the opposite direction of her molten puddle of shoes and socks, far from the old man. “Where are we going?” “Let’s go. We’ll find the police, or the guys, or something.” Ruthy didn’t know, but she knew Stephanie was in no condition to be thinking for herself. At a frenzied and paranoid pace Ruthy led them both back towards the schoolyard. They took hardly a step without one or both of them shooting glances back over their shoulders. Stephanie could see her breath and could barely feel her feet as the night grew chillier and chillier. What she felt under the cold was the drone of soreness. Ruthy decided to take the long way around, wanting to spend as much time along busy Route Forty-three as possible. Every pair of headlights caused Stephanie’s heart to catch in her throat, and she spent so much time fretting over the traffic that she forgot to watch her feet on the glassy sidewalk. Through dumb luck alone her feet fell safely on the concrete. Stephanie froze as a pair of bright headlights slowed in their approach. Then, like a flash of lightning that wouldn’t diminish, the approaching car illuminated the panicky girls in a searchlight. Stephanie screamed. “Stephanie Goddard, Ruthy Babcock,” came a voice over a megaphone. “It’s the police.” “Oh, fuck, the cops!” Ruthy hissed. “And we’re both drunk.” The tires crunched loudly over the gravel as the boxy Buick cruiser slowed to a stop on the roadside just ahead, filling the night air with the loud authoritative rumble of the engine. Without a second thought Stephanie skipped over the ditch onto the littered dirt and gravel roadside to lean with both hands into the open window, the gravel sharp underfoot. Safe as she felt now, even the presence of the police did little to dull her panic. Safe from him or not, she still had her parents to worry about now that her shoes were burned to goo. “How did you know who I was?” she asked, her voice creaking desperately. “A couple of friends of yours...Robbie and Tommy I believe...” said the officer, fumbling around for his pad and paper while his partner placed the car in park. A frantic fit came up out of her like a frog leaping up from her gut. “God,” Stephanie cried. “There’s this guy, this creepy old guy, and he’s following me everywhere!” What little calm the walk had inspired in her washed away as she spilled her worries into the police cruiser. “He’s crazy, and he’s in this pickup, and he’s after me,” she said breathlessly, bare feet kicking and scrunching over the dirt and gravel in time to her panic. “The guy with the glowing eyes,” the officer nodded suspiciously, though calmly. “And a bloody mouth,” added Stephanie realizing all of a sudden just how crazy it all sounded. “It’s true!” She hoped her exclamation might sound reassuring, but it came out desperate. He leaned in close and sniffed her breath, then checked the dilation of her pupils. “You don’t believe me,” Stephanie whined, shuffling back over the gravel, stumbling back into the ditch. “Whoah, be careful,” he said, opening his door slowly. “We just need to get you home,” the officer said calmly. “No!” Stephanie barked. ‘Anywhere but home, especially now.’ Her mind kept telling her. “It’s OK,” he said, one hand out, the other on his flashlight. He approached her as if she were precariously poised to jump off a bridge. The beam of his flashlight fell on her feet as she stood down in the ditch. “Watch the glass.” He shone the light all around the ground. Ruthy didn’t move from where she had been on the sidewalk. “Where are your shoes, Stephanie?” “Shoes? He burned ‘em.” The other officer climbed out of the driver side and stepped around to talk to Ruthy. The officer attending to Stephanie opened the back door. “Sit down, take it easy.” He aimed his light at the ground so she could see where she was stepping. Oddly, even now, Stephanie was aware of a quick surge of exhilaration at the idea of getting into a police car with no shoes on. It was an unexpected and passing pleasure. She sat on the seat, one foot pulled into the safety of the car, the other hanging out, her toes crimped over the rocks along the roadside. She tightened her toes, gripping the gravel, then released, relaxing her toes. “I can’t go home!” Stephanie cried. Her toes worked anxiously over the rough ground, hopelessly attempting to clutch a little earthy reality. “We have to get you girls home,” the officer argued. Stephanie felt her heart sink. The last thing in the world she wanted was to be escorted home barefoot by the police. “Oh, God,” she cried, feeling herself sunk. “I am so screwed.” “Shit!” shouted the second officer, scrambling away from Ruthy and drawing his gun as a blinding flash of high beam light rushed up over the hill, aimed right at the cruiser. The first officer reached in and yanked Stephanie from the car. She scrambled up the ditch safely towards Ruthy just as the truck screeched and swerved maniacally. The grinding roaring truck missed the cruiser by inches in what had to be the most reckless case of good luck or the most amazing case of skillful driving any of them had ever seen. Horn blaring all the way, the truck cut sharply from lane to lane, swerving around the cruiser and into the ditch, spitting up dirt and gravel, the engine winding and grinding, right at a four-way crossroads. Wincing at the noise of it, Stephanie expected metal rods and chunks of engine to explode from the truck like a dragon breathing fire. Both officers, hands on their pistols, stood back as the mad-dog barking of the stopped truck’s still racing motor tore into the night. The roar of the engine wound down to a cranky whine just as the door flew open and out fell the creepy old man, clutching his chest, his face twisted into a mask that looked just as awful as his truck sounded. He gasped desperately, his knotted fingers still clutching his chest. Without hesitation both officers —forgetting the girls for the time being— still cautiously clutching their pistols, rushed to assist the old man. The first officer went straight for him, the second reached for the cruiser’s radio. Standing knock kneed, Stephanie clutched at Ruthy. Like a storm, the panic whipped up inside her anew. She went to open her mouth, to shout that this was the very same old man. In the second it took for the approaching officer to glance back to check on Stephanie, Ruthy, and his partner, the old man glanced at Stephanie and winked. Before she could even process the wink in her mind, he grinned and gestured for her to run, wiggling two fingers urgently in the direction of the scrappy patch of woods across the street. He poured himself back into the heart attack act just as the officer returned his attention to him. The last thing Stephanie wanted was to be brought home by the police. She nodded at the old man and grabbed Ruthy by the wrist, tugging on her. “What?!” cried an indignant Ruthy. “Shut up!” cried Stephanie in an urgent whisper, pulling on her. Shooting paranoid glances at both officers, convinced they were preoccupied, Stephanie leapt across the ditch. Landing hard on the rubble of the roadside, tearing off across the busy road, her bare feet smacked the blacktop of the street as she ran. Her heart beat like a jackhammer in her chest, her mind raced to make sense out of any of the chaos of the last few moments. Dashing across the street, the girls leapt like deer into the brush. “Damn it! The girls!” Shouted the officer on the radio. Behind her, Stephanie heard the pounding of his boots on the road as he charged into the patch of scrub. In a total and reckless panic, Stephanie ran hard in a blind flight. Her bare feet flew through the patch of scrub, scraped and poked, but she didn’t slow, not a bit. In the distance she heard the chaos of the mess she left in her wake. The officer called out urgently for them to stop running. Though his voice sounded far more frantic with concern than anger, Stephanie never stopped, just pushed on, keeping pace with Ruthy who had the advantage of protective sneakers on her feet. Once the girls and other officer were gone, Ernie fumbled around in his glove box. “My pills,” he stammered. “I just need my pills.” Pulling out a small vial of baby aspirin, he popped them in his mouth and tossed the bottle in the truck, then wiped his brow and leaned against his truck, catching his breath. “You alright, pops? You know those girls?” He shook his head. “Never seen ‘em.” “You need me to call for an ambulance?” Ernie nodded. As the officer headed back to his car and leaned into the cruiser to make the call, as quick as he could manage, Ernie slid into his still running truck and rolled away as quietly as the old truck allowed. While the officer stared into the woods after his partner, talking on the radio, he turned his attentions back to where Ernie was supposed to be, only to see his taillights getting smaller down the road. “What the hell?” the policeman sighed, flapping his arms. “Where the hell you goin’?” Exhausted with the whole thing already, he stared down the road and shook his head; not even sure chasing the old man down would be worth the effort. “I probably should’ve written down that license number.” He sat in the driver side seat, the radio receiver limp in his hand. “I’m never gonna live down this rookie mistake.” Worst of all, he couldn’t even figure out exactly where it was he went wrong. And then it dawned on him the worst of possibilities, what if the girls were telling the truth? What if he just let a child molester get away? After taking one last look after the truck he groaned heavily, resigned. “Damn, it’s going to be a long night.” * * * At last, in the quiet of Ruthy’s room, Stephanie fell to the floor, huddled behind her knees as she caught her breath. Her poor sore feet were humming as they warmed back up and the many little dings and scrapes took to life. Ruthy locked her bedroom door behind her and ran to the window of her and her mother’s small fourth floor apartment. Ruthy’s German shepherd named "Sarge" nuzzled right up against Stephanie, sensing her panic, and she took comfort in the strength and warmth of the big dog. As Ruthy paced anxiously, as if she could find some way to fortify her room, Stephanie petted the dog and inspected the countless dings and scrapes on her bare feet. Her toes looked far more puffy and pink than usual. She ran her fingers over them. Clearly it could have been worse, the cuts deeper, the soreness more debilitating. This lack of real pain and damage Stephanie credited to the fact that she still had her hard summer soles. She shook her head and returned her attentions to Sarge, unable to believe all the things that she had been through over the past couple days. Positively drained, she rubbed her temples. “I need to take a bath.” Sarge seemed to agree with the statement when he took a lap at one of her feet, then looked back up at her, still licking his chops. * * * All seemed right with the world once she submerged herself in the hot water. In the light of the bathroom —a room she knew and felt at home in— her and Ruthy’s favorite radio station playing quietly in the background, Stephanie felt a little like her old self. The madness seemed so distant already. Like a nightmare she couldn’t quite shake off. She sighed; relieved that Ruthy’s mom was in the next room, asleep, but an adult presence just the same. “My feet’re killing me,” moaned Stephanie. The thawing from the cold followed by the hot water intensified the many little pains she had been enduring since coming in. She figured her feet must be loaded with little thorns, slivers, and splinters. The soaking would do her worn feet a world of good. Last thing Stephanie did before leaving the bathroom was to painstakingly clean and care for her feet. She smiled; proud that she had bravely endured a night full of bizarre ordeals barefooted. And she had reason to be proud; her bare feet never slowed her down. Not to mention that her sweet feet proved to be far tougher than she ever thought possible. Most girls couldn’t have done it. Best of all, maybe, just maybe, everyone was wrong about bare feet: she wasn’t catching any colds, and as wild and harrowing as her night turned out to be, she did not have to be rushed to the hospital with bleeding feet after all. Her dings and scrapes were minor: a thorn pulled out here, a sliver of glass there, and all was well. With a justly pleased smile it occurred to her that if she could go through this night without her shoes and socks, she could probably do almost anything in her bare feet. Though to be honest, she felt that tonight ended up being more than enough adventure for her, at least for a while. With great care, her many little wounds she dabbed with Neosporin. Her nails, however, proved to be a mess of scuffs and chips where she had repeatedly stubbed her toes, but even that she fixed by cleaning off the polish and taking the time to do a little clipping. This time she could not deny the very sexual pleasure she enjoyed in tending to her dainty bare feet, especially in the pulsing afterglow of the many adventures of the evening. At the very least, for a few moments she enjoyed the rewards of having gone barefoot through so much, and forgot, at least for a few warm and fuzzy minutes, all about old perverts, cops, and her parents. What was more, in these moments of clarity she decided she was going to fight to stay barefoot. Her parents would not win this one. The thrill of being barefoot was far too juicy to give up on, no matter what. To Be Continued... |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira Sep 30 2006, 09:18 AM |
| Barefoot Black Sheep Part 1 * CHAPTER 7 By: Dennis Crabapple McClain & Lou Gojira Finished with her bath and pedicure at last, Stephanie pulled on one of Ruthy’s T-shirts as well as a borrowed pair of pajama pants. She left the bathroom steamy and smelling like shampoo, stepped over Sarge as he lay right outside the bathroom door, and headed towards Ruthy’s tiny bedroom. Far antsier than Stephanie, Ruthy sat perched on the edge of her bed, keeping a lookout through her bedroom window. “Well, that was seriously fucked up,” she said, taking a break from her vigilant lookout. “What was that all about? I mean…was he trying to help us or what?” Stephanie rolled her eyes and gave an I-have-no-idea shrug. Ruthy glanced at Stephanie’s feet. “You OK, I mean, all that running and everything?” “Yeah, I’m fine.” And she meant it. Stephanie plopped down on the bed, her head and shoulders bent against the wall, legs out, feet hanging out over the edge of the bed, toes pointed. A sudden rush of paranoid tingles washed over her feet —imagining that the old blood-mouthed man might be the monster under the bed and he might get her feet— she pulled her feet up and enjoyed the feel of the comforter under her sore and lotion-moist feet. For a moment they sat quietly, Stephanie singing along with Ringo Starr’s “It Don’t Come Easy” as it played on the radio. Sarge trotted into the bedroom and took a seat right in the doorway; ears raised and head cocking as he watched Stephanie sing. Ruthy smirked over the dog's slightly strange behavior, wanting to say something about her singing probably bothering him. “This song isn’t so bad,” Ruthy instead conceded in an effort to throw Stephanie a bone after all she had been through. Stephanie rolled her eyes and sang along, enjoying the unexpected treat of hearing such an unlikely song on the radio. Under it all there burned a little anxiety at knowing she would have to face her parents, and of knowing that this whole thing with the weird old man was, more likely than not, far from over. The next song she liked, too, but it was newer, and not good enough to keep her from talking. She sighed and sat up, fingering her toes, noticing how thin and silky the skin was. “This is all just way too weird.” “No shit.” Ruthy pulled her curtains shut and turned to Stephanie. “Hey, you got any nail polish that isn’t black?” Ruthy jumped up off the bed and sorted through her drawer full of make-up and jewelry. She tossed three bottles —one after the other— onto the bed beside Stephanie. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” “Me too,” Stephanie nodded. Not even bothering to close her make-up drawer, Ruthy headed for the kitchen. School night or not, both girls felt far too keyed up to sleep, and they sat in front of the little TV the Babcock’s owned and watched bits and pieces of the horror movies on the cable channels Ruthy was flicking back and forth between —an exotic treat for Stephanie, her much better-off parents being too cheap to get cable— eating their ice cream. Two bowls of ice cream for Ruthy and one for Stephanie, even though they had enough 'cold' just being outdoors that evening. After two coats of purple nail polish, a game and a half of "Life", and lots of rehashing the events of the night, the girls retreated to Ruthy’s room and fell asleep, cramped together in Ruthy's twin bed, talking, then eventually giggling as they turned all the wild events of their evening into a big joke. Though they slept a little too close and with their backs together, Stephanie fell asleep being very thankful to have such a warm and friendly, sisterly kind of presence so near to her for the night. * * * Stephanie woke up to the smell of bacon and coffee. Her feet tingled as she realized something: she had no shoes. This was no ordinary sensation of being barefoot. This was a feeling of being barefoot, but magnified by not even having access to shoes! None...nada…zip… Ruthy was a shade taller than Stephanie, and Ruthy’s feet were not just longer, but thinner. Though they were able to share some clothes, shoes were out of the question. To further intensify the sensation, making it rich as double chocolate brownies, it was Friday, a school day. Grossly early or not, there would be no falling back to sleep in the swelling and throbbing anticipation of this new day of deliciously wild barefoot experiences. If Stephanie weren’t at Ruthy’s house, in Ruthy’s bed, she may have even accepted her arousal enough to slip her fingers down her pajamas and finger away some of the need she could not help but admit to feeling. As it was, the thoughts and feelings coursing through her left her feeling deliciously anxious, even panicky. But this panic was nothing like the panic she felt last night; this panic was glazed with sugar. She smiled to herself and rubbed her feet together under the sheets, thrilling to the contact of bare skin to bare skin. This was it. Long had she quietly fantasized about one day having the balls to go to school barefoot. And it had come. Finally, the day was here, right before her. Try as she might, she could not still or deny the tautness of her nipples or the crawling wet tickle in her sex, let alone sleep through such rich rushing sensations. Looking at the clock, groaning at being awake at this hour, she accepted it. She would have to just get out of bed and face the day after her all-too short five or six hours of sleep. “Not that another half hour or so would make much difference,” she mumbled, rolling resignedly out of Ruthy’s bed, trying not to wake a still snoozing Ruthy and stepping over Sarge, as he lay right at the foot. The crumpled clothes she wore last night lay in a pile on the floor. Kicking at them with her toes, she noticed they smelled a little stale and a lot like Ruthy’s dog. Putting them on held no appeal for her. At least she more or less knew which of Ruthy’s clothes would fit her. The tempting smell of Mrs. Babcock’s cooking convinced her to hurry up and get dressed in the hopes of mooching a free breakfast. In deciding to get dressed, a little problem made her blush. Her panties were dirty, and borrowing a pair from Ruthy was just a little too weird and personal for her to deal with this morning. Resigned to having to go without, she found a pair of white jeans Ruthy used to wear all the time, jeans that were now a little too short for Ruthy’s legs, but they fit Stephanie just fine. More importantly, though Stephanie had to sit on the floor and struggle her hips into them, she liked the way Ruthy had shredded them, ripping stripes of tattered holes all up the thighs, enormous holes in the knees. Into the jeans she tucked one of Ruthy’s —now that she got a good look at it she realized it was her shirt after all— concert jerseys into the jeans, which she topped with one of Ruthy’s black studded belts. A pair of leg warmers caught her eye, Stephanie sighed and rolled her eyes, shooting a dirty look at Ruthy as she realized why her wardrobe had gotten so sparse… Ruthy never returned anything. She pulled on her own black legwarmers, which she loved over the white jeans, as the whole outfit just seemed designed to taper down to her ankles to show off her sexy bare feet. Of course, she pulled on her usual accessories and make-up: loads of jangling wrist bangles, a ring on her toe, her nails still painted purple, and her red lipstick and black mascara and eyeliner. Lastly she wrapped one of Ruthy’s cheap imitation black pearl necklaces around her left ankle. The makeshift anklet hung sloppy and low, but she liked it. This, she knew, was an outfit her parents would not like. Not at all, but more and more these were the clothes she liked. She was turning out to be different than her parents, and they did not like it. Stephanie knew she had to be herself. She could not help feeling what she felt, feeling the need to be different from them, wilder, brassier… but confused. Inside, all her parents wanted her to be sometimes held her back. Even now she felt a warm fever creeping up the base of her skull. Last night, she could not deny it, she liked the way Ruthy’s booze made her feel. She liked the way her whole body whispered with secret tremors when she went barefoot. She liked the way boys looked at her. Hard as it was to admit, she might even be getting to like some of Ruthy’s wild, trashy, freaky burnout friends. Yes, even the boys. Looking herself over in the mirror, she liked how she looked, but still couldn’t remember what the hell she had been thinking lending Ruthy her Journey concert jersey. They weren’t her favorite band, but it was the first concert she had ever been to, and she had even, and through an honest mistake, ended up enjoying the concert and long night barefoot. Stephanie giggled. She was so freaked out about going barefoot into the gross toilets in the concert hall that she ended up holding it in all night. But that, too, was worth it. All that had happened just this last spring, and it was her first real challenging outing barefoot. Everyone said they would bust her at the door, so she should take shoes, and after the long walk through the parking lot no one would be in the mood to walk back for her shoes. As it turned out, she ended up stuck shoeless, and best of all she somehow managed to get in without much trouble. She suspected, even then, that the guy working the gate had a thing for barefoot girls, as he stared right at them, froze up and stuttered a little, let her go, and kept glancing over his shoulder while she walked off, taking other tickets as he stared. The concert hall turned her sweet feet positively filthy that night, and her parents were none the wiser. Stephanie grinned. * * * “Stephy,” Ruthy’s mother said, her voice still morning-gravely. Though Joyce Babcock looked tired, haggard, and was smoking like a chimney, an ashtray filled with butts beside her, she smiled. She always had a smile for Stephanie. This smile came across a little funny, and it made Stephanie self-conscious, being a suspicious but playful and knowing smile. “I didn’t know you got up before farmers,” Stephanie laughed. Mrs. Babcock was one of the few adults she felt at ease enough around to tease a little; like a friend. “I didn’t know you did, either,” she smirked. Strangely, Stephanie realized that she not only valued her rare moments alone with Mrs. Babcock, but also might even prefer her company to Ruthy’s. “And I see you’re still barefoot. It’s getting a little cold for that, isn’t it?” she asked, but Stephanie knew that Mrs. Babcock wasn’t scolding so much as she was making conversation. “It is getting a little cold,” she curled her toes up, still standing in the entrance between the living room and kitchen, her heels on the carpet, her toes on the aluminum strip that separated the carpet from the kitchen tile. “You know me, I’m just trying to take advantage of the last decent days.” “I swear, one day you’re going to show up here barefoot in the snow.” “Who knows, I just might,” she giggled. “Have a seat.” Stephanie pulled out a chair. As she wiggled into her seat at the cheap aluminum legged table she wasn’t sure what else to say, not sure how much of what happened last night she could talk about, even to Ruthy’s cool mom. But every time she looked at Stephanie she held onto that peculiar smile, and Stephanie suspected that Mrs. Babcock knew something. Her soles and toes tickled over the dry stickiness and grittiness of the kitchen floor. Especially under the table where she could feel even the minutest of dried up old crumbs as keenly as if they were gravel. And without even looking, rolling her toes over it, she could tell that one of the bits of crud was a very old and very dried up raisin. Even this did not gross her out, as Stephanie realized more and more how much she loved feeling different textures under her bare feet, even slightly nasty ones. For all the pounding and punishment her feet had suffered last night, they felt pretty good. In fact, even earlier as she was getting dressed she realized they looked pretty good too, apart from a few faint pinkish marks. Marks she now wore as badges of honor. “Breakfast?” Mrs. Babcock held out her spatula and prepared to toss in more bacon and eggs. “Yes, please, I’m starving.” Stephanie watched her take a couple of eggs out of the carton before she asked: "Need some help?" "I got it..." Mrs. Babcock replied, taking a draw off of her smoke before cracking the eggs over the side of the skillet. “Long night, huh?” Mrs. Babcock asked with an appreciative but still suspicious look in her eyes. “Just kinda’ weird.” Looking at Ruthy’s mom, she could see how tired she was, how much the alcohol had affected her, more likely how much so many years of crappy work had affected her. Unlike Ruthy, who resented her mom, Stephanie felt sorry for her, even admired her. That said, she in no way wanted to end up like her, working so hard for next to nothing. But in her eyes she always saw an appreciation for whatever she and Ruthy got up to, as if Mrs. Babcock missed her own young and wild ways. Somehow that inspired Stephanie to loosen up more, to enjoy being young despite her parents. In the background, as always, Ruthy’s mom softly played old country music on the radio, Hank Williams, Merle Haggard, Web Pierce, all the same sort of stuff Stephanie grew up hearing around her house. Music she never chose to listen to, but music that felt warm and familiar to her. Music she liked a lot more here than she did at home. Joyce had turned to look at Stephanie from over her shoulder, and looked for the entire world like she was fighting the urge to start grinning. Giving the eggs a flip, she asked: "You like 'em over medium, right?" "Mmm hmmm!" Stephanie smiled closed-lipped and nodded, imagining how tasty all the yoke was going to be sopped up with some toast and bacon, all the while rolling the pebble-like raisin on the floor around under her big toe. Their eyes strangely met again after the question was asked and answered, then Joyce turned back to the frying pan. "Ruthy have you two go around that Dawson boy again last night?" she peeled off a couple strips of bacon. Stephanie cocked her mouth. "What do you think?" Mrs. Babcock turned back to Stephanie. "I don't know why she likes those bad boys...been that way ever since she was little." Stephanie shrugged and rubbed her hands on her thighs. "That boy ain't nothin' but trouble." she paused as she stared blankly at Stephanie. "He's not much of anything..." Stephanie grinned, shooting a glance toward Ruthy's bedroom as if Ruthy might hear her. "So you're not one for trouble...normally...right?" Joyce smiled. "No." Their eyes met again. "You usually stay out of trouble…usually…right?" Joyce smiled again. “Ok, what gives?” Stephanie asked, unable to take all the peculiar looks and suspicious questions. “You have a little trouble with the police last night?” Mrs. Babcock asked, but she asked not at all as her own parents might ask. Mrs. Babcock asked like she wanted to be in on it, not like she wanted to scold her. Stephanie’s heart sunk just the same. “How do you know that?” Bacon now sizzled in the background. “I got a little visit in the wee hours of the morning.” “No way! Shut up!” Stephanie said brightly, blushing. “What did Ruthy get you into? It had to have been her doing...” “Nothing,” Stephanie laughed. “It was more my fault than hers.” “Oh, I’ll bet,” Mrs. Babcock smirked. “You know I love my Ruthy, but she can be a handful.” “We didn’t do anything wrong.” “I know,” and by her tone, Stephanie knew Mrs. Babcock believed her. “What did the police tell you?” “Not much. They mostly wanted to check up on you. Oh, I’ve already fielded three calls from your mother.” Stephanie rolled her eyes. “What did you tell her?” “Not much. You want to call her now?” “No! God no. Please, if they call again just tell them I’m asleep or something, that I’m OK, and all.” “Your parents on your case again?” “Sorta’.” Stephanie sighed and shook her head. “All the time, actually.” Ruthy’s mom soon sat and began divvying up the eggs, bacon, and even pouring coffee for both of them. Stephanie was not allowed coffee at home, and was not about to tell Mrs. Babcock that. “I don’t get your parents,” she huffed, sitting down and snuffing out her cigarette. “Me neither,” said Stephanie in an exhausted tone. She pulled her feet under her chair and wedged the cold aluminum chair legs between the big toes and index toes of both feet, reveling in the feeling of the smooth metal tight against the tender insides of her toes. “You’re a good girl, polite, you get good grades, but they hound you like you were my daughter.” “Tell me about it,” snorted Stephanie, watching Ruthy’s mom fix her coffee, taking cues and fixing hers the same way. “I know, they treat me like the black sheep of the family or something.” “I bet they just hate Ruthy,” laughed Mrs. Babcock. Stephanie blushed. “Well, I’m glad you’re friends with her. She needs a friend like you.” “Thanks.” “So, Ruthy tells me you’re planning on joining the Peace Corps after school?” “I’d like to, but I'm not really sure. I’m thinking about Marine Biology. I love dolphins. But there’s too much math in science,” Stephanie laughed “That, and I’m not exactly the biggest fan of my math teacher right now…” “They’re so smart. At least that’s what everybody says. Dolphins, not math teachers, I mean.” Joyce smiled, chopping her eggs with her fork. “I got to pet one last summer. They feel like rubber.” Stephanie chewed on the bacon. It was cooked crispy, just the way she liked it. She laughed. “Dolphins, I mean… I never petted a math teacher.” Mrs. Babcock laughed. “I just can’t see why your parents can’t see how...I don't know...how good you are.” Stephanie blushed, not at all used to such kind words. “I guess I just didn’t turn out like they hoped,” she said, suddenly feeling warmth in her face, the same warmth she felt everyday when showing up to breakfast in the make-up her dad hates so much. “I don’t know, I guess they wanted me to turn out like my sister.” “Your sister’s a dip-shit,” groaned Mrs. Babcock. “Pardon my French…” she ate a bite of her eggs. Stephanie snorted and tried not to choke on her bacon. “No, really, I mean it.” Joyce added, wiping the edge of her mouth with her napkin. Stephanie took a drink of her coffee. “My parents hate that I go barefoot all over the place.” “Is that all?” she asked, horrified, biting her tongue against revealing what she really thought of Stephanie’s parents. “They think that everything I do, I do to just to bug them. It’s ridiculous.” Again, Mrs. Babcock bit her tongue, trying not to badmouth Stephanie’s parents too badly, David Goddard in particular. “You know I’d let you stay here all you wanted if we had the room?” “Thanks, I know,” nodded Stephanie, peppering her eggs. “Believe me, I wish you had the room,” she laughed. “If you ever need it, the couch is all yours.” “Thanks,” Stephanie dug back into her eggs. Stephanie, now more than ever, wanted to tell Ruthy’s mom everything. She needed to tell someone everything, but it was all too crazy, and in the safe light of morning it all seemed not just crazier, but somehow distant. Then there would be having to explain about the booze and the crazy old stalker that she hadn’t even managed to turn in when she had the chance; the creepy old man who rescued her from being taken home in a police cruiser. Still, even in the light of day, it seemed insane that she hadn’t told the police they were standing right next to him when she had the chance. She thought it was sick that she feared her parents more than him, which was why she ran when she had the chance. None of it made sense to her, not even after a night’s sleep. And since none of it made sense in Stephanie's mind she wondered how she could possibly begin to explain it anyhow. So, she contented herself with merely eating her breakfast, conversing about other things with Joyce, and drinking her coffee. Over the radio she heard the weather and the promise of a sunny and warm day. Stephanie grinned to herself, pleased. After all, this would prove to be the perfect day to go barefoot to school. Not that she had much choice. It seemed that if nothing else, the creepy old man had seen to it that she was stuck shoeless. The phone rang, ripping Stephanie from her thoughts. “Oh no,” she whined, defeated. “That’d be Barbera.” “God, please, please, tell her I’m in bed, I’m OK, and I’ll be going right to school, please!” Mrs. Babcock picked up the phone and Stephanie held her coffee cup with both hands, every muscle tight. “Hello.” Mrs. Babcock listened. “Yes… yes.” She nodded and lulled her head, rolling her eyes. “They’re fine.” She looked at Stephanie. “No, no trouble at all. Stephanie’s never any trouble.” Without even being able to hear a word her mother said, Stephanie felt herself drained just the same. “Oh no, no, I doubt that. You should give Stephy the benefit of the doubt. The police were more worried than angry. The girls are fine and still asleep.” After a final nod, Mrs. Babcock said goodbye and hung up the phone. “So, am I in trouble, or what?” “That couch must be starting to look pretty good about now, huh?” Stephanie rolled her eyes and dug back into her breakfast. 'Too good...' she hated to admit to herself. * * * By far, of all Stephanie’s barefoot outings so far, standing at the bus stop to go to school felt like the strangest. Ruthy was still laughing about it…had been the whole walk to the stop, not even having to say a word about it. Even this fit of laughing wasn’t teasing so much as admiration for Stephanie’s wild abandon. However self-conscious Stephanie felt about it, she never let on, all the way a playful and seductive bounce and wiggle in her step. More excited than usual, and it could have been the coffee as much as her bare feet, Stephanie and Ruthy engaged in more horseplay than usual, Stephanie even managing to shove Ruthy into the —fortunately dry— ditch, Ruthy chasing after her, threatening to kill her, laughing all the while. Stephanie felt lighter than air on her bare feet, and thrilled to each and every barefooted step over the coarse road, gravely roadside, and uneven sidewalks. “You look hot in those pants, Steph,” Ruthy said as she stood a little apart from her friend, staring up the road impatiently, as if she couldn’t wait to get to school. “You should keep them.” “Thanks, and my shirt too… which you freakin’ swiped!” Stephanie reached out and kicked Ruthy with the fleshy undersides of her bare toes. “Thanks a lot, bitch!” Ruthy barked. Quick as that she lashed out, attempting to stomp on Stephanie’s toes. Stephanie skipped back. “God! Now I have to go all day with your dirty footprint on my jeans.” “Oh, big deal,” Stephanie laughed, reaching out and smacking away the dusty toe prints with her own hand. Ruthy’s bus stop sat at the end of a little dirt side street, a street that provided plenty of big rocks to stimulate and dig into Stephanie’s soles. She thought this morning that her delicate boned pale-pink feet looked especially sexy, particularly on the rocks and dirt. The black of the legwarmers showed off her slender, creamy, and white-skinned feet oh so nicely. The promise of good weather showed in the blue of the sky and in the warmth of the sun, but now it was still quite chilly. Stephanie could see her breath; glad she thought to pull on Ruthy’s fake fur half-length jacket before leaving the apartment. All at once, Stephanie felt the hot shiver of realizing she still had a lot of shit to go through. She just knew her parents were going to kill her, and especially after not coming home last night, or even bothering to call. Like the snap of her fingers, she refused to think too much about that, not now. Besides, she couldn’t, not in the glow of the day ahead. Just the same, she could not help but chuckle to herself just imagining their reactions when she showed up at home after going to school without any shoes. ‘They’ll just have to deal with it,’ she thought. The bus slowly rumbled down the street, bulky and graceful as an old cow. During the whole wait for the bus Stephanie’s bare feet tingled wildly, and it felt as if her whole consciousness started from her bare feet and radiated up. As if her brain was located in her feet. Climbing aboard the school bus did nothing but intensify the vivid sensations. Thrilling as finally getting to go to school with no shoes felt, she felt just as glaringly self-conscious about her pale little naked peds. Boarding the bus, she noticed and appreciated the ribbed texture of the rubbery floor and could not help but flinch as more than one pair of eyes shot puzzled looks at her extravagantly naked feet. Right behind Ruthy to the back of the bus she went, to sit with Ruthy’s burnout friends. Simply put, Stephanie could not believe she was doing this, and wanted in the worst way to back out of it now. The rush and worry was too great. She wondered if she could possibly get away with it. Wondered if she could endure all this over-rich tingling all day long. Wondered what everyone would say. Wondered if she would ever forgive herself if she chickened out. Wished everybody would stop looking at her. Looking at her pretty feet. No. She shook it off and smiled. All the self-doubt, all the shame she felt, that was her parents talking, taking over her head. They may well ruin her life after today, probably grounding her for life, but she set her heart on at least enjoying the hell out of this day, no matter how much teasing she endured or how much trouble she got into with the teachers and principal. Then again, who knows, she wondered if her teachers and principal would even bother to make a fuss over it. She didn’t know anything, but she knew this much: so far Ruthy hadn’t said a thing about her going to school barefoot, had only laughed and looked. Stephanie knew that was all about to change. The nearer she got to Ruthy’s gang, the more she knew which Ruthy would come out. Brash, teasing Ruthy would sadly replace cool, interesting Ruthy. Stephanie dreaded what she knew she had coming. And she would probably have it coming all day long. To Be Continued... |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira Oct 5 2006, 12:52 AM |
| Barefoot Black Sheep Part 1 * Chapter 8 By: Dennis Crabapple McClain & Lou Gojira ~Interlude~ Tommy braced himself up against the back of the cab, half holding onto the cooler that sat next to him, and tried to organize his thoughts. He felt his adrenaline rush slowly ebbing away, and now he started to realize just how much he was shivering, more scared than freezing from the night's wind as Robbie sat up front and drove like a maniac through the streets, though he hated to admit to himself that he was afraid in any way. 'Who the hell was that old man?' he'd constantly come back to wondering, in between other kinds of thoughts. Thoughts consisting of: 'Did the old man know something?' 'Why did he eye my pocket and threaten the way he did?' 'What was that ‘pawn’ shit all about?' And those eyes...those eerie, white-light, glowing eyes... which led into other kinds of thoughts, like: 'Was the old man possessed by a demon?' 'Was he Satan himself?' 'Am I goin' to hell for what I did?!' 'Was he after my soul?!' Tommy looked down and found that he was clutching his heart, so he began to stiffen every muscle he had, trying to force his self to stop shaking and shivering. Needless to say, it didn't work. He'd resent the fact that he was so rattled, rattled by a feeble old man no less, but then get caught up in his troubled thoughts all over again. To make matters worse, his mind really started doing a number on him by flashing every unnerving scene he'd ever saw in a horror movie, every unsettling album cover he'd looked at, even certain lines from every hellfire and damnation sermon he was forced to sit through as a kid played in his head. He got so wrapped up in his thoughts and masochistic mind torture that he wound up in a numbed over stupor. So blank-eyed and indifferent was Tommy in all of this that he didn't notice Robbie swinging the truck into a gas station and screeching to a halt. Robbie was no doubt struggling with his own imaginative ideas and mental terrors, but at the moment had his act a whole lot more together than Tommy. He leapt out of the cab of the truck and into the phone booth he'd parked in front of, thankful that the station itself was closed and nobody was around to see the big piss stain that darkened the front of his pants. His hands were shaking pretty badly, but he'd managed to steady them long enough to dial 911, and calm his nerves down just enough to know what to say when they answered. Regardless, when the operator picked up, his voice still came out loud and excited. "Police department!" That brought Tommy down from his thoughts like a gun going off, and he instantly jumped over the side of the truck and shot his way into the phone booth. "Stupid motherfucker!" he yelled, shoving Robbie into the corner with the palm of his fist while landing his other hand down on the button in the cradle. "What're you callin' the cops for?!" "You outta’ your fuckin' head?! You saw it too!" Robbie screamed back, trying to manage a defensive tone but only getting a girlish-shrill out of his voice. Maybe Tommy was going to pound him now that they were back on solid ground for his almost taking off and leaving him, Robbie began to fear, finally realizing he was guilty of just that, being too scared to notice earlier. Tommy on the other hand had another train of thought. It just started to dawn on him that he hadn't clued Robbie in what he had in mind that night, and to get all nutso over the cops being called would most likely blow his cover. Not that he ever worried about Robbie being some kind of rat, but he figured that the less others knew, even though nothing wound up happening, the better. Unlike a year ago, when he involved Robbie in a plan like he had tonight, when he talked it out in the beginning and followed through most efficiently, he was keeping this most recent plan to himself, and thinking he'd spring it at the last minute when he actually needed Robbie's help. He held his hands up, palms out: "Call 'em if you got to. Just don't give up our names." If he had thought about it, Tommy would've realized that what he was about to do was an unnecessary step to take. However, Tommy wasn't the type of guy to really be guided by better judgment before, and he wasn't necessarily going to start now. Rather, he had a basic idea, and he was letting his instinctual whims take hold for the time being. He turned and left the phone booth as Robbie started re-dialing, and getting caught up in his paranoid and clustered, convoluted thoughts all over again, started heading back behind the station where he figured the Dumpster would be. Spotting that big fat Dumpster, he gripped the handle of the little door on the side, gave it a tug, and eased it on open, grinding it on the rusty track. As expected, the thing was stuffed with tied garbage bags and stank to high heaven, but that wasn't about to bother him. He cast a concentrated look all around him, and when he knew he was safe from leering eyes, he commenced to pull the knife out of his coat pocket. He held that long, sharp butcher knife with his finger tips and eyed it differently now, way more different than he'd viewed it earlier. When he took the knife from the woman's house, he saw it as a means to an end. Now, he saw it as a one-way ticket to hell had he used it. His whole body convulsed with a head to toe shiver when he remembered how the old man seemed to know it was on him, and cast those frightening, demonic eyes at his pocket. Tommy stretched the front of his shirt out and wiped the handle and blade as clean of his fingerprints as he thought possible, and using a hand gloved with a coat pocket he let the knife drop with a muffled thump into the Dumpster. It would be hours later when he'd see what a futile and useless precaution that was, but for the moment it really helped him to get a grip on his nerves. He almost wished the old man saw him getting rid of the knife, like the old guy's nod of approval would've been as good as getting laid...getting laid by HER. He imagined that sexy older woman being there and whispered: "Find somebody else, I'm through..." Robbie was trying his best to convince the person on the other end of the line that he wasn't on drugs or crazy when Tommy went strolling back up to see him. "I'm not makin' this up Goddamn it!" Robbie shrieked, then a paused for a second "His eyes DID glow!" another pause "He could be chasin' those girls down right now!" the operator must've said something else, and then "No this ain't a joke Goddamnit!" Robbie's eyes grew wider "Huh? Yeah?" and then he was furious "Really? Well I think there IS a Goddamn reason for the Goddamn language!" Tommy could almost hear the click on the other end from where he was standing "Hello?! HELLO!" Robbie slammed the phone down, a reverberating ring softly droned from the impact. "Fuckin' stupid pig bitch!" he huffed as he turned back around. "You feel better now?" Tommy asked, almost high in his sudden relief and wanting to joke around to nurse the feeling along. "You bein' a good citizen Piss-pants?" "Man-!" Robbie tried hopelessly to pull his jacket down to cover the front of his pants. "Man, fuck you! Who was that guy anyway?! What'd he want?!" Robbie's nerves seemed to be worse since his call to the police. "How the fuck should I know?" Tommy answered a little irritated with Robbie's frazzled state, not remembering how he himself was worse off nerve-wise just a minute ago. "You didn't give my last name, right?" "Tommy...Goddamn it..." Robbie sputtered, wide-eyed. "That guy could still be after the girls! Why're you worried about the fuckin' cops?! We didn't do nothin'!" Tommy almost envied Robbie in how easily he forgot about things. The incident a year ago was still fresh in Tommy's head, unlike Robbie's, who seemed to phase it out and completely forget about it. Tommy still had a huge well of paranoia over that, not to mention the jail time he was looking at if he flubbed up even once, already being in trouble so much down through the years. "Me and the police don't get along, okay?! Now, did you give my last name?!" "I gave the girls' full names. I just told our first names..." Tommy closed his eyes and shook his head slowly, disgusted at Robbie's ignorance or even his deathly "need" to call the police to begin with, but thankful that neither one should be getting a visit from the police at their homes anytime soon for further questioning. "Good." he said bluntly, then wondered if the girls would be willing to volunteer names if they got questioned. "Who the hell was that guy?!" Robbie asked, looking around as if the old man was going to run up on them there in the gas station parking lot. He was very obviously still tensed, with no signs of calm or serenity in sight. "What guy?" Tommy folded his arms. "The guy who-"Robbie started in disbelief over Tommy's question. Tommy interrupted and repeated: "What guy?" He kept his arms folded and hoped Robbie would take the hint. Robbie's face flushed with anger. "Fuck man, why you wanna do this?!" He stomped away a few steps, then came right back. "He's after those girls! He's prob'ly after us now!" "Who?" Tommy asked, knowing it would get Robbie's goat and not really caring. "Don't do me like this!" Robbie gave Tommy a shove. Tommy stumbled back a step, but came back with a punch, connecting it with Robbie's mouth, then followed through, using the same arm, and put an elbow to his jaw. Robbie twirled and hit the ground side-ways, cupping his mouth, but before he could get his footing and stand back up, Tommy was on top of him, pinning him by his shirt and jacket. "Look chicken-shit, you wanna get thrown into Our Lady of fuckin' Peace?! That's where you're goin' if you keep talkin' crazy shit! Calm down you fuckin' faggot!" "But the girls..." Robbie whined, a string of blood oozing out of the corner of his mouth, his anger suddenly cooling and turning back into fear. "The girls didn't see his eyes, alright?!" Tommy gave him a final shove against the ground as he let him go, as if to enforce his point. He stood and straightened his jacket out, then ran a hand through his hair. "Far as I'm concerned, fuck the girls! Let them worry about it, it's not our shit to worry about!" "But he said..." Robbie whined again, pushing himself up and looking at the asphalt between his hands. "Yeah, I heard him. 'Stay away from her.' Good enough for me!" Tommy started back to the truck. "But who? Water or Stephanie?" Robbie asked, standing and brushing himself off. "Who cares?" Tommy shrugged. "We drop 'em both. That a problem for you?" he fished his cigarettes out and put one in his mouth. "Not really..." Robbie answered as he spit and wiped his mouth while both of them climbed into the truck. Tommy patted his jacket for his lighter, then reached over and pushed in the truck's lighter when he gave up searching. "Stephanie's kinda' cool..." Robbie said as he turned the key. Tommy gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "Bitch is weird." Robbie looked at Tommy for a second, and then put the truck into gear. "Got a nice body though." He pulled the truck around and back into the road, driving a lot less reckless this time. "I don't know what's up with her not wearin' shoes." He dabbed at his mouth with the back of his hand. "Who cares?" Tommy said, his face glowing orange as he lit his cigarette. He popped the lighter back into the dash. "Just leave her alone. Plenty more pussy to be had... I'll hook you up." Robbie grinned as he kept his eyes on the road. Tommy has hooked him up before, he reflected all over again, suddenly filled with shame that this was the same Tommy he had the nerve to shove in the parking lot. "So you forget about 'em?" Tommy asked, his hand poised up in the air. "Forget about who?" Robbie beamed, and then clapped a hand into Tommy's. Things were going to be alright, he figured. Tommy was a friend with connections, no denying that, and he had a way of smoothing things over. Tommy always smoothed things over. Robbie would never question Tommy again. The fear he had of Tommy a little earlier was turning back into idolization, and the cut in his mouth would heal soon enough. They rode in silence for a few minutes, then Robbie asked: "Speakin' of pussy, when are you gonna hook me up with that older chick?" Tommy seemed to freeze for a second in the darkness. "Glad you mentioned her. Think you could drop me off over there?" "For the night?" Robbie shot a glance at him, then licked the taste of blood from his bottom lip. "Like my slut of a mom is gonna miss me." Tommy sniggered. "Yeah, for the night." "Skippin' out on school since tomorrow's Friday huh?" Robbie smiled. "You are the fuckin' man!" He then laughed, thinking he'd pull a no-show himself now that Tommy was going to do it. "I heard them older women can really fuck." He waited for Tommy to verify that, but all he got was silence. "She easy enough? You gotta introduce me to her." "I think you should change pants 'fore I do." Tommy laughed. Robbie's face burned with embarrassment, but he knew Tommy wasn't going to tell anybody about his little urinary mishap. That'd involve bringing up the situation Tommy and he both were going to forget. Oh yeah...things were going to be alright...Robbie knew he may get teased in private by Tommy over his accident, his nerves shot all to hell causing it in the first place, but it would go no further. Tommy seemed to know what he was doing...forget it and it never happened. Simple enough. Robbie had a deep longing for a nice cold beer right about then... * * * "Yes, that's fine..." Mrs. Thompson said into the phone to Stephanie's worried mother. "No problem at all..." she added, not able to help but give an eye-roll at listening to the woman's worrisome and over-protective prattling over her daughter. "Like I say, she just left out of here a few minutes ago, and those shoes were on her feet..." she lied, on both accounts. Mrs. Thompson was wearing her bath robe, completely naked underneath, sitting with her leg in the chair and idly fingering in-between her own bare toes. "She should be home any minute now-" she said, way past impatient with the conversation and letting her foot drop back to the floor with a thump"-so I'm gonna call it a night myself." She hoped Stephanie's mother would take that as a hint to not call her back. No matter, either way she planned to unplug the phone after she hung up anyway. "Okay...alright...yes...okay..." she pressed the balls of her feet into the floor and gripped the phone tighter, trying not to let her annoyance show in her voice as Barbera Goddard got a few more sentences in. Eventually, Mrs. Thompson was able to say: "You have a good night too...okay...b'bye." She waited until she heard Stephanie's mom hang up first before she smacked the receiver down, then pulled the wire out of the wall with an angry huff. Mrs. Thompson's heart picked up pace as her thoughts came back into focus and she got back to what she was doing. She left the room in a hurry and stopped by the bathroom mirror one more time, having already bathed, perfumed her whole body, and applied a most impressive make-up job to her already attractive face. She'd turn her head slowly to the left and then to the right, making sure all the eye-liner, eye-shadow, blush, and lip-stick was right where she wanted it to be, half-way marveling in her work. 'Old girl's still got it...' she thought with a grin. She padded her lovely bare feet; freshly applied fiery-red polish quickly drying on her nails, back through the house and to the kitchen sink. She looked down and eyed the now cold cup of tea that Stephanie so meticulously doctored and didn't even get around to sipping that first drink. Mrs. Thompson gave it a snort and thought 'Little airhead doesn't even know what she wants...' then poured it out, listening to the trickle softly echo on down the drain. 'She could've at least got her last drink in.' Leah thought, but no great loss she figured, things would most likely get taken care of tonight, and hopefully sooner than later. When everything was complete, he would drop by, she knew, and that's why she made herself up the way she did. That boy may be a cold-blooded killer, a real psychopath in training, but Mrs. Thompson knew how to channel all that rage he was perpetually brimming over with. Very simple really; just inflate what little self-esteem he had by saying all the right things, being a sort of mother to him, then giving him what all young and sexually frustrated men constantly craved, being a temporary lover; a formula for control that she figured out all too easily, and had no qualms with carrying out. The result? One young, dumb, and full of cum tool more than ready and more than willing to meet the goal, practically guaranteeing her safety if anything should go wrong. He was already a "troubled youth" the authorities would figure, and he had the track record to back it up and then some. She would just stick to her story, not that she would have much to worry about either way. That other girl, whose name Mrs. Thompson couldn't quite remember, the one she had taken care of a year ago, using the same means no less, was a mistake. She acknowledged that now, and it was a most unfortunate thing to have happened, to a degree anyway, though nothing that really bothered her very deeply. She wasn't absolutely certain that this latest target, one she'd already befriended and gotten to know relatively well, this Stephanie girl, was it either, but there was one glaring indication too blatant to ignore... the constant and obsessive barefooting, even in this cold weather. Mrs. Thompson failed to do all the homework she should've done before where the other girl was concerned, but she watched this Stephanie for a while and calculated the odds. She had to be it, she figured, wishing she could get a completely solid indication just to be totally sure. She slipped out the sliding doors, onto her patio, savoring the November chill of the concrete on her bare soles and the coolness of the night wind that seeped in through her robe and onto her bare, lovely body, and made her way right to the milk box. Before she could even begin to lift the lid, those all too familiar notes of Beethoven's Fifth issued forth and she jumped with a startle. ‘Damn, that was quick,’ she thought as she went back inside, resigning herself to be content with the little bits of saliva she was able to obtain from the tea cup Stephanie usually drank from, or any of the other items she managed to snag from and by Stephanie, drawing all sorts of half-conclusions from them. Mrs. Thompson saw the taillights of Robbie's truck disappearing down the road as she opened the door for Tommy to come inside. She had to admit it to herself, he was an attractive enough young man, scruffy and unkempt as he was, and she started getting eager for the "reward ceremony" she was about to bestow on him. "It's over..." Tommy began, trying to get his words lined up before he continued speaking. Mrs. Thompson shushed him, placing an index finger on his lips as she guided him by his shoulder completely inside to close both doors. "Don't talk about it. I know it's never easy." She took him by his hands and walked backward, leading him to her couch. She sat down, folding a leg up under her as she sat, and gave his arms a tug. He sat down beside her and she was already rubbing his cheek and chest, leaning into him. "You didn't have any notice really..." she cooed, gripping at the carpet with her toes, her bare leg poised, bent and flexed at a very seductive angle. "But I'm glad you called and told me..." she kissed his ear. "Things fell in place and we had to move..." she worked her kisses around his cheek and down to his lips. Tommy pulled away. "No. I'm finished with-" She cut him off by pulling his face to meet hers, locking her lips over his mouth. She pushed her tongue against his lips, working it inside. He seemed distant at first, but reciprocated the kiss eventually. She leaned back with a smile, her lips making a light smacking sound as she pulled them off. "I love the way your mouth tastes after you smoke." Tommy fidgeted and adjusted his excited manhood that painfully pressed against his jeans. "See, I--" "I do see,” she giggled. "You are very happy to see me." "No, see, I'm finished with--" he sputtered, finding it harder to think the more excited he got. "I trust your judgment Baby,” she said as she lifted her leg and put it across his waist, drawing it back to where her foot grazed his cock through his jeans. "I know you're finished or you wouldn't be here. Now let's not talk about it." She laid completely back now and placed both feet on him as he sat there, one still on his crotch, the other now on his face, and exposing her beauteously trimmed bush. All prior thought and intention vanished from Tommy's head. He was taking his jacket and shirt off without realizing it, and flinging both across the room as he went to undo his belt. Jimi got hit with the shirt, Janis got hit with the jacket, and ol' Mr. Garcia and the boys were probably going to get brunt of the rest of Tommy's discarded clothes. Now naked and trembling with joy, every drop of blood draining into his already red and swollen member, he bent forward onto Mrs. Thompson as she laid there, placing his hands on the inner parts of her thighs, moving them up to her belly to catch the belt of the robe from underneath. He separated his hands and in so doing untied her robe, letting it fall wide open to see Mrs. Thompson's older, yet very tongue-wagging hot and sexy body. She was so beautiful, he marveled as his animalistic lust took control of him, savoring the softness of her skin and the warmth she exhumed as she got more worked up her own self. She smelled great, she looked even better...he wanted to devour her...and he promptly did. She pressed and dug her nails into his scalp, catching long strands of his hair between her fingers as she kept his face planted in her sopping wet quim, boiling hotter than a fever as his tongue lapped her juice like a dehydrated dog laps from a water dish. He had gotten better at using his tongue, and she took notice, getting lost in her abandon. He had probably gotten better at a lot of things, and he was welcome to illustrate all those fruits of her "coaching" to her most thoroughly after she coaxed him off of her and they made their way to her bed. He carried her, most romantically, to that bed, her wrapping her arms around his neck and eating his face along the way. Mrs. Thompson was almost wishing her body were younger, more full of energy than it seemed to have, just to keep up with Tommy once they were situated on top of the sheets. And once they were both on the bed, he couldn't stop! After going through several motions that even she was surprised and impressed by, he then seemed determined to throw the tail of his spine right through his pelvis as he solidly and ruthlessly pounded her. Having her legs bent up in a missionary position, she pressed her reddening soles against his sweaty chest as her head bounced and thumped against the headboard. Her breasts swirled like water balloons as she reached up to grab the pillow under her head, clawing and clutching at it, squeezing her eyes shut and sticking her erect tongue straight out of her moaning mouth. Tommy's eyes stayed fixed on Mrs. Thompson's tits. They were a little saggy, but full and shaped oh so fine, and her stiff nipples poked out sharp like darts, cutting the air in circular patterns as he jack-hammered her strong, wet cunt. He bit into his bottom lip as he looked up to see her mouth, all glossy and lusciously full with lipstick; how her tongue snaked in and out and how her lips seemed to swell when she'd moan a certain way, making a nice and attractive "O" shape. He was starting to get an idea...of maybe putting “himself” in that mouth and humping that pretty made-up face. He wanted those lips on him so bad. Those luscious, red, shiny...who the hell is that?! Out the window over the top of the bed, through the tiny area where the shade wasn't drawn, looked to be somebody passing by in her backyard. As soon as Tommy tried to take a second look they were gone. That build... the dark figure looked strangely familiar. He looked back at Mrs. Thompson and forgot about what was happening in the backyard, pounded away for a little bit more, then a yellow and orange kind of glow caught his eye. He slowed up in what he was doing and looked out on her lawn again. Something was glowing from the back porch... Just then Mrs. Thompson bent forward and gripped both cheeks of his ass, clawing right into the flesh. "Oh don't stop!" she screamed. He obliged, most happily, writing the glow off as some weird porch light she must've had on the patio. * * * Tommy was sitting in the middle of Mrs. Thompson's living room floor the next morning, in front of her television set, wearing nothing but his jeans and socks, a huge bowl of Grape Nuts resting in his lap, and seeing what he could of "The Little Rascals" through half-crusted and sleep-watery eyes. He sat close to the television so he wouldn't have to turn it up too loud to hear it, almost out of character courteous for him as he tried not to wake Mrs. Thompson up, as she was still snoozing away back in the bedroom. He thought he'd be snoozing along with her, but hunger had woke him up a lot earlier than he intended, and he hated that since he was skipping out on school that day anyway and rather wanted to sleep in, still wrapped in her arms. He only half paid attention to the show because he was caught up in his reflections of the night before, particularly the "reward" Mrs. Thompson gave him even though he did nothing to earn it. He burned that old girl up, he thought with a grin, a little bit sore himself from all she did for his pleasure as well. He figured he'd only gotten a couple of hours of sleep tops, because they went for it all night long, him having stopped counting the number of times he'd cum after the third time. Even though Mrs. Thompson was twice his age, old enough to be his mother (which wasn't exactly a pleasant thought for Tommy, so he ignored that aspect), there was no denying that she was one major missile-twister, practically destroying and putting to shame any and every other girl, most of them being much closer to his own age, he'd ever taken a roll in the sheets with. Robbie could rub his little want spot when it came to this one, Tommy thought, no way in hell was he sharing her. "Enjoying the TV Baby?" Tommy jumped at Mrs. Thompson's voice popping out of nowhere. He turned and saw her sauntering up to him smiling, naked, hair messy, make-up smeared like mad, yet having an early morning effervescence that made his heart pound as he looked at her. She crouched down next to him, her knees popping as she bent. "I see you found the cereal." "All you got is health food around here." he smiled, and then leaned side-ways to peck her on the lips. "Why don't you come back to bed...?” she softly said to him, playing with the back of his hair. He pulled his head away, her fingers sending an unwelcome tingle down his back. "I dunno..." "Everything's going to be okay Sweetie." she rubbed her hand up and down his bare, arched back. "You took care of everything, right? I noticed that you didn't even bring my good knife back." Tommy remained tight-lipped, figuring that knife to be on its way to the city dump along with the rest of the trash in that Dumpster right about then. "Baby, don't feel bad about anything, okay? I had my reasons for wanting her gone, and I'll explain it all to you in good time..."she planted a kiss on his shoulder. "...When you'll be able to understand." Tommy's stomach knotted as he let his arms go limp, staring down at the bowl of cereal and knowing he had to tell the truth all too soon. Mrs. Thompson stood back up and stretched her arms over her head behind him, feeling her back relieved with the motion. "Come take a shower with me..." She lifted a leg and teased his side with her bare toes, wiggling them and tickling him just below his ribs. His nervousness was beginning to rise as he uncomfortably laughed. "That's okay,” he said, lightly smacking her foot off of him, then turning his attention back to the TV. "Are you regretting anything?" she stared at the back of his head, starting to get annoyed as she was feeling the tiny stings of his not-so-subtle rejections. "Nope." he blankly answered. She kept staring for a minute, trying to figure out the best thing to say next. "She really liked me...I'm going to miss her too. Is that what's bothering you?" "Naw." he turned and said, then went back to the show. "Are you lying to me?" she put her hands on her curved hips, turning a bare foot to the side. "No. You say you actually know Stephanie?" he turned in his seating to look up at her. Mrs. Thompson closed her eyes, annoyed that he used the target's name, preferring him to avoid that, not using her name and acknowledging Stephanie as a person. "I did. Why?" Tommy stood and set the cereal bowl on the coffee table. "Then keep on knowin' her." "What are you..." she froze as the realization hit. She tried to say something, but all her mouth did was sputter. "I'm through with that shit." he said, and reached down for his shirt. Pulling it on over his head, he added: "I have my reasons..." then he said with a sarcastic smirk working onto his mouth "...and I'll explain them when you'll be able to understand." Her face twisted and flushed with rage. "You little cock sucking shit! You lying little bastard! Oh-!" "Hey, don't be mad." he grabbed his shoes and flopped down on her couch. "We can still see each other..." he started pulling on one of his high tops. "Just get somebody else to do her." He tied the laces and started pulling his other shoe on. "Do her yourself for all I care, but I'm through." Mrs. Thompson turned away, her breathing flustered and heavy, louder than she intended. Tommy was still very nervous, but he found his jacket on the floor and started putting his arm through one of the sleeves, figuring he'd better fly before she really exploded on him. He was in no mood to get bitched out this early in the morning. "See ya,” he said, putting his other arm through and walking toward the door. She put a hand out and grabbed his shoulder, and Tommy rolled his eyes, not facing her, thinking she was going to start crying or pull some kind of needy girlie shit on him, begging him not to go or whatever. Her grip tightened so strong and so fast though that he felt his arm being lifted with his jacket. When he turned to look at her, his heart stopped. She was already illuminated a bluish tint from the television's glow in the dark living room, but her eyes radiated a very bright white light, shining through the locks of blonde and white hair that hung before them and even casting his shadow on the wall. Down the street old widow Miss Conners was just finishing pouring her cats' pie-pan sized dish full of little fish-shaped kitty kibbles, and then grabbed their water dish to take back inside for a refill. Mr. Whiskers and Patches snaked around her legs and butted their heads up against them, meowing their thanks and approval before making their way to the food dish. She contemplated whether or not it was cold enough to start letting them come inside during the day when she heard something...somewhere around the old hippie woman's house a ways up the street, maybe even behind it, she heard what sounded like a scream. She just shook her head and went back inside, mumbling to herself: "They'd party all night long if you let 'em, them damn hippies..." ~End of Interlude~ To Be Continued... |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira Oct 7 2006, 12:33 AM |
| Barefoot Black Sheep Part 1 * CHAPTER 9 By: Dennis Crabapple McClain & Lou Gojira After suffering over which seat to sit in, claiming a seat second from the back, Stephanie felt a sensation like stepping into an air conditioned shop after a long hot walk in the sun. Smiling, she welcomed this sudden sense of clarity. Her head, at least for these few fleeting moments, was strangely clear of the sensible, plodding, dull voice of her parents. And all at once she knew what it felt like to be free to feel what she wanted to feel. Free to be free long enough to finally be herself. Free to enjoy the breezy bliss of being barefoot in the most unlikely place of all… the school bus. Not just free either, but brave. She felt brave for finally doing something she never thought possible. But here she was, going barefoot to school, and right now her pink-faced grin showed that to Stephanie anything seemed possible. Maybe even, if she dared stick to her guns, maybe even happiness was possible. Of course, in the wake of her silent and feeling footsteps she left a ripple of giggling, sniggering, and snideness all inspired by and aimed at her brazenly bared feet. Self-conscious as a girl could be, she nonetheless enjoyed a private and puzzling reverie in attracting so much attention for simply being herself. The freak-chick wannabe sitting on the window side looked nervously away when Stephanie caught her staring at her feet. Stephanie flashed the girl a smile, then turned back to Ruthy, sitting right in the back with three scruffy-haired freak boys, all of them smelling stale as two-day dirty ashtrays; Ruthy included. This was not Stephanie’s usual bus and she felt as if she had been dropped into another planet. She was thankful for the familiar cackle of Ruthy’s showy laugh. “So that’s the barefoot chick,” said one of the boys Ruthy busily worked so hard to impress, “Robbie mentioned you.” “Yeah, I’m her,” Stephanie grinned, pleased that she found herself feeling far more proud than embarrassed of her bare feet. She felt like she might finally be shaking off most of the bullshit her parents were instilling in her. “What’s up, you pregnant or something?” he looked around and laughed in a way that obviously craved approval. His crooked and jagged teeth showed under his bad teenage-mustached lip. “Yeah, and she’s in the kitchen too, asshole!” Ruthy snapped back as the bus rolled along. Stephanie smiled; surprised that Ruthy would actually leap to her defense, especially in reference to her problematic bare feet. “Yeah, shut up, asshole,” said one of the other boys, the much cuter one, a certain boy Stephanie had seen around and secretly hoped on occasion would come around the gang more often. A tallish young buck; with longish and unkempt dark hair, he leaned in towards Stephanie’s seat. “Don’t mind him, he’s like some retard we hang out with just to be nice.” “Hey! Screw you!” the boy sneered back; his teeth looking like the rusted edge of a broken chainsaw. “Fuck you, man, I don’t need you,” he said towards the window. The dark-haired boy rolled his eyes and shot a chuckle at Stephanie, looking into her eyes. “Hey, don’t listen to them, bare feet are the coolest. I’m John.” John. She already knew his name, but didn’t let on. “I’m Stephanie. Thanks.” Turning around in her seat, leaning suggestively close to him as the back of the seat between them would allow, Stephanie smiled, stunned to a simple warm contentment at these little shows of support. Hoping he noticed, she reached around behind her and let her fingers rest across her foot. “Are you poor or something?” asked the girl next to her, the seemingly stupid comment distracting Stephanie from her flirtation. “Huh?” Stephanie shook her head. “No, no, I’m not ‘poor.’” Stephanie chuckled. She shifted in her seat, keeping one foot pulled up within reach, her fingers resting on the underside of her dusty toes, the toes of her other foot she planted on the vinyl floor, feeling the grind of the bus through every delicate bone. “It’s gettin’ kinda cold, isn’t it?” the girl asked. "It’s no big deal." Stephanie shrugged, growing irritated with this girl already. Her mood hovered, not sure what to make of this girl and her questions, not sure if she was being made fun of or not. In the hopes of a rescue from this annoying game of twenty questions, Stephanie turned to Ruthy, but found her too busy in her usual roughhouse style of flirtation to rescue her. “I’m Jessie,” the girl said. Realizing that Ruthy was not about to interrupt her awkward mating ritual, and once Stephanie got a good look at Jessie, she saw a lost innocence in her eyes that set Stephanie at ease. Turning back around in her seat, “I’m Stephanie,” she said. Everything about Jessie emanated a nervous kind of need to be liked, and Stephanie now realized this girl in no way meant to make fun of her. The lost look in Jessie’s eyes made her look at least a year or class younger, though Stephanie didn’t know for sure. But Jessie wasn’t unattractive, even cute in a strange and distant sort of way. She had dirty-coppery red hair that Stephanie suspected came from too many hair color changes, and a slight overbite that pursed her lips out into a perpetual pout...not to mention round little ears that poked out at an angle from under her long hair, giving her a sort of "Bambi" or "elfish" kind of look that even Stephanie thought cute in a child-like way. “You have shoes, right?” Jessie asked. “Oh yeah, I have ‘em, I just don’t like ‘em.” “Me too,” the girl named Jessie said. Stephanie noticed the poor girl’s trapped toes wiggling around inside the canvas shoes. “I went barefoot all summer around the house.” “Cool.” Stephanie kept her impending eye-roll in check. 'Around the house...what do you want, a blue ribbon?' she thought sarcastically, though she found herself already warming up to this nice little girl. “Hey!” called out a kid from four rows up. “Are you so stoned—burnout—that you forgot your shoes?” Every kid who heard laughed, even Ruthy, and those that hadn’t heard were turning around in their seats to find out what was going on and who had said what to whom. The bus filled with breezy and nosey whispering. “Yeah, that’s exactly it,” Stephanie sneered. “Wanna see the track-marks between my toes?” Clutching her big toe, she held her foot out and up, all her toes spread wide. “Are you a hippie? Peace, man!” another kid shouted to a riot of laughter that even drowned out the screeching of the brakes. So much so that the bus driver shouted for everyone to settle down. All the laughing chinked the eggshell armor of Stephanie’s pride and good mood. If this was going to be the tone of the day, she doubted she was up to it. She doubted how much fun this would be after all. After a few last stops the bus groaned and lurched up the long inclined drive leading to the front of the school. “Oh fuck!” Ruthy chuckled. “Stephanie, what the fuck is that?” Ruthy leaned in towards Stephanie from one seat back and across the aisle. “What? What?” Stephanie asked, caught up in a sudden panic. “Oh shit, you are so fucked!” “What?” barked Stephanie, amused panic showing in her face. “It’s your mom!” Ruthy pointed. “Shut up! It is not!” Stephanie cried in disbelief, about to pray that this was some sort of bad joke, but as the blood drained from her face, she feared it was extremely likely. Turning, looking out the window, there she was, Mom Goddard herself, like some bloated and wicked poltergeist, standing ten feet from the door of the school, her hawk-eyes scanning every kid that left every bus. “Oh fuck,” Stephanie whined, sinking in her seat and feeling a hotter than hell panic swelling up inside her, a hot panic punctuated by lightning flashes of icy cold. Not just her mother, but her mother clutching a change of clothes and Stephanie’s only other pair of sneakers, and worst yet, Stephanie’s "Little Miss Perfect" middle-school jock of a sister Angela. “Oh…oh ho,” Ruthy groaned, shaking her head. “God, Steph, I would NOT want to be you right now.” Stephanie pulled herself into a ball, the backsides of her curled toes pressed into the cheap vinyl of the seat back in front of her. Shaking her head in disbelief, Stephanie felt again that fingernails-on-the-blackboard sensation in her naughty little naked feet. “Oh God, I’m gonna be sick,” she muttered while Ruthy groaned and chuckled behind her. “Shut up, this isn’t funny. I am so screwed.” “I’m not sure ‘screwed’ covers it.” Outside the bus kids scuttled around —kids who weren’t doomed like Stephanie— like a swarm of ants blissfully undisturbed by the monolithic and unmoving doom radiating off Stephanie’s mother. Its not that Stephanie didn’t know this was coming; her bowels still tightened, and yet part of her felt relieved that at the very least this inevitable confrontation would soon be over. When her conspicuously and scandalously bared feet hit the pavement as she stepped off the bus, Stephanie could almost taste the concrete through her soles. The chill dew in the grass just beyond the pavement only heightened the sensation of having inappropriately naked feet. Her mother’s eyes fixed on Stephanie instantly, boring and scraping into her like screws being driven into petrified wood. A grim look sat twisted on her mother’s red face, twisting her face into a wrinkled mask. Stephanie’s mortified little sister rolled her eyes, appalled that her sister was so weird and trashy. “What did we tell you about this?” her mother asked through clenched teeth. “Mom!” Stephanie hissed past her clenched teeth, noticing every kid around her giving wide berth to the scene but staring and pointing as they passed the spectacle that it was. Some of the kids weren’t content to point and pass, but just had to stand around grinning, in particular a group of jocks that stood back all puffed up, laughing, smug in their “normalcy”. “What did we tell you?” her mother repeated, as usual, her teeth sunk and locked into this like a bulldog with a bone. “Not here!” Stephanie cried, feeling herself crumpling up from the inside out. “Yes, here.” “You told me not to go out barefoot,” Stephanie mumbled towards the grass, choking back tears. She turned back for Ruthy’s support, but found her conspicuous in her absence. Turning back towards her mother, Stephanie noticed Ruthy as she slipped in through the front doors, stealing a passing glance back at Stephanie as she went in, as obviously embarrassed by this scene as Stephanie herself. “God, you’re so weird!” her sister hissed, beet red, her eyes averted from every stare of all the older high school kids. It humiliated her to even be seen in this scenario. “Shut up, squirt!” Stephanie hissed. “Don’t talk to your sister like that!” her mother spat. Stephanie’s jaw dropped at the usual and obvious favoritism, which she never could get used to despite all the times it ever happened. “But, she started—“ “—I said no,” her mother said with blind and stubborn certainty. “Young lady, you have never been in so much trouble.” “Young lady…’” smirked the jocks. "Cuppa' tea m' young lady?" one of the jocks elaborated in a shrill voice as he mocked, more laughter issuing forth from the crowd. Unhindered by anyone outside of her tunnel vision, Mrs. Goddard stared right at Stephanie, looking her over, horrified by everything she saw: the make-up, the torn and skin-tight jeans and equally snug T-shirt, and of course, the bare feet and strangely purple nail polish on her toes. “You are not going in there like that. You look like a… a… prostitute!” “Prostitute!” sniggered another jock, to gales of laughter. "I wouldn't fuck that shit for free..." another one groused in a lower voice as the laughter ebbed out. It felt like a swarm of black hornets suddenly filled Stephanie’s head. Each hornet a thought or feeling so fast and sharp with stingers that Stephanie couldn’t clutch onto one of them long enough to turn them into words. The single thing she felt truer than the dew on her toes was how desperately she wanted this to end. But it wouldn’t. She would be living in this hell all day long, probably to the end of her career at school. She felt trapped in this moment; a moment that she just knew would stretch out all around her forever. Of course, once she got home, things would only go from bad to worse. Her mother shook her shoes and the change of clothes at Stephanie. She could not believe her daughter, her first child. She shook the clothes and shoes again. “God damn!” Stephanie barked. “Don’t talk like that, young lady.” "Slut!" she heard shouted from somewhere in the crowd. "Smack her mouth!" a nasty teenage voice goaded her mother from among the throngs of spectators. "Take a bath!" came another hateful voice, probably aimed at Stephanie, all the while the laughing never completely stopped around her. “I won’t have you running around dressed like one of your burnout friends.” “Burnout!” barked one of the jocks with all the clique-inspired hate in him. “Freak!” called out several laughing kids. “Oh God!” Stephanie cried, looking all around her, knowing with every fiber in her body that she was the eye of this hurricane. “Leave me alone!” She grabbed the simple sneakers —her old Vans— and slipped them on. “I’m not changing clothes!” she barked, walking backwards towards the school. “Just go to hell!” she shouted in an effort to save a little face by showing a little attitude, but it only left her feeling more desperately sunk, as she knew this outburst, too, she would pay dearly for. The round of oooohs the other kids shouted, laughing, she knew she would also have to pay dearly for. Head held defiantly high, tears that she would fight from crying welling in her eyes; Stephanie marched through the gawkers then through the doors. Her efforts to pretend it wasn’t happening did nothing to dull her awareness of the sniggering and staring. She heard and felt every jibe. Hard as she looked, Ruthy was nowhere to be found. Right at this moment she hated Ruthy almost as much as she hated her own mother, who she wished were dead over and over again in her head. ‘Some friend,’ Stephanie thought, still looking for Ruthy and only seeing the half-witted smirks and abhorrently smiling faces of what felt like a sea of 'normal' kids she was now drowning in through the halls. All through homeroom she cried and kept stubbornly to herself. She noticed for the first time just how much these shoes hurt her feet...hurt them and suffocated them, torturing them like sadistic jailers molesting innocent prisoners. First period was no better. Misery dug into her, clutched her like talons. So hot was she in her stew of misery that she missed every word of the lecture. Her feet hurt. Everyone looked at her, talked about her, and none of it sounded pleasant by any means. She hated her mother and her stupid little conformist sister as much as she was capable of hating anybody at this point in her life. The thin canvas shoes felt like shackles, not just shackles on her feet, but on her individuality. She felt like a sell-out. Wasn’t it just last night that she vowed to stand her ground? That she would do whatever the hell she wanted? It was her life. They were her feet. She clutched her temples, her head so hot she began to feel dizzy. ‘God, what is wrong with me? Why is this so important to me?’ It made no sense. And if it made no sense to her, how could she expect anyone else to understand it? Sensible or not, she could not even pretend that being barefoot wasn’t important to her. No amount of second-guessing and self-doubt dulled in her mind her desire to be barefoot. ‘Fuck ‘em,’ they didn’t have to understand. They just had to leave her alone, get their own lives, and mind their own business. Her thoughts went back and forth. ‘But it’s so weird?’ she had to admit. All alone, surrounded by classmates, she wondered if they knew. Expected that they knew. ‘They have to know,’ had to know all the tingling she felt when she was barefoot. Sex. It was all about sex, and she worried that they knew it. It was all about sensual pleasure, and simple exhilaration. It was about the rush she felt in doing something wild. Like a stoner, always looking for a high. No. No, it wasn’t about sex. That would be too weird, too perverted. She just liked being barefoot, that was all. She would never think this again. Never. It was too weird, way too weird, and she felt a miserable fever burning up the back of her neck, the sort of fever that left her feeling like she was going to hell for this and nothing she could do would take it back or change it. The anguish not fading in the least, friendless and alone as she felt, she shut herself off from everyone and went through the motions after the bell rang. In her numb-hot way to her locker she caught a wicked chill. There he was! She stopped dead in her tracks. The old man, her stalker, he was here, heading down the stairs. She wasn’t even safe at school. Her heart stopped, then stuttered in her chest, starting up in the relief of recognizing him as just being the old shop teacher. But the mistake wasn’t funny to Stephanie, just unsettling. Second period, and the worst of her misery shook away, revealing a clear boiling anger. She sat with her teeth clenched together, not just angry at her mother for ruining her life, not just mad as hell at Ruthy for not sticking up for her, but mostly just disappointed and disgusted at herself. She had broken her vow to herself. “Fuck ‘em,” she muttered under her breath, slipping her shoes off under her desk. The cool sensation of the gritty tile soothed her soles and her angry pinched-red toes. The heat in her temples remained steady, but now that she was barefoot, she saw more and more clearly that she was mostly just pissed off, not even worried about all the trouble she was in, or ashamed of the scene that happened outside. Somehow she managed to hear most of the lecture and even managed to take part, if minimally. Come the end of class, sadly, she gave in to the nosey sniggering pressure of her peers and wiggled her feet into the shoes before crossing the classroom to leave. By third period she found enough spirit and clear-headedness —her shoes under her seat again— that she knew exactly what she was going to say to her fair-weather friend Ruthy. After enduring a “barefoot hillbilly” crack in the hall —from Melissa Clowes of all people-- Stephanie could not manage to kick her shoes off during fourth period. Inside, clearer and clearer, she felt as if she was denying herself. Not just denying herself pleasure, but denying herself. Her feet felt numbed and cut off, as dead to her as her ears if she had chosen to go through the day wearing earplugs. Lunch found Ruthy sitting by herself. Ostracized by association, at least so far as Greg and Allen were concerned. So she thought, and she hadn’t been in any mood to approach their table. Greg and Allen sat two tables over, laughing with a gang of friends. Laughing at Stephanie, and at Ruthy, no doubt, or so she thought, stirring at her peas, poking at them, watching a few of them roll onto the table, doing everything to her peas except eat them. Robbie and Tommy both were conspicuous in their absence, not at another table, nor at another lunch period. They just weren’t at school. Stephanie’s fault no doubt. Ruthy didn’t know what Stephanie’s problem was, but she knew herself, and knew she didn’t like being stared at. And Beth, too, she sat with Greg and Allen, and Ruthy could not believe she lost Beth over Stephanie. Beth hated Stephanie, and made that clear to Ruthy more than once. From across the room Stephanie spotted Ruthy sitting by herself and pouting. In a fury, bypassing the lunch line entirely, Stephanie made a beeline towards Ruthy. “Thanks a fucking lot!” Stephanie barked, realizing she had never said ‘fuck’ at school before, but it came out natural as could be. She stood with her hands on her hips, directly across the table from Ruthy. Every kid within earshot stopped to listen, but Stephanie no longer cared. “Thanks, you know, for being there and backing me up against my mom!” “Oh fuck you, Barefoot Contessa! You God damn freak!” Stung. Stephanie stood red in the face. “You know, maybe I didn’t back you up because maybe your mom and sister are right. Maybe you’re a Goddamn mental case.” Stephanie’s heart caught in her throat, cut to the quick by Ruthy telling her that her mom may be right, cutting right to the core of the insecurities she had been rolling over in her mind all morning. “What do you know about it? Screw that! I thought we were friends.” “Yeah, well, thanks to you and your God damn FOOT FETISH—“ “—I don’t have a foot fetish!” Stephanie barked defensively, mortified at the way Ruthy just shouted it loud enough for the whole lunchroom to hear. That same wicked hot burn ran up her neck and settled in at the base of her skull. “My ass you don’t,” Ruthy rolled her eyes and slammed her fork down, peas flying. “Well, whatever, thanks to your bullshit, you may be the only ‘friend’ I have left.” Ruthy accented her point, waving around the empty table. “No one will talk to me, ‘cause of you. And Tommy and Robbie are so embarrassed about your stupid bare feet, and so freaked out about the old pervert following you around that they won’t even come to school.” “Bullshit! Tommy and Robbie hardly ever come to school, and you know that.” “Yeah, well…” Ruthy stammered, unable to keep pace with Stephanie’s solid argument about Tommy and Robbie. “… Well, Tommy at least answers my calls when I call from school.” Stephanie didn’t know what to say next. “Yeah, that’s right. Tommy won’t even answer his phone, so you can just go to hell.” Ruthy stood up and huffed off. As discreetly as being the center of attention would allow, Stephanie slipped out of the lunchroom, refusing to cry. But again, clear as a bell she felt more pissed than anything, her anger burning even hotter than the fever at the base of her skull. Adding insult to injury, Stephanie caught a glimpse of the old man lurking in the halls again. She ducked behind a corner, peering fearfully. She had to laugh, if only a little, as she realized it was only Mrs. Smuck from Home Ec. class. Was the old-bastard-stalker-man that traumatizing that she couldn't get him out of her head even with all of this going on? As if this day wasn't completely fucked up enough... Stephanie fell against her locker with her forehead, and groaning, she pounded on it with the flat of her hand. “Fuck ‘em! Fuck ‘em, I give up!” Three times she fumbled with the combination lock, cussing each time. At last, unlocked, door swung open, she peeled her shoes off her crimped and sweating feet. Tossed them in the locker in a rage. One fell out, smacking the floor with a cold thud near her feet. Furious, she picked it up and threw it in, knocking out the other one along with a book. Screaming, she kicked the book down the hall with one shoe-sweaty bare foot. Grabbing both shoes, she stomped across the chilly and dusty tiles of the hall and thrust them both in the garbage. Gone. Barefoot, enjoying something for the first time since seeing her mother this morning, Stephanie wallowed in the feel of cool tile under her bare soles and toes, her feet free at last. “Steph.” Stephanie glanced up from her feet and the garbage can. Ruthy picked up her book. “Leave me alone!” “Hold on,” Ruthy said impatiently. “Screw you!” Huffing off, in passing, Stephanie slammed her locker door shut, a rattling clang reverberating through the empty halls. “Ladies!” barked a teacher, leaning out past his half-open door. “Could this wait until after school? I have a class going on in here.” “Oh, fuck you!” Ruthy barked, huffing off. “You’re in deep water Ruthy Babcock.” “Yeah, whatever.” By the time the little back and forth between the girls had ended, Stephanie was well away, but before she even managed to sit herself on the stairs she broke into tears. In a moment she felt Ruthy behind her. “I said go away.” Stephanie sobbed, wiping her tears with the tops of her hands. Ruthy sat Stephanie’s book on the windowsill and walked away, as instructed. She cried for twenty minutes, quietly as possible, all the while cussing under her breath, hoping her anger would keep her from bawling. Her feet together, overlapped, feeling cold and naked, she wondered herself what was wrong with her. No. She was mad. She was right. It was no one’s business. It was her life and they were her feet. That was it; with a scowl she cut off her tears and headed for the restroom. Fists clenched at her sides, she refused to cry anymore. No matter what anyone said to or about her, it felt great to have her feet bare on the cool soothing floor. She could not deny that anymore. Whatever anyone said, it just felt so good, like it was the purest thing there was about her. In the relief of splashing her face with cold water, she caught her breath. Now she would fix her make-up, go to class, and not care what anyone else said. She rolled her eyes, realizing the impossible task she was setting for herself. How could she not care? “I don’t care,” she said into the mirror, combing out her hair. Taking in a few deep breaths, she dug through her purse for her make-up. Determined or not, done crying or not, apart from being barefoot, she felt no less miserable or wound up. At least she was finally doing what she wanted to do. Fifth period found her at least reduced to a simple simmer. The feel of her bare soles on the ground centered her more on who she knew herself to be rather than on what everyone else wanted her to be or thought she was. One thing played over and over in her head, Ruthy’s accusation that she had some sort of fetish. She felt dirty at the very idea, perverted, and exposed, as it —true or not— had been shouted in the lunchroom. Horrified that Ruthy had cut her to the quick, horrified that Ruthy somehow managed to hit her at her most vulnerable. Sadly, the wild giggly pleasure she hoped her first barefoot day at school would be still escaped her. Inside she felt herself still tight with anger and frustration. And some worry haunted her for what she had coming at home tonight, and then there was an increasing and unshakable self-consciousness about her naked feet. Every kid in class had taken turns staring at them. As her feet cooled on the tiles, she found her center more and more; spinning as it was, it was there. Closing her eyes, she drank up the sole simple pleasure of having her bare feet on the cool soothing floor. “Stephanie,” came a whisper from the teacher. Stephanie opened her eyes to find Mrs. Jenkins, her math teacher, and a far cry from being her favorite teacher already, looming over her while the rest of the class worked out their word problems. Knowing full well what this was about, Stephanie stared blankly in a desperate attempt to look innocent or at least unaware, waiting. “I am going to have to ask you to put on your shoes.” Stephanie’s mouth went dry. She glanced about the room, noticing all eyes sneaky upon her. The lump in her throat brought to the surface a pressing need to cry again. “I don’t care,” she shrugged. “Ask all you want,” she said with a grim face and a trembly voice. Every kid in the class hooted under their breath. The need to cry subsided in Stephanie, and she suddenly felt a comfort and strength in her show of spunk having been so well received. The teacher pulled herself up to her full height. Stephanie noticed her classmates all watching expectantly, even grinning in awe of her. Stephanie’s face remained expressionless, and she stifled a self-satisfied grin that she knew would land her in even more trouble than her mouthing-off. “You can’t come to class in your bare feet.” “Well, I kinda did,” Stephanie shrugged, cocking her head and looking at Mrs. Jenkins through half-closed eyes. She looked down at her paper. “This word problem isn’t gonna solve itself, so unless you wanna help me, leave me alone.” A unified gasp rippled through the room. “Stephanie Goddard, just go get your shoes and socks on,” Mrs. Jenkins said in one last effort to be reasonable to a student who never caused her any trouble before. “See,” Stephanie started, setting her pencil down, feeling a sudden rush of commitment to her attitude —an attitude that felt better by far than all the crying, shame, and self-doubt, an attitude she knew she would soon regret— “I’m doing an experiment for science class. I read that people think better barefoot, so I’m trying it out as an experiment. But so far it isn’t really working, ‘cause I can’t think at all with you standing there nagging me.” As if that hadn’t sealed it, Stephanie made a shoo-go-away gesture with her hand. No more quiet gasping, the classroom erupted into hissing whispers and giggles in reaction to Stephanie’s gall. Barefoot Stephanie suddenly became more a celebrity than an oddity. “Alright, that’s enough!” Mrs. Jenkins barked at the room. “You, Miss Goddard, can go to the Principal’s office. Explain this little ‘experiment’ to him.” Stephanie shrugged. “It was his idea.” She got up in the midst of laughter and chaos, and waited for Mrs. Jenkins to finish jotting a note for the Principal. Traipsing down the hall, Stephanie felt drained for the whole duration; worried as hell, but pleased with herself. Even in her moment of pride she felt dried up as a raisin inside. The flood of emotions, one after another, crashing and conflicting, took their toll. Her mind and body could not deal with it all. She felt a little dizzy and light-headed in the after burn of it all, and in her hunger from skipping lunch. Surprisingly the tingling sensation she hoped this day would bring her finally started as a faint warm drone in her toes. Tingling lightly or not, riding the high of impressing her classmates as she was, grinning under it all, she felt the curious burn of being in so much trouble at this point that she had nothing else to lose. Nothing she could do now would undo or dig her out of the deepest of deep shit she was in. So, she did her best to accept that there was nothing left to do but enjoy the ride. Even the long interim in the waiting room of the Principal's office bored her more than panicked her. She found a pen cap on the floor to occupy her time and toes. With her flexible toes she gripped it, fumbling with the chewed up cap as she tried to work it between them. After a heavy sigh a curious kind of warmth overcame her, and a feeling of being almost at peace with all the trouble and bullshit of the day so far. She grinned, thinking, ‘And the day’s still young.’ “Stephanie Goddard,” came the voice of the Principal as he leaned out the door. Before even entering his office she handed him the note Mrs. Jenkins sent along to explain this visit. He sat behind his desk and read while Stephanie did her best to feel at ease in the hard plastic chair. Suddenly gripped with a throbbing self-conscious awareness of her inappropriately bared feet, she tucked the tingling things under her chair. He sighed and smiled. “Stephanie… what do you think you’re doing?” Surprisingly, his tone sounded more concerned than hostile. Stephanie shrugged, fisting her toes under the chair. “You’re a good student, never causes any trouble… is everything OK at home?” “It’s OK,” she shrugged, wishing now that she had some shoes to hide her feet in. “Barefoot?” She blushed; her feet crept over with an icy chill. “You can’t come to school barefoot. Just finish out the day, and wear your shoes on Monday. Go on, get back to class.” That was it? “What if I don’t?” “Don’t what?” he looked back up furrowing his brow, thinking the conversation should've been over already. “You know…wear shoes on Monday. What’s the big deal?” “You can’t just run around barefoot.” he tried to grin. “Why not?” Stephanie had heard in history class of soldiers held at gunpoint and forced to dig their own graves before being executed. There was no gun aimed her way, figurative or otherwise, yet she had this sneaking feeling that she was digging her own grave all the same by further prodding the man. He looked at her like the question was absurd. Of course, to her it was absurd why it was anyone’s business whether or not she wore her shoes. “Stephanie, I am trying to be reasonable here. Don’t push me.” “Thanks, I mean, I know you’re being cool and all,” and she felt herself shaking all over. “But I really would like to know why it’s a big deal.” “You might cut yourself or catch cold.” Stephanie sighed. She’d been through this dead-end argument before. To stuff-shirts who never left their beds barefoot, this was an ironclad argument. With this argument he had shut her out and off. She knew that, and got up to head for the door. “What’ll you do if I come to school without shoes?” The proverbial pile by her imaginary grave just had a heaping whole shovel's worth of dirt thrown onto it. “If you want to spend every afternoon after school in detention, you just go right ahead.” To Stephanie that simple prospect seemed more than worth it. Best of all, she hadn’t given in. Two steps into the hall, a quick look at the clock, and she didn’t feel like returning to class to be stared at and harassed. On silent bare feet she wandered the halls, trying to ignore the shatter-scatter thoughts humming in her mind, focusing not just on how the floor felt underfoot —cool, smooth, yet gritty— but more importantly, how it felt to be barefoot here and now. It felt good. Exhilarating, yet somehow calming. The chilly tiles, the grit, the tingling, the shocking feeling that she was missing an important article of clothing, this overall sensation of being more physically alert all brought her nearer to feeling like her recently discovered self. None of it made any real sense to her, it was all too new, too freshly stirred up to truly feel and absolutely know. None of it felt solid, her slippery self, not near so solid as the floor underfoot. A sudden hot crumpling sensation, like breathing hot air in and out of a paper bag, forced her to realize at least this much: this wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. At the very least it wasn’t the way she dreamed it would be. Her first barefoot day at school she always imagined would be more ticklish, giggly, naughty, and rebellious. Not like this, full of tears, fights, rage, and worse. Not that she thought there wouldn’t be trouble, some teasing —lots of teasing— but not all this sickness in the gut and this painful loneliness. Stopping, she picked up her right foot behind her and admired her sole, finding it to be pleasantly dusty but still very pink. She grinned, proud to think that no one else would ever dare go barefoot here, not at this school. She wondered if she was the first. Passing one of the gyms, she noticed no one was inside, and the huge hollow cube of a space felt eerily calm, lonely like her. On her toes she crept in, almost superstitiously afraid to disrupt the quiet. She liked the quiet, and the polished wood floor felt great under her soles. Her head cleared a little, as if the chaotic swarm of thoughts flew out of her head to buzz up into the overhead rafters. A strange clanking echo disturbed the silence of the room as she climbed the noisy bleachers to sit up top and wait out the rest of fifth period; fifth period at the least. She enjoyed, not so much the clanking, but the way her dainty soft feet sounded so loud and solid in the bass-like echo of the room. After a sigh, sitting down, she felt the deep relief of being too drained to cry another tear. She’d spent all summer with Ruthy, who she now considered her best friend, and Ruthy hadn’t been there for her when she needed her most. Stephanie had other friends, or acquaintances rather, a few, but none on par with Ruthy. Perhaps all wasn’t lost; after all, Ruthy had tried to talk to her in the hall after their fight. This at least offered her hope that they just might be able to patch things up. Sure, patched up, but would Stephanie have to forever feel ashamed of her bare feet around Ruthy after all this? One thing she knew for sure, however all this turned out, it was sticky as tar, and knew the events of this day would cling to her for a very long time. Stephanie sighed, shifting, gripping her toes over the edge of the plank-like seat in front of her. The bell. The echoes of doors opening and kids filling the halls flooded the gymnasium, sounding less chaotic even than all the thoughts that had been pent up swarming around in her troubled mind. Stephanie simply did not want to go to her next class, not barefoot, not now. Not that she regretted throwing her shoes away, but she regretted —or at least resented— everything else about this day so far. Worst by far was how this day had so sullied going barefoot to school for her. She had half a mind to cut classes. The day was unsalvageable and she wanted a do-over. Her parents and detention be damned, she decided right there and then that come Monday she would try this again. “Stephanie?” came a hesitant voice from the door of the gym. It was John from the bus, Jessie in tow. Behind them rushed the familiar clamor of a hall full of students having a day like any other; a day very unlike Stephanie’s day so far. Outside went on a normalcy and routine Stephanie felt wholly apart from. It felt now like she feared she might never make it back to anything resembling normalcy, routine, or even comfortable. “Hey,” Stephanie finally responded, her tone heavy, John and Jessie already halfway up the bleachers. Beyond, Stephanie saw that her oasis was about to be laid to waste as boys flooded into the locker room for gym class. “Man, I heard you gave Mrs. Jenkins hell!” John effused. Not wanting to allow herself the pleasure at first, but unable to help it, Stephanie grinned, “Really?” “Hell yeah, I didn’t know you had it in you. I mean, at first I couldn’t figure out why Ruthy was hanging out with you, but now…” “It was really cool,” Jessie parroted. “How’d you find out about it?” Stephanie asked. “It’s all over school,” he laughed like the very question was ridiculous. “Really?” Stephanie asked, impressed that even an upper classman like John had heard already. “What’s up? You look bummed,” John said. “I really don’t wanna talk about it. I am in so much trouble, and Ruthy and I had this huge fight.” “She’ll get over it,” John shrugged. “You ain’t planning on sitting there all day are you?” Stephanie sighed, shrugged, not really knowing what she wanted to do. She didn’t want to go to class, and the idea of going home ever again filled her with dread. John looked at Stephanie’s feet. To the bone, every delicate bone in her feet, she felt it, and wanted to hide their extravagant bareness. Then he touched her, gave her right foot a tender squeeze. “Man, barefoot girls are the coolest. My sister, she never wore shoes.” “Did something happen to her?” Stephanie asked, hoping to shoot down the 'you'll catch cold-you'll get cut' argument if John said his obviously-more-experienced-at-barefooting sister had gone unscathed. John looked away. “She was a lot older than me,” he paused, but said, “She overdosed.” “That sucks,” Jessie said, putting her hand on John's back, apparently having already known about it. Stephanie’s head went blank, and she couldn’t think of anything to say. Besides, Jessie’s "that sucks" about covered it. She didn't mean the question to be taken in that way at all...tragic as it was to hear about his sister. “God, I hate history,” he groaned, and then grinned, forcing a change of subject within him. “I’m gonna cut an' have a smoke. You wanna join me?” Without thinking about it, Stephanie nodded and grinned. “Yeah, what the hell.” She stood up. Never had she seriously considered leaving school mid-day, but she wanted out, and maintained that she was, without question, in so much trouble that it just didn’t matter anymore. “Yeah, let’s go,” she said, skipping down the bleachers before John and Jessie had even stood up. “We can’t cut classes!” Jessie cried, horrified, but unable to stifle a grin at the promise of being so bad. “You don’t have to,” John shrugged, starting up to descend the bleachers. “Me and Stephanie will though.” “No, I want to,” Jessie said, knock-kneed in the excitement of the very idea. “Whoa, wait a minute,” John said, stopping them all. “We can’t just all run out together like a herd of cows. They’ll bust us for sure.” “Cows?’” Stephanie sneered at the unflattering comparison. John laughed. “Just go to your lockers like normal, then slip out and join me under the bleachers. You know,” he said, turning to Jessie, “over on the far side where no one will see us.” Under the bleachers…Stephanie knew what that meant; it was the sacred space...the hallowed ground...the secret and holy sanctum of the burnouts. “Hey, want me to bring Ruthy?” he asked Stephanie. “I don’t know if she wants to see me now,” Stephanie pouted. “Whatever,” he turned and headed off. In heading for her locker, as John recommended, Stephanie found that she couldn’t shake Jessie. Not that she disliked her, she simply wanted to play this safe, by John’s rules, and split up. “Way to go! Jenkins was pissed!” Jimbo called across the hall, giving Stephanie a thumbs-up. Stephanie blushed but smiled, noticing that this was the first time Jimbo had ever spoken to her. She almost laughed when she saw how much more red in the face he was than she when he turned away and continued walking. At her locker she got a taste of what she figured she had coming. “What are you, a freaking hippie or some shit?” some football jock called out to Stephanie, a look of disdain curling his square, vacant face, surrounded by his friends who snickered over the taunting question. “Screw you lard-ass!” Jessie bravely and daringly barked back, though it would've taken at least 15 of her to make just one of this guy. The jock's friends seemed to get an even heartier chuckle out of this as he shook his head and turned away. Stephanie just rolled her eyes, but smiled inside. Apart from the jocks, things were turning out more in her favor than she had expected. Fortunately, she hadn’t yet run further afoul of Melissa and her cackling gaggle of preppy hangers-on. But they didn’t matter, not now, not as she was about to step into the last place her parents would want her to go. The last place in the world they would approve of. What else didn’t matter was what her parents would think. Stephanie was just happy to finally be invited under the bleachers. To Be Continued... |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira Oct 8 2006, 11:59 PM |
| Barefoot Black Sheep Part 1 * CHAPTER 10 By: Dennis Crabapple McClain & Lou Gojira Slipping out of school proved to be far easier than Stephanie could have imagined. The sun shone high in the clear blue sky, and the crisp grass of the football field tickled her toes as she walked. Jessie had been babbling endlessly, leaving Stephanie mostly nodding and ignoring her. Stephanie couldn’t help it, she actually liked Jessie, but she wasn’t in the mood for a lot of small talk. “Aren’t you worried about cutting your feet or something? It’s messy under the bleachers,” Jessie said as they crossed the track that circled the football field. Stephanie shrugged. “It’s not that big a’ deal. You just have to watch where you step.” “Oh,” Jessie said, and Stephanie noticed Jessie watching every barefoot step she took with surprising fascination. Jessie even winced as Stephanie walked with ease over the cinders of the track. A head full of thoughts kept Stephanie mostly to herself, or at least as to herself as Jessie would allow. Under the bleachers… This was like an invitation to join an exclusive club! And, truth be told, Stephanie felt more than a little concerned about how dangerous a place it would be for her bare feet, no matter what she had told Jessie. Would going under the bleachers finally make her a real part of this clique? Everyone knew that the only girls who hung out under the bleachers were the freak-chicks. It would drive her parents absolutely nuts if they ever got wind of it. Stephanie grinned. “I was just wondering…” started Jessie, hesitant, as they crossed around and over the dirt and gravel spilling out around the outside edge of the bleachers. Stephanie’s toes bent and curled around the uneven gravel, but she never broke her pace or hobbled. She always quietly prided herself on being able to take gravel barefoot without breaking her gait. Though this gravel was especially painful to her feet, rough and broken into unusually big and small chunks, she did not want to show any weakness in her stride. “…I like John… do you think he’s cute?” “Yeah, he’s pretty cute,” Stephanie nodded. She stopped, realizing there was a fence running tight around the back of the bleachers; an obvious attempt to keep the burnouts from hanging out there. “He’s kind of older, isn’t he?” “I think he’s a senior.” Noticing Stephanie’s confusion, Jessie pointed. "Yeah, we could have gone under around the side, but there’s a better place around back, sort of a hole everyone crawls under." Nodding, Stephanie went along her way, trusting Jessie to know the spot. All along the back ran a stretch of broken asphalt, desperate weeds worked up through the cracks. Weeds Stephanie dodged, as many of them bore prickers. “Hey,” Jessie stopped, a pained look on her face. Stephanie noticed Jessie’s toes scrunching in her shoes. “Do you think if I started going barefoot that John might like me?” Not at all sure what to make of this, Stephanie stopped. Honestly, she had some desire to have a fellow barefoot girl around, someone to share her experiences and make her feel less alone and singled out. “I don’t know if you should do it just to impress a guy, but it’d probably work.” “Why do you do it?” Jessie asked, leaning against the fence, her left foot coming up an inch or so off the ground, twitching as if she were struggling with whether or not she was ready to go barefoot in public. “Oh,” Stephanie chuckled, “I do it ‘cause it makes me soooo popular.” She rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe we’re cutting classes!” Jessie said, looking excited and nervous. “No, really, why do you do it? I mean, no offense, but it is kinda weird.” There was no way Stephanie could tell her about the tingling, or about how she felt it was an important part of her identity. She wished she could do it... could finally tell the truth about it to somebody —but truthfully, she still hadn’t quite faced it out loud to herself. “I hate shoes,” she shrugged, going on. “They’re not comfortable, and if feet get dirty you can just wash them. It’s a lot easier than wearing shoes.” Fortunately, Jessie was behind her and couldn’t see Stephanie blushing over the lameness of her cover story, nor could she see how self-conscious Stephanie was about the fib. “That makes sense,” Jessie said. It did? Stephanie looked back at her and noticed Jessie watching her every barefoot step. “I don’t like shoes much myself… but if you hate shoes, there are lots of different kinds of shoes,” Jessie pointed out. “Like sandals, they’re pretty comfortable, and your feet can still get air and stuff.” Stephanie looked at Jessie cockeyed, unable to believe Jessie had so wholly missed the point. “I like to feel the ground beneath my feet,” Stephanie added, feeling that communicated about as much as she felt comfortable revealing. It at least was a little closer to the truth. The truth was, more to the point, that she liked how she felt feeling everything under her feet: alive, aroused, vulnerable, strong, herself. The ache she had for want of a friend to share in this obsession, the yearning for someone to understand, swelled up inside her. “Have you ever been under the bleachers?” “No, I’ve just heard.” “Well, if it’s as bad as you say, it probably isn’t the best place to go if your feet haven’t been toughened up a little first,” Stephanie didn’t want to talk Jessie into going barefoot only to have her end up cutting herself. “I got dog pads on the bottoms of my feet,” Stephanie boasted, pulling aside, she clutched the mesh of the fence with one hand and pulled her foot up behind her, holding onto the topside of her foot with the other hand so Jessie could inspect her summer soles. “Oh my God!” Jessie gasped, noticing the ridge of callus along Stephanie’s small shapely heel, and the whitish callus-spot just behind the pinky toe. “If it’s not too weird, can I feel it?” Stephanie shrugged; the toes of her supporting foot scooted and scrunched over the coarse concrete as she shifted to maintain her balance. Hesitant, Jessie’s finger floated over Stephanie’s sole before touching it. Stephanie felt the feathery caress of Jessie’s stroking just as sharply as the careful curious dig and scratch Jessie made with her fingernail. “Oh wow! It’s like leather. Can you feel anything?” “I feel everything,” Stephanie shrugged. “By the end of summer it just takes a lot to cut me is all. I’ve walked across glass without even noticing it until I heard it crunching under my feet.” “No way!” “Yeah.” Stephanie set her foot down and walked slowly backwards, feeling each step as Jessie stared wide-eyed. “If I’m not grounded for life, let’s hang out some this weekend. We’ll go for a walk downtown or along the trail.” “You mean barefoot?” Jessie caught up and Stephanie turned around and kept pace with her. “Well… yeah,” Stephanie said in a well-duh sort of tone. “It’s supposed to get cold again tomorrow.” Jessie sounded disappointed. “So,” shrugged Stephanie. “Who cares, so long as it doesn’t snow. It’s no big deal, I mean, if you aren’t up to it. I’ll go barefoot whether you do or not.” Jessie led them straight to the hole. On her belly she crawled in the dug out patch of dirt, easily clearing the curled up patch of fence. Excited to finally be entering the inner sanctum of the freaks, Stephanie followed, her toes wiggling as she squirmed her way under the fence without so much as dirtying her white jeans. Though nowhere near as dangerous as the hangout spot down by the river, the ground under the bleachers was littered with crumpled plastic bottles, ant-covered and flattened out popcorn tubs, all sorts of smashed and mangled aluminum cans, and wadded-up brown paper bags with broken glass spilling out of them. Cigarette butts littered the ground amongst all this debris like swarms of bugs. “Hey,” John said, already smoking as he leaned against a small metal pylon, watching the girls. “Watch it...” he nodded towards Stephanie’s feet as he strolled over to her and Jessie, meeting them half-way. “...There’s glass all over. I’d hate to think of you cutting those pretty little feet.” Stephanie smiled, her heart racing. A feeling of dark but pleasant warmth swelled up inside her, as she just knew this was exactly where her parents expected her to be. John was busy swaying, pivoting on the heels of his booted feet as he reached up and held onto a slim aluminum support beam, smoking with his other hand. Jessie sat on a runner at his feet, like a puppy, afraid to get too far from his sight. Stephanie kicked aside a small pile of sticky rubbish, clearing away a safe place to stand, but mostly fidgeting, smiling, soaking up the thrill of this invitation-only hangout. “So, Ruthy didn’t come...” she observed, slightly disappointed despite it all. “She said she was pissed at you, but I could tell she was upset... prob'ly thought that you might be pissed at her. She’s like that. I’ve known her for years. She’ll be cool. She’s just a little worried about Tommy.” “She thinks that’s my fault.” Stephanie said glumly, looking down to watch her big toe flick at a cigarette butt. “That’s bullshit. Tommy’s a dumb ass!” John popped off, breezing a stream of smoke past his lips. “John!” Jessie cried more playful than scolding. “It’s true,” he shrugged, letting go of the beam and standing straight. “If he’s in trouble it was his own stupid fault. Ruthy knows that. You know her… you know how she is. She’s just pissed and worried and taking it out on you. She acts like a bitch, but she’ll be over it by eighth period.” He dropped his cigarette and ground it out with the heel of his cowboy boot. There wasn’t a space under the bleachers where Stephanie could stand without stepping on cigarette butts —many of them stained with red and pink lipstick. She kicked aside a jagged and crumpled Budweiser can. Everything under the bleachers smelled stale, like cigarette butts; sticky-sweet like spilled beer and pop; and greasy. “So, you’re, like pretty smart, huh? You should help me with my math homework so I can catch up to everyone else and graduate before I turn thirty.” Stephanie grinned and blushed, catching Jessie’s eye. Both of the girls suddenly and simultaneously looked away. In that moment it occurred to Stephanie that poor Jessie, innocently sexy as she was, most likely didn’t stand a chance with John as anything more than a little sister figure he felt obliged to care for. But Stephanie thought, even worried, that she herself might stand a pretty good chance. He was cool as well as cute, so much cooler than she’d first thought he'd be, which probably explained why he didn’t spend much time around Tommy and his gang of beer-swilling, loud-mouthed knuckleheads. She liked his scruffy hair, he was skinny as a rock star -though he sounded more like a potential country music singer if anything- and she liked his choice of clothes, wearing a tight T-shirt under his jacket and open flannel, and tight boot-cut jeans which were complimented by his peculiar choice of foot-wear. She also noticed his long fingers and reasonably thick hands, which, according to Ruthy, was certainly something to keep an eye out for in checking out guys. Stephanie felt almost sinful in liking that particular aspect about him, so she turned her attentions back down to her feet to relieve an impending tickle of guilt... Stephanie idly kicked at a troublesome can, knocking it a little further away, and noticed all her little toe marks in the dust, evidence of her nervous fussing and fidgeting. “So Ruthy’s not too pissed at me? I mean...why should she be?! She was pretty shitty to me. She’s totally freaked out about my going barefoot all the time.” “Don’t worry about that. I think it’s cool and if I think it’s cool, she’ll think it’s cool,” he nodded and grinned with a confidence Stephanie found funny but adorable. “Don’t you worry about Ruthy, I’ll straighten her out. You just go on being cool. She’ll come around.” He pulled a little tin from his pocket and revealed what Stephanie knew was a joint even though she had never seen one for real. He lit it and inhaled, holding in the smoke as he passed it to Stephanie. She wanted in the worst way to take it. “Not now,” she wrinkled her nose, giving her head a tiny but nervous shake. “I’m already in deep shit. If I go home stoned my parents’ll kill me.” And it was true. She felt she had misbehaved enough for one day. “What’s the trouble about?” he asked, coughing and handing the joint to Jessie who took it right away. “It’s stupid.” “Go ahead, tell me.” Stephanie groaned and could not look him in the eye. She stood pigeon toed and wished she could find a hiding place for her naked feet. “My bare feet,” Stephanie rolled her eyes. “They’re really hung up on it.” “That’s fucked up. I mean them, not you.” “You have no idea,” Stephanie groaned. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Easy for you to say. Your parents aren’t wacko.” He laughed. “Oh, you have no idea. But I ignore them. After a while I wore them down,” he laughed almost boastfully. “Nah, I dunno,” he shrugged, “I guess my parents are pretty cool as parents go.” He laughed. “God, now that I think about it, they used to get all over my sister’s case about it. They hardly ever said anything about the dope, but her feet… shit. They never shut up about that. I dunno, I guess they were pretty cool about that, too, really. They only ever really said anything to her about it when it was cold or if she stayed out too late.” * * * In the light of her whole weird day Stephanie needed a grounding influence, and the rest of school was already out of the question for that; so the obvious choice? Why, Mrs. Thompson's of course! She was most likely home at that time, so after Stephanie gave John and Jessie a cordial farewell for the time being, she took off for her favorite aged hippie lady's house. The long walk to Mrs. Thompson’s house did little to clear her mind, as so much had happened and was going to happen at home that she could barely sort through it all. But through most of the walk she smiled in the glow of how good her time with John and Jessie left her feeling. She took a roundabout way just to make absolutely certain her parents wouldn’t find her walking along the road. Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t even notice the rattling, pinging, and groaning of the old truck as it pulled up beside her. All she eventually registered in between all of her thoughts was the sound of an engine to her left and slightly behind her, droning away with the repetitious sounds of a motor that probably should've died a merciful death a long time ago, retired to a scrap yard and put out of its misery. At first noticing, she found herself thinking it was a passing vehicle of some sort, but as she walked, staring down at her foot falls on the sidewalk, it started to dawn on her that this noise-maker wasn't leaving, especially when the popping and grinding began cutting into her thoughts. Fearing the worse, she timidly looked over her shoulder, barely turning her head in the direction of the vehicle, and felt her stomach try to both climb into her rib cage and slink into her hips at the same time when she saw the light-blue and dented visage of the hood of the pick-up. Her feet involuntarily fisted the concrete as her blood shot into them, her every instinct telling her to get the hell out of there. "Ain'tcha gonna thank me?!" came a loud yet weary voice over the noise of the slow, out of tune engine. Stephanie froze at the unfamiliar voice and watched the creepy old white-headed man come into view as he drove up beside her, that same old man she was so messed up over that she imagined seeing him twice already at school. Her rapid heartbeat reverberated in her throat and skull, and she had to pee really bad all of a sudden, but her feet felt like they were clutching the ground so hard at the moment that she couldn't run to a bathroom even if she tried. The old clunker of a truck bounced to a squeaky-braked halt; the old creep still eyeing her. "No gratitude huh?" His cheeks wrinkled into a smile. A smile of all things! Stephanie's feelings of fear about half turned into anger when she saw his grinning face. She would've put a fist or something into that ugly old face if she were closer and the old man didn't creep her out to high heavens. She wanted to cut loose in saying something, anything, but all her pretty mouth did was fall silently open as she felt herself magnetically stuck to the spot. The old man gave a shake of his head, that stupid grin never leaving his face. "You kids these days..." He fixed his gaze upon the frightened barefoot beauty. "I help ya' out twice an' ya can't even thank me?" “F-For what?!" Stephanie answered with a question, making a conscious effort to push her fear inside long enough to respond. So badly she wanted to flee, but she was tired of being afraid and persecuted. Everything that happened to her that day; her forever irritating and over-protective mother, Ruthy's desertion, the sheep that passed as fellow students' sneering and jokes, the whole accursed and prudish system that looked down on her simple want, her natural feeling and need to leave her feet bare... Stephanie's frustration and rage collected and balled up, and this stalking old bastardly freak was about to catch the full-on attack of it. "Th' cops last night!" he answered, putting the truck into park, but not cutting off that engine, the same noisy engine that was helping to tick Stephanie's anger up more and more as it ground, cranked, and hissed on. "Well, th' cops an' th' other thang..." "Burning my shoes up?" Stephanie said aloud, eyes widening as it dawned on her what he was referring to. Now the goofy son of a bitch was really smiling, and even the sight of his uneven and yellowing teeth cut into Stephanie's nerves. "Where's my thanks?" Stephanie took a deep breath, the daylight and setting giving her the confidence to finally face-off with this nasty old coot of a man. "Who are you?! Why the fuck are you following me around?!" It didn't hit her until after she said this that she held her fists clenched at her sides. "Such language..." the old man mocked with a *tsk* *tsk* and a shake of his head. Ernie couldn't help but keep smiling, sadistically enjoying his playful aggravation of her. "You eat with th' same mouth ya' talk out of?" Stephanie bristled, not knowing if her trembling was caused by the fear or the anger. "Whatta’ you want?!" The old man leaned back in his seat, relaxing an arm into dropping his grip off of the steering wheel. Stephanie cast a quick look around at the neighborhood and instantly calculated the time it'd take for her to dart to a house and call the police. Feeling a little more confident, she pushed on. "What do you want?" she asked again, steadying her nerves a little better this time. His eyes flicked downward and then back up to meet her furious and suddenly confident gaze, and this made Stephanie even madder. "Is this what you want?!" she danced in a quick teasing circle on her front pads, lifting her heels as she did so, and then held up her foot showing her blackened and tough sole to him. "Get a good look asshole! Feel better?!" Her foot she slapped back to the ground in a huff, already repulsed at the idea of what could be running through the old man's head. He just closed his eyes and shook his head again, his smile slowly disappearing. He was thankful to be talking to her, finally, but he had hoped it wasn't going to be this difficult. In spite of how traumatized he knew she had to be of him, that bloody-mouthed incident last night not helping this in the slightest, he had still managed to be optimistic enough to think it could've went better when he finally talked to her. He really disliked the letdown. "I thought that was what ya' wanted." She took a step back. "Huh?!" "I thought I was doin' ya' a favor." he turned to face the front of the truck, looking for all the world like he was hurt. This stalking old bastard had nerve; getting hurt of all things...what gave him the right? "Fuck you and your favors! I'm calling the police!" and she did a half turn toward the house directly behind her. "Th' same police I saved you from...?" That's right, she was spared a trip home in a cop car to a pair of angry parents last night because of his antics. She turned back. "Y-yeah..." she became angry again when she found herself sympathetic in the smallest degree toward him. "I'll fucking call them!" she shouted, more front than actual anger this time toward him. She only took a quarter turn back to the house, and didn't realize it until she looked at how her feet were poised. "You hate authority." his grin started coming back. "You won't call anybody." She felt a surge shoot up her neck...who was he to try and pigeonhole her? "Wanna bet?!" He finally shut that annoying engine off, and then gave his hands a wave. "Okay, call 'em. I won't go nowhere." he even pointed a finger at the house and added: "Th' people're prob'ly home right now. Go ahead...call..." Her eyes started widening. What in the hell was this old fruitcake trying to prove? She bounced on her feet, antsy, wanting to call the police yet wanting to figure out this crazy ordeal. "Tell 'em how ya' hate me... and y' don't even know me. Tell 'em how yer' too good to get looked at by an ugly ol' crud like me." Ernie hoped this would needle in with the desired effect. When he saw her still fixed on the spot, he continued. "If I was a big, popular guy at school you wouldn't mind any a' this. You'd feel like part a' th' in-crowd then..." Trying to figure her out again...the fucking nerve. "Who are you to assess me?! And for your information —asshole— I don’t like jocks or any part of that 'in-crowd'!" Stephanie hated it when her parents did the same thing, but unlike her parents, she didn't have to take it from this guy, this stranger who couldn't even afford a decent ride. Ernie motioned his hands over the dashboard. "Yeah, it is a piece a' shit ain't it?" he turned to face her again "But at least I ain't stuck walkin' like you!" he really smiled when he said this, enjoying himself more than he wanted to admit. Stephanie was stunned when she realized how he seemed to pick up on her thoughts about his truck, but then figured that he saw her looking at the truck. Wait, he made a crack at her. She had to deal with that first. "Who do you think you are- fuckin' reading my mind and shit?! Nobody knows what I-" "Yeah yeah!" he cut her off “Nobody knows how unique an' misunderstood 'little Miss Genius' is...how deep you are or how bad you got it...I know..." He got a little bit nervous when he saw how much more red she was getting in the face, thinking she may fly through the window to hit him in a minute, but he couldn't help but keep pushing his luck. "Ya' think yer' the only misunderstood young girl in th' world? Nobody cares..." She caught her breath hanging in her chest, fluttering. The nerve...the Goddamn nerve of this man! "Fuck you!" she yelled, a flood of feelings washing over her, not knowing what else to say. "Fuck you Ernie! Ya' never asked my name." he smiled, hoping she'd simmer down a little bit as she was obviously really getting steamed up. "I don't care who you are! I don't care about you!" her eyes were burning all of a sudden. Was this old creep making her cry? She felt a knife made of acid cut into her stomach at this thought, hating herself for this weakness he seemed to so easily exploit. She was still trying to come up with something to say about his 'not stuck walking like you' comment in the midst of all of this even though that window of opportunity was slipping away. "You care too much about me!" he said, figuring he could try and shift the mood a little by lying off so many of the personal comments. "I'll betch'ya think about me a whole lot." That probably didn't help, he realized after he said it. "You're following me around motherfucker! How would you like if somebody was following you around?!" "So ev'rybody but me is allowed t' drive around an' take trips to th' river..." She paused; hating how fast this guy could come back on her. "NO!" Her angry, tear-welling eyes mindlessly watched a car as it drove around his parked pick-up truck in passing. "I -I don't care about none of that." She lied, stammering, trying to get an upper hand somewhere in this. "You ran up on-" "Then why was you watchin' me so close before then?" Busted, or so she felt. "I was only-" How did he know? She collected her thoughts, or tried to anyway. "You were staring at me!" "Yer' barefoot in cold weather! Y' don't think ya' stand out like a sore thumb?" "Well..." she stammered. "It's just that..." My God how she started hating how she couldn't think of what to say next. "Am I th' only one t' look atch'yer' bare feet?" "N-no! It's just that..." she trailed off; her tongue was tying up as her angry and frustrated thoughts were coming in too much and too fast. "It's just that I'm not some hot-shot jock boy at yer' school, else it'd be okay. Right?" She squeezed her eyes shut and felt a single tear finally work its way out and run down her scrunched up and angry face. "I DON'T CARE ABOUT THAT!" she screamed. Of course she meant that she didn't care about what the popular kids thought of her, but she'd gotten too emotional to word it better. Just then a lady leaned out the door of the house behind her, and the sound of the screen door popping open caught both Ernie's and Stephanie's attention. Stephanie pivoted on her soles and started stomping off madder than a stirred up swarm of hornets. She had to get out of there...away from this old man named Ernie, away from this nosey housewife that she'd brought outside by stupidly yelling so much. Stephanie didn't know if she wanted to cry, cuss the old man out, feel sorry for herself, punch him in the face, get Ruthy to sic the guys on him the next chance she got, feel sorry for his seemingly low self-esteem, or what... Ernie knew the futility of trying to fire the old clunker up quickly enough to follow her, so he got out of the truck, closing the door and giving his old back a stretch before he tried to walk after her. "Where y' goin'?!" he called after her, only half expecting an answer. She wanted to say something, but he seemed to have a way of making her put her feet into her mouth every time she tried. She just stared blankly ahead and kept up the pace, hoping he'd just go away. "Aw shit..." Ernie said to himself and started walking after her, giving the woman in the door of the house a smile and a dismissive 'everything's alright' kind of wave. The fleet-footed…the barefooted lass, was going to make him walk if he wanted to keep talking to her, damn it all to hell. "Hey, wait a minute..." he said to Stephanie. "I didn't mean t'-" She stopped and turned to face him, feeling better that she was about ten feet away from him now. She ran a quick and angry hand over her eyes, trying not to give him the satisfaction of letting him know how he got to her. "If I see you again I'm calling the police...now leave me alone!" She turned back and started stomping away again, hoping her threat carried some weight, any weight... Ernie stopped his achy pursuit, already feeling defeated, but knowing he had to let her know what was going on. He had to, it was important, and he was regretting how he got caught up in petty word games in trying to grab her attention. He'd gotten her attention all right, just not the kind he should've worked for. "There's more t' you than ya' think!" She kept walking, wishing he would just go about his way, and seriously considered telling Ruthy to get Tommy and his little circle of rough-necks to break the old man's bones; an arm or his pickle-like nose would've done just fine. Tommy and Robbie both saw him last night, so it wouldn't be hard to describe him in giving them the details they'd need to look him up. Maybe that offer was still good despite the fact that those boys were suddenly ignoring her and Ruthy...though she suddenly started regretting even thinking about having somebody beat another person up, let alone this stupid old man. That'd be something Melissa would pull, and she remembered the few times she overheard the bitch bragging about doing just that to her equally shallow and heartless friends. Stephanie just wanted to get lost in her barefooting and get to Mrs. Thompson's house, her cool house and Leah herself being the lights at the end of this tunnel of emotional turmoil... "Blue skin!" he called out, then made a line to his truck, wanting to chase after her, but knowing he wasn't in shape for it. 'That should do it...' he figured, hoping this one line would pay off. Blue...skin...she froze. Her feet painting...she turned back to see him cranking, turning the old engine over. She suddenly wanted to go back and ask him a slew of questions, naturally starting with 'how the hell did you know that?' and eventually ending with 'why did I do that?' but fought the urge. She just watched him work that engine and cuss, finally, eventually, getting the old truck running. She was so creeped out at those two little words, and still angry with him, and still wanting to cry, and still wanting to see his face smashed in because of his shitty attitude toward her, and suddenly remembering how frighteningly lovely her feet looked in the blue eye shadow. She almost didn't register his passing her by until she noticed that he was pointing right above her head as he went. 'What is...' she started to wonder as a little white moth clumsily flew up and landed right on the front of her head. She shooed it off with a wave of her hand and started thinking about maybe coming clean with all of this to Mrs. Thompson when she got over there. Unnerved, angry, mostly confused, Stephanie doubled her pace to Mrs. Thompson’s. Sanity, there she would find sanity, there she would find a safe place and a reasonable adult. Something about the old man left her feeling dirty all over. Worse, something about him cut right through her, like he knew things about her she wasn’t willing to face up to just yet. “Well, fuck him,” she muttered, watching her feet in her quick heel-toe pace. Pound, pound, pounding on her heels she went, unable to put away the things he said. Unfortunately the nearer she got to Mrs. Thompson’s back door the more inexplicably peculiar she felt. The house radiated a disquieting hollow feeling. That same feeling she got last summer when she and Ruthy snuck around Haven Hills, the abandoned old folk’s home that ominously overlooked their town from a wooded and secluded mountain top. Ruthy had talked Stephanie into wearing shoes on that outing, and Stephanie was glad for it, too, as the place was in ruins; shattered glass, heaps of metal, and broken porcelain heaped the floors of that abandoned building in piles. Secretly, Stephanie had wondered what it would be like to go back there barefoot, but she never did. Three times over the summer she started out that way but always chickened out, the uncomfortable tingling in her toes seeming to warn her off of doing it. Warned off or not, she could not forget the place, even now amidst all the mess of things on her mind and coursing through her body, just thinking about braving that place barefoot sent a charged shiver through her. Knocking on Mrs. Thompson’s sliding door, it became clear that no one was going to answer. Stephanie felt a lump in her throat that somehow made her know that Mrs. Thompson would never be there for her again. “That’s ridiculous,” she muttered, pulling the milk box across the concrete with a scrape. She stood up on it, on tiptoes, and called for Mrs. Thompson though the screen, the window still open over her sink. A defeated Stephanie sat on the milk box, filled with some unexplainable dread, somehow certain Mrs. Thompson hadn’t just run out to the store for milk. Not only was the peace she had hoped to find here gone, but the scorched black mess on the patio reminded her of creepy old “Ernie”--as he called himself. She could still hear his voice in her mind, still felt the influence of his few words. “Could my life get any more fucked up?” Her feet she pulled tight against the cool milk box, posing them pigeon toed. Without thinking about it, her hand slid down and felt over her silky topsides and toes, her bare feet feeling especially soft, vulnerable, warm, wonderful. But underneath she felt the harsh dry coarseness of her heels and soles from all the hard walking, and a chill emanated off her toes. A sudden inspiration —more impulse than instinct— caused her to get up and look inside the milk box. Not sure she was ready for it, she pulled out the simple single envelope inside. It had her name on it, and was too heavy to just contain a note. With trembling fingers she worked it open... “Oh God,” she cried, staring at the heavens, realizing all her skipping church, going barefoot, drinking, and hanging out with bad kids might be catching up with her. She didn’t know if she believed in God anymore, but she feared that if He was there He was pissed at her, too. Pissed and ignoring her. She shook the contents of the envelope out, which were a key and a typed note. “Stephy, I’ve left something for you in my garage. Enjoy, Love, Mrs. Thompson.” Stephanie shook her head. “What the hell is going on?” Key in hand, the note crumpled up in the other, she crossed the pavement to the grass and seriously considered not opening the door. Perhaps it was best not to know. She turned from the garage and took long strides towards the house. The sliding door, unlocked, slid right open, and that more than anything sunk her heart. “Mrs. Thompson…” she cried out one last time, though the house remained silent. Stephanie suddenly longed for the familiar taste of a coke. The rubbery kissing sound of the fridge opening sounded far louder and far more threatening than it should have. Cold air wafted out and she reached in for the last Coke. Likewise, as she sat at the table, the sound of the crisp sound of the can opening sounded just as ominous. She shoved it aside, watching steam rise up around the cold can. She chuckled thinking that until someone noticed Mrs. Thompson missing, she could hide out here, live here. No more bullshit with her parents. “That’s ridiculous.” She stood up, reached back and sipped at her Coke, not ready, but unable to resist the desire to know what was in the garage. More puzzling, why was it locked but not the house? “Whatever,” she huffed. Unlocking the garage she half expected to find creepy old Ernie inside, or things far worse. The door scraped across the concrete stoop as she forced it open. Inside she found only silence and the dusty oily smell of a very ordinary garage. With her bare foot she broke through the cobwebs of the rarely used door, but recoiled, coming to her senses just as a black spider dropped to the floor. Skipping back, she did a little dance in her panic to wipe the webbing off her bare foot, having forgotten in all the weirdness just how much she hated spiders. “Gross! God… gross!” she whined, feeling the webbing sticky between her toes. Returning to the garage, she let one foot slip in, left it hovering over the floor, toes pointed, waiting as if the spider might leap out and get her pretty bare feet the second she stepped in. Satisfied after a wait that the spider was not going to get her, she stepped quickly in and padded across the floor to the suitcase sitting conspicuously in the very center of the empty garage. Spiders or no, there, safely away even from the prying eyes of her parents, she opened the suitcase. Her eyes went wide with delight. Mrs. Thompson had packed the suitcase tight, both sides, with pounds of soft old denim, and sleek fun vintage clothes. And another typed note, which must have been tapped out on the old antique 'Singer' Mrs. Thompson had in her bedroom. “I know these clothes are horribly out of style, but I wanted you to have them.” "P.S. Watch out for the splinters!" Pulling out a pair of vintage bell-bottom jeans, patched and tattered from Mrs. Thompson’s barefoot years, Stephanie beamed and said aloud: “Out of style? Who cares? These are cool!” Folding them up, she felt uneasy, as if there had to be more, or a catch of some sort. Digging through the hippie clothes, she found at the very bottom another envelope, this one large, manila, and heavy. With eager hands, holding her breath, she pulled out the contents: a pile of newspaper clippings, magazine clippings, and yearbook pages…all of it about Anita. Not just the gruesome obituaries and articles about the stabbing, but any other mention, picture, or memento of her Mrs. Thompson could find. Stephanie’s mouth went dry and she suddenly felt the creeping burn in her toes of having squatted on the dusty concrete too long. She stood up and shook out her toes, wiggled them. 'No splinters around here...I think...' The mixed message in this gift caused her to ache with a terrible chill. Yet she was more baffled by all this than terrified. She didn’t know what to make of it. Not any of it. As if something in the garage might answer her head full of nebulous questions, Stephanie, her breathing coming in troubled gasps, looked around. It was just a garage, and there was little to look at. Glancing over her shoulder, peering through the windows as if Ernie or her parents might be walking up the drive any second now, she decided to explore the last space left in the garage: the loft. The little plywood loft had always fascinated her. She crept up the homemade wooden ladder. “Shit!” she hissed, feeling a splinter catch in the fore pad of her right foot. 'Watch out for the -splinters...cute...very cute...' she sarcastically realized, baring her teeth at the gnawing in her freshly injured sole. With nervous hands she sat in the dark, her left foot dangling over the edge, her right foot upturned on her knee, and easily she plucked out the dry little annoyance. Alone in the emptiness of the loft there sat a little decorative box about the size of a shoebox. With some trepidation, she opened it. Inside nestled four small handmade calfskin bags in a bedding of curly wood shavings. “God, I am not up to this,” she shook her head and sighed. Her eyes adjusted to the low light. She could not help herself. Taking one last peek down through the windows and satisfied that she was wholly alone, she opened the first bag and found fragments of a coffee mug. Not just any mug, but the mug with daisies on it that she dropped a couple months ago while visiting with Mrs. Thompson. It was the same mug Stephanie had used out of habit whenever she and the old girl sipped tea together, dating all the way back to her very first visit when Mrs. Thompson had sat that flowery mug in front of her. Stephanie went cold. Hurriedly she opened the second bag and found what she assumed to be clippings of her own hair. How Mrs. Thompson got them she didn’t know. In the third bag she found a stupid little drawing of a man smoking a cigar that she had doodled while on the phone at Mrs. Thompson’s. She smiled, recalling how Mrs. Thompson took it, threatening to frame it and hang it up in her bathroom. But the smile turned bitter and Stephanie felt herself choking up. A miserable tightness clenched her gut as she thought on all this, the clothes, and the collection of morbid clippings. Why the clothes? It didn’t make any sense. The Mrs. Thompson she knew would have left her the clothes; that she understood. But who was THIS Mrs. Thompson, the collector of articles and Stephanie artifacts. It made no sense. Her head already reeling, not knowing what else she could possibly learn, she had a suspicion about what waited in the final bag. She unraveled the layers of tissue paper inside the bag and found exactly what she had expected: the sizeable sliver of glass Mrs. Thompson had pulled out of her foot last summer. It bled badly enough that Stephanie hadn’t dared go home and hear a self-righteous “I told you so” from her mother. So, she hobbled to Mrs. Thompson, who pulled it out and cared for the cut. Her parents were none the wiser. Like a wave crashing against a breaker, Stephanie crumbled into a ball in the loft and cried, her bare feet rubbing together. It made no sense. Mrs. Thompson. Ernie. But she cried, and she cried. She was scared, worried but mostly confused and even a little angry that all this was happening to her. She cried until she felt all dried up. But there was John, and Jessie, and her little victories and school. It was all she had and at the very least it was who she wanted to be. “I want to be drunk,” she whined, done with the howling of her crying. Slowly, as she unraveled from herself, she found some resolve. She didn’t know what to do. But she knew she couldn’t stay balled up in this garage for the rest of the day. She shot up and sat with her feet hanging out into the open over the edge of the loft. She bit down hard, breathed through her nose. All at once she knew what she wanted. She wanted to do something normal, and if not normal then at least distractingly wild. Normal, wild, though it made no sense, her contradictory needs, either one would do. “I’m not gonna just sit around bawling,” she sneered, wiping her tears from her cheeks. “Fuck them!” she barked. “Fuck my folks. Fuck Ernie. Fuck Mrs. Thompson.” With all the determination she could muster she pushed herself off the edge of the loft. Her naked feet landed with a hard slap on the concrete floor of the garage. Immediately shockwaves of bone-rattling pain shot up through her feet. The pain resonated through her, clung stubbornly to her feet, clearing her mind. Feet still stinging, she held the box and grabbed the suitcase and left the garage, back into the house. She cut through Mrs. Thompson’s bedroom, past the wallowed bed, and straight into the bathroom. The door closed behind her, in the full light and quiet of the bathroom, she dug through her purse for her make-up. Splashing cold water on her face drew her a little closer to whatever reality was left her. “No one’s tried to hurt me,” she said into the mirror. “It’s all pretty fucked up, but no one’s tried to hurt me, not even Ernie,” she said, toweling her face off. With her hands she made a cup and slurped up mouthfuls of cold water. It tasted great, normal, everyday. Clutching the edge of the sink, another wave of terror and tears came over her. “No!” she spat through clenched teeth, stomping her heel. “No,” she said, sighing. “I’ll go to Ruthy’s, we’ll meet up with John or somebody and all hang out.” She just wanted to go out, be barefoot, and forget about all the bullshit…and perhaps most importantly: stop feeling harassed so damned much by everybody and everything. Tomorrow she would go to the police. Yes…the police. Tell them everything she knew about Ernie; show them all the weird shit she found in Mrs. Thompson’s garage… “For all the good it’d do.” It wasn’t like collecting newspaper articles was a crime, or even much of a threat. “But it sure is creepy,” she chuckled, fixing her eyeliner and mascara, putting it on much heavier than normal. Even as she prepared to go out, she feared it wasn’t very smart. “What the hell am I gonna do, go to my parents?” she laughed. “Or the police. Great, they’d love that, two visits from the cops in like twenty-four hours. What would I tell them? ‘This old guy is talking to me, and I found this envelope full of newspaper articles.’ Right!” She laughed and darted out into Mrs. Thompson’s living room and dug through her records. She found everything but the Beatles, which of course she had an urge to listen to. Stephanie laughed, thinking it silly that Mrs. Thompson somehow thought herself too cool or hardcore for the Beatles or something, and yet had albums and even framed portraits of musicians on her walls that could be heard on any classic rock station you could imagine. In the end she found Leah’s sole Beatles album, The White Album. “There now…that’s the stuff…” Stephanie grinned as she cranked up “Yer Blues”, then darting back to the bathroom. She danced in place as she fixed her lipstick in the mirror, finishing off by penciling a thin and subtle touch of black eyeliner around her now ruby red lips, further enhancing the natural fullness her lips already had, and keeping pace with the heavier make-up she had thus far applied. She charged out of the house with her suitcase and box, hoping to run a little wild before whatever was coming down on her came down. With an optimistic heart she headed to Ruthy’s hoping to patch things up. The biggest surprise to Stephanie was that she felt pretty good —all things considered. Heavy as her load got, often as she stopped to rest and shake out her arms and feet —the extra pounds of luggage pushing her feet down hard on each pebble or stone— the walk did her a world of good. After all, she was defiantly barefoot. And that was enough right now. “The sick part is,” she chuckled, wincing and whispering as she walked over a patch of gravel, “all this freaky shit is starting to feel normal.” But still, somewhere under all her self-convincing that Ernie meant her no harm, under all her determination to party, she could not shake the idea that she might end up like Anita. She crinkled her toes, almost feeling that sticky patch of concrete where Anita had been stabbed. * * * “Hey Brain,” Ruthy answered the door as if nothing had happened today at school —and in comparison to all that had happened since leaving school, nothing much had went on, really… “Water,” Stephanie replied. “So what, you like moving in or something?” “Oh, no,” Stephanie gladly set down the suitcase and box just inside Ruthy’s door. “What is all that shit?” “Just stuff. Believe me, I’m in no mood to explain it all now.” She answered, crouching down to give Sarge a quick head rub before standing back up. “What the fuck is going on? Are you running away?” “No,” laughed Stephanie. “Though it might not be a bad idea, the way I’m gonna get it at home. Mrs. Thompson gave me all her old hippie clothes is all.” “You mean like love beads and shit?” Ruthy laughed. “Sorta.” Gripping the case with her toes she shoved it further into the corner of the kitchen. The box she sat on top, feeling already a lot freer of the troubling stuff inside. “Heard from Tommy?” she asked, knowing it was a sore spot, but she wanted to get it out of the way as soon as possible. “I don’t know what the deal with him is, but fuck him, right?” Ruthy said generously, making a show of not holding it against Stephanie. Stephanie smiled, realizing what a friend she had in Ruthy after all. “So I heard you kicked ass in math class today…” Stephanie laughed and felt a wash of pride and pleasure in being reminded of her little victory. “I was pissed at my mom, so I pitched my shoes. Mrs. Jenkins had a fit about it and I guess I smarted off.” “I guess!” Ruthy laughed. “Oh well, she should mind her own business, right?” Stephanie nodded, touched at just how cool Ruthy was being about all this. Or perhaps, Stephanie knew to take some credit for Ruthy’s change of attitude…after all, she had shown her teeth at school. ‘Good little Stephanie’ actually sent to the office. “John thinks you’re the greatest thing since toilet paper.” “Uh… thanks… and gross!” “Your little bare toesies are getting him all horny, babe! Good for you, he’s a hunk. Jessie, the little poser seems to think you’re pretty cool too.” “Hey, I’m really sorry, y’know, ‘bout Tommy and all that stuff,” said Stephanie, desperately needing to clear the air. “Whatever. It’ll work out. John’s right, the dumbass is probably back in Juvie, or in Detroit with his dad or something.” Ruthy lit a cigarette. “Still, he shoulda’ called you.” “What?” Ruthy snorted, “Like we’re dating or something!” Try as she might, Ruthy’s show of bravado did not fool Stephanie…it might have before, but not anymore. Ruthy sucked deeply on her cigarette. “I’m still really sorry.” “Drop it,” Ruthy said impatiently. Stephanie stopped. “So, we gonna hang around the kitchen all night or are we gonna party?” “Actually, I was hoping we could go to the library and read.” Ruthy stared numbly at Stephanie for a moment. “Yeah, OK Brain, that may be fun for a dweeb like you, but I think I’ll pass.” She looked at Stephanie, still not sure if she was kidding about the library. Stephanie rolled her eyes, realizing that her ill-conceived attempt at irony was to blame for and yet another of Ruthy’s “Brain” cracks. “The gang’s meeting at the game tonight. You wanna hang out with the dregs of society… see how the other half lives? What’ll mommy dearest say about that? She’d prob’ly beat your ass with a wire hanger…after she recovers from a heart-attack first.” “Please, don’t even bring up my parents.” Stephanie requested of her, and changed the subject, “Hey, I’m famished. I didn’t get any lunch.” “We got time. I was just gonna heat up some chow mein. But if you hold out until after the game, I’ll bet if you wiggle those dirty toes in John’s lap, he’d buy you a steak dinner.” “Shut up! Please!” Stephanie cried, wide eyes, hitting Ruthy as she laughed. At the table, sharing a can of chow mein with Ruthy, Stephanie felt more and more herself. She didn’t take a big portion since Ruthy only heat up one can’s worth, but the small amount sated her hunger just fine. “Is that all?” Ruthy teased as she attacked the rest of it, “You eat like a fuckin’ bird! What if John actually wants some love handles to grab onto? You better work on gettin’ some.” “That’s okay…if that’s the case I’ll just send him your way.” Stephanie laughed. * * * Ruthy didn’t take as long as Stephanie thought she would to doll up. In less than ten minutes Ruthy was out of the bathroom and then her bedroom, made up and wearing different clothes, thumping her bared feet across the kitchen floor as she grabbed a tiny post-it note off of the refrigerator. Stephanie sat on the couch in the living room watching her, Sarge sitting in the floor between her feet. His gaze wouldn’t leave Stephanie the whole time she was in the apartment, but she didn’t think much of it, other than figured Ruthy and Joyce to not pay much attention to him, hence his neediness now. “Telling your mom when you’ll be home?” She gave his ear a tiny scratch and he leaned into it. “Naw…” Ruthy answered, then made her way over to Stephanie’s suitcase and box to place the note on top of it. “Just a note to leave the shit alone. Mom’s not all that nosey, but there’s no tellin’ who might come home with her.” “Good idea.” Stephanie responded with a nod of her head, thankful for Ruthy’s sporadic, unpredictable, but always-welcome moments of thoughtfulness. She watched as Ruthy slipped on a pair of socks, then a pair of beat up old sneakers. “Nice shoes…” she smirked. “You wish you looked this good…” Ruthy grinned as she tied the laces. “These are made for walkin’…and that’s just what we’ll do!” “Cool…” “Yeah…you’re gonna think ‘cool’ before we get there!” Ruthy said, flicking her eyes down at Stephanie’s bared peds. “Bring it on…” Stephanie bared her teeth and wrinkled her nose up at Ruthy, spreading her now tingling toes as she thought more and more about the distance of the school from the apartment. In need of such a long and difficult walk, Stephanie eagerly took on the challenging trek along the busy roadsides, most of it without any sidewalk to keep her away from the traffic and the rough and dangerous roadside. This summer was the first Stephanie had ever dared brave the broken hard gravel and littered roadside. Her first time over it all was painful and scary, but as the summer progressed —and her soles hardened— she learned to walk the hard miles expertly. Now, a long summer behind her, Stephanie’s limber toes gave and spread over the large jagged gray rocks as she went, keeping pace with Ruthy with ease and confidence. As she walked the many miles, her biggest fear was not Ernie, or even the glass and cans along the road, but that one of her parents might drive by. Though occasionally a hot pang of tremors troubled her, reminding her of her many worries, she lost herself in Ruthy’s friendship and conversation, and in the bliss of this long hard barefoot walk. * * * Finally, as the sun set, on sore and dirty feet —her world of worries falling farther and farther behind her— Stephanie walked alongside Ruthy up the long drive to the school. Already the lot filled with carloads of students and parents all flocking to watch what Stephanie called “The big stupid game.” “We are way early,” Ruthy complained. “Good,” huffed Stephanie, "let’s sit down for a few minutes. My feet’re killing me.” “Yeah, I can imagine, mine too. I don’t know how you can stand it.” Stephanie grinned to herself. She didn’t “stand it” she loved it. Walking wide of the crowd of incoming jocks and parents, Stephanie and Ruthy sat along the fence farthest from the football field. “The stupid part is: I hate football,” Stephanie moaned, pulling a dirty foot up into her lap, digging her clean hands into the soreness of her dust and blacktop darkened soles and grubby toes without a second thought over how dirty they were. “I fucking hate jocks, but the gang all hang out here. John gets the best pot. God, your feet are disgusting!” Ruthy sneered. “Yeah, they’re really dirty tonight,” Stephanie grumbled and jerked suddenly as she hit a tender spot. “You know, if you wait, maybe John and Robbie will fight over who gets to rub your gross dirty stinky-ass feet.” “They don’t stink! They only stink when they’re cramped up in those bacteria boxes you all wear. And shut up!” Stephanie nudged Ruthy. “I don’t like John or Robbie…especially not Robbie! God he’s gross.” Stephanie rarely massaged her own feet seriously, but she had to admit, at least privately within her thoughts, that she liked it. Not just the massage…more importantly the feel of her dirty feet in her own hands, the shape of her tiny toes, and the worn sensitive hide of her soles and coarse calluses from all the rugged walking. All of it filled her with pride for the hard miles she’d covered in her bare feet. Also the surprising softness of her toes, instep and topsides, the delicate softness of her toes all brought home how vulnerable and cute her sweet little feet were. Lost in rubbing out the soreness, she heard Ruthy swigging from her flask of liquor. Without even considering it, Stephanie reached for the alcohol, hoping it might wash away or at least numb the resonating stains troubling her mind. Ruthy handed it over without even making a single snide or patronizing comment. The alcohol went down hard as Stephanie hoped it would, and it felt great. After taking another swig, Stephanie switched to rubbing out the other foot. “What the hell?” Ruthy asked, noticing a dozen or more butterflies clinging to the fence behind Stephanie. “I know, I’ve never seen so many as I have this summer. They’re everywhere I go.” “Huh,” Ruthy nodded her head. “What?” “Come to think of it, I hadn’t noticed, but they’re only around when you are.” “Huh,” Stephanie sat with her mouth agape. “I guess they like me.” “Well, butterflies beat creepy old fuckers any day of the week.” Stephanie cringed. She hadn’t yet told Ruthy about today’s encounter with Ernie, or about the things she found at Mrs. Thompson's. She filled with a hot nagging dread, and took another swig from the flask. “Whoah, Steph! Watch it, that ain’t beer, y’know!” Ruthy took the flask away. “I don’t want you puking and passed out under the bleachers. I’m sure Robbie wouldn’t complain too much if you did…might help himself to a little hoochy-coochy…” she smiled. “Oh God,” Stephanie groaned, rolling her eyes back, having found a spot between her pads so sweet that the Robbie jab went unnoticed. She dug in hard with her thumbs and the sugary painful sensation did her far more good than the booze which had already started numbing her. Once the initial buzz of the sweet spot and the initial kick of the alcohol dulled, Stephanie stretched her legs out before her and leaned back against the fence. Sighing, stretching and curling her grubby toes, she simply felt more content than she’d felt all day long. All her troubles seemed miles away now; tucked away in that beat up old suitcase she took from Mrs. Thompson’s garage. Feeling herself so very far from her shoes, knowing how many miles she would have to cross just to get back home in her bare feet, her mind emptied of all but the pains, pleasures, anxieties, and joys of being barefoot so far from home. For the first time all day she felt the luscious and vivid tingles of pure pleasure tickling her from toes to ankles. Tingles and tickles she was slowly accepting as a very secret pleasure. Mostly though, it was the miles between her and her shoes that gave her the most pleasure. With a little disgust and a lot of longing she daydreamed about getting out of this town. She dreamed of one day daring to really go places in her bare feet. Anywhere would probably do…just so long as it wasn’t here. After a sigh, she looked to the deepening blue of the sky and the autumn stars. All yearning aside, she smiled to herself, done in by the beautiful night. For now, at least, she was content where she was. And, she was safe. There were too many people around for her stalker to bother her here. The nip in the air promised the cold snap Jessie said was on the way, but apart from her bare feet, in Ruthy’s coat, Stephanie felt plenty warm enough. While Ruthy closed her eyes Stephanie glanced over at her and smiled; they were the best of friends again. More and more, Ernie, the trouble she was in, the stuff Mrs. Thompson had, and the dread of it all became nothing more than a whisper in the night. A whisper so low even the slightest breeze obscured it. Muffled under the bliss of a great night of barefooting and more to come. The alcohol continued to warm her from the inside out, hard as it was to do, Stephanie had set her heart on forgetting, at least for the time being, the disturbing weirdness of the day, and it was working. She took the booze from Ruthy and shot back another swig. “Alright Stephy,” Ruthy chuckled. “It’s been a weird day.” “I noticed.” “No,” Stephanie chuckled. Shaking her head, she handed the flask back to Ruthy. “You have no idea.” “So, tell me what’s up?” Ruthy drank. “And lay off the booze for a little while. It may not feel like it yet, but this stuff’ll kick your ass.” “Oh God, not now. I’ll tell you about all the weird shit later. I really don’t want to think about any of it now. Hey…” she turned to Ruthy, taken by surprise by the warm swishy feeling in her head as the alcohol, as promised, kicked in hard. “Can I crash at your place again tonight. Your mom said it’d be cool. We’ll talk about all this shit there.” Ruthy nodded, lighting another cigarette. “Cool.” Stephanie stood up and dusted off her rear. “Let’s just go hang out for a while. I just really need to get away from all this shit for a few more hours.” “What you need is a good fuck. I bet John’d do you right.” Not at all knowing how to respond, Stephanie chose to walk on as if she hadn’t even heard Ruthy’s last comment. “I don’t mean to nag, but you might wanna be careful under the bleachers barefoot. It’s pretty bad under there, and things get kinda rowdy sometimes.” Stephanie nodded, and swallowed hard. She didn’t tell Ruthy this, but what she needed far more than a “good fuck” was just that, a dangerous place to be barefoot. To Be Continued... |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira Oct 12 2006, 02:02 AM |
| Barefoot Black Sheep Part 1 * Chapter 11 By: Dennis Crabapple McClain & Lou Gojira By the time they got to the hole in the fence they already could hear stoned laughter and throaty testosterone chuckling. The booze made Stephanie far wobblier on her feet than she had expected, having never really been drunk before, being this tipsy took her by surprise. Stephanie crawled in ahead of Ruthy. Standing up on the other side she was shocked how different this hang out felt now. For a start it was darker, far darker than the last light of evening outside. Between the bleachers and the jostling of the seated people above the bright lights of the football field broke through in lightning-like flashes. The thunderous pounding of all the seemingly hundreds of feet overhead, the laughter, and the band music blasting away from the field filled her chest and rattled her skull. Everything was so much noisier than she could’ve imagined. Not just the band, not just the over-excited kids above —the good kids-- but the bad kids hanging out below; the storm of laughing and shouting, mixed with the overhead noise of the aluminum bleachers bending, creaking, and moaning at having to support the weight of all the fat suburban parents. Stephanie’s head swam. Here, now, this place felt more like her parents would have imagined it. Even Stephanie felt a vague sense of "evil" lurking somewhere under here. Here, now, this place felt more like some sort of initiation, some sort of trial by fire. Right on down to the vomit-sweet stink of spilled smuggled beer, cigarettes, and pot, this place was everywhere Stephanie’s parents did not want their daughter to be. In the dark, poor Stephanie felt more than watched where she stepped through the mess in her tender bare feet. "Hey, you OK?" "Huh?" Stephanie looked around, noticing Ruthy already off with her many friends. "Whoah, girl, you alright?" John caught Stephanie as she stumbled; her toe stubbed on one of the aluminum supports that ran along the ground. "Yeah, I’m fine," she giggled nervously, happy to be in his arms. The dull thud of a throb in her big toe only served to impress further upon her the candy-apple-sweetness and the devil-may-care-bareness of her exposed, naked feet. And how much this throbbing and all the danger increased the thrill of being barefoot she could scarcely believe. "You sure, you look… kinda… freaked or something?" He revealed the joint he somehow managed to keep hold of when he caught her. "Oh no, no way!" Ruthy shouted from somewhere. Stephanie looked around and saw the wavy silhouette of her friend against the flashing lights breaking in between the spectators. The band music beyond sounded strangely unsettling now, like some out of tune barking. "She’s fucked up enough. Trust me." "Cool," John nodded at Ruthy and handed the joint over to someone else. Catching her breath and footing, Stephanie thought she noticed Robbie sitting not too far away, but blinking, a little dizzy, she wasn’t sure. John kicked aside some cans, watching Stephanie’s feet for her. "Babe, you need to sit down." He sat her down on one of the beams running across the bare ground. "Nah, I’m cool," Stephanie slurred. "Yeah," he chuckled dubiously. "I didn’t even drink very much, it’s just been a long day," she said, sitting. Jessie seemingly appeared out of nowhere like a sneaky little imp and sat down next to Stephanie. "Hey," Stephanie chuckled. "Hey," laughed Jessie, noticing the tipsiness of Stephanie. Stephanie stared right at Jessie’s bare feet, but didn’t know if her expression was a scowl or not since her face was feeling pretty numb, thanks to the delayed reaction of the booze. "My shoes were hurting me," Jessie said, dropping her shoes between them. She leaned in and whispered to Stephanie. "John’s been looking at me all night." "Uh," Stephanie nodded. She tried to grin, but felt sick. All the noise, the tipsiness, the band, the lights, and lest she forget the impending trouble she was in. It all came rushing in. She had done her best, but could not deny it all. There were too many things to feel, but through them all, the trouble she was in pushed further to the front of her head. The beating of the drums shook poor Stephanie, and all at once everyone stood up in their seats and pounded on the bleachers from above. A sudden wave of anxiety washed over her. Noticing John had turned away for a minute, Stephanie turned to Jessie. "Hey, good luck with John, or whatever," with that, Stephanie shook her head and slipped away. Ruthy was now so pre-occupied within the crowd of burnouts, hoods, and bad kids that it would be almost an hour later before she noticed Stephanie’s disappearance. * * * Bare feet slapped gently down the paved hill the buses used every day in their drive up to the school. A sudden quiet brought out the chirping of the crickets. Stephanie slowed down. She slowed down, not even realizing she had been trotting so quickly. Doubled over, she caught her breath then darted off to the side when a carload of shouting teens roared up the hill. She couldn’t remember crawling under the fence behind the bleachers, or even walking through the parking lot. It was as if she had just woken up here and now. Taking a deep breath, she realized she was thirsty and glanced back at the brilliant lights of the field and was glad to be far enough away that the crickets were louder than the band. She rubbed her temples, not feeling nearly as drunk now that she had put some distance between herself and the weird world under the bleachers. Feeling around in her pocket she realized she actually had a few dollars to her name. About a block down the main road, even further from all the chaos of the football field, was a gas station where she could get a can of pop. * * * She sat on the curb in the light of the gas station and popped the tab on her 7-Up. The blacktop was bumpy and greasy feeling under her already filthy feet. The tingling in her bare dirty feet felt like some sort of pushing. A pushing that filled her with an urge to do something impulsive. Something she fantasized about now and then… The river walk… It could be dangerous… No, it was dangerous… Very dangerous in bare feet… She knew that from the other night, and she wanted in the worst and most undeniable way to go there right now; practically agonizing to go and brave it all alone and in her bare feet. She knew what that meant. Full well she knew. It meant trouble. If she somehow managed to brave another river walk, well after dark no less, she knew it would only be by dumb luck if she managed to come back unscathed. The impulse to just get up and go there now, strong as it was, unnerved her. Taking another sip of her pop, she picked one foot up and rested it upturned on her thigh and stroked her silky instep as she tried to convince herself to deny the impulse. No amount of sole-stroking and fingering of her instep and toes could still the hot-cold tingles or squelch in her the desire to go. Even now, as she fingered the bottom of her soft and supple foot, she knew, and she knew it in surges of uncomfortable tingles in her crotch, that if she went the very sole she stroked would most likely be bleeding before she turned to return home. Still, the urge to go would not quiet in her. A man passed through the doors into the gas station, stealing glances at Stephanie as she set her foot down and slid her hands over her dusty silky topsides and blackened toes. Before she could talk herself out of it, 7-Up still in hand, she shot up and decided to commit to this. She was going to do it, She was going to go barefoot to the most dangerous place she knew of —apart from the old abandoned retirement home-- and she could not block or deny the rush of ticklish tingles and surging she felt stirring in her most private places. Instead she tried to simply not think about the disturbing tingles. But the words and images in her head were like a scream that she could not ignore. The pushing became more and more urgent. This was it...the biggest moment of her barefooting career thus far. And it made her slightly sick to actually be going through with it. But Stephanie had it figured out that she was doomed once she got home anyway, so she might as well go down putting up the most fight she could. Or so went the pressing logic in her head. Pressing or not, logic —however strange— or not, she knew it was a rationalization. The odds were stacked against her, the river having about any and every form of dangerous-to-bare-feet debris a person could imagine…or not imagine all around it. It didn't matter...if her anally retentive mother was going to ground her for life, if her father was going to give her another disgruntled and sideways glance, being the dismissive and uppity prick he had the tenacity to be, if her little sister was going to do nothing but shit bricks of gold in her parents' eyes from now on, and if Stephanie was going to be such an out-cast black sheep, so be it. She was suddenly gruesomely fascinated with the idea that her pretty and "rebelliously" bared feet were going to get seriously abused and tortured in this nighttime jaunt around the river. That would be her protest. That would be her defense. That would even be her attack. If her parents were going to consider her a troublemaker just because she wanted to go barefoot, she would give them a damn good reason…plenty of ammo to back up their prudish and uptight nagging. She wanted to see her mother's face as she worried over the damage her feet were going to get. She wanted to see her father shake his fat head and take yet another condescending tone with her as her feet were being stitched up. She wanted to scare her little sister, watching her band-wagon riding, dying to fit in, smug little face light up with shock by making foot prints of blood and mud right through the front door. Fuck 'em all… Sick, strange, troubling. Her sensible self tried to step in, tried to turn her on her heels and head her for home. This was crazy. She knew it, but knowing that did nothing to slow her down or quiet the need she felt to do this. Perhaps it wasn’t all about spite or some ‘sicko’ masochism, perhaps it was the challenge that pushed her on. ‘I don’t really want to hurt myself,’ she realized in the front of her mind. As her stomach twisted in sour pangs, as her feet tingled terribly, as her whole body surged with the slick jelly of anticipation, she giggled to herself, a nervous little giggle that tried to repress the fear that she had gone slightly mad. ‘But I don’t feel at all… sick, or nuts,’ she just felt. Felt the need to go try this, to see it through. In fact, even under the effects of the alcohol, she felt sane, a strange and very real sanity and solidity to her needs and her thoughts. It was as if everything out there would tell her she was crazy, everyone out there would want to send her to therapy for doing this, but inside it simply felt undeniably right. At least for her… She always did the right things, or so she thought. She made the good grades and went to church without protest for years and years. Hanging out with the outlaw bad-asses, all the Tommy Dawson's of this world, was out of the question, and giving herself up to whatever boy she ever dated, not that there were very many anyway, was unheard of. She wasn't like Ruthy who claimed to "use" the guys that she dated for sex- and wound up getting stuck with a bad reputation because of it. Though she loved Ruthy like the slightly older sister that she never had, Ruthy was the embodiment of everything Stephanie wasn't —the embodiment of everything her parents feared. With Ruthy there was the obvious need to fit in, the promiscuity, the underage drinking of alcohol, the smoking of anything passed to her, the oft-times total disregard for her grades...Stephanie avoided all of that, and where was her thanks? Instead of an occasional pat on the back, a little showing of appreciation for her efforts and successes at being a good girl which was more than above and beyond the call of duty, or even just a simple “atta’ girl” once every blue moon –but all she ever seemed to get were increasingly higher demands. All the time her parents wanted more and more out of her, and Stephanie felt like they got some kind of morbid thrill out of putting those demands on her. Little sis? Ha! Her little sister could have anal sex with Tommy Dawson himself right in the middle of the living room in front of her parents and she'd get praised for remembering to have Tommy put on a condom first. Those fucking hypocrites... Stephanie was filled with a most defiant, righteous sense of rage and hatred for her parents. She plodded along, the increasing chill of the night making her toes tingle all the more as she walked. Stephanie started twisting her feet before she raised them off the ground in her walk, smooshing and pressing in whatever dirt and specks of debris her foot happened to fall on in her stride. 'Hey mom, look at me...' she thought '...you fucking neurotic head case. You want a reason to worry?! Here you go you nerve-racking bitch!' Oh yeah, fuck every last one of them… Stephanie grinned the most evil smile she probably ever had in her life at the thought of how this was going to hurt her parents, all the while her own feelings about this were turning more and more -quite unbeknownst to her in her inebriated state- well…erotic. Spite. Strong as spite was, as much as she masked her needs under a veneer of spite and anger, she knew it was little more than a cover. She was going on this walk because she needed to. Wanted to, needed to, she couldn’t tell the difference. Didn’t know if there even was a difference or if it were worth spotting. The ticklish feelings that coursed through her down there, in that private spot well below her slim tummy but higher than her thighs...the nervous anticipation of the potential danger and the tasty tease of it supposedly being so taboo to begin with stimulated her on so many levels. She didn't really stop to think about the very real eroticism of it, she just knew that what she was doing made her feel good, and she was wallowing in this euphoric bliss even before she got to the river. Barefoot day at school didn't turn out how she hoped, damn the luck, but barefoot night all alone at the river would make up for any and all of it, she determined. And quite suddenly a stillness drowned all her self-doubts, her spite, her anger, her fears that she was mad. Clear as church bells on a Fall day, she knew simply that she was going to go through with this. She knew that, strange, spiteful, disturbing, angry, or not, she was wet with anticipation and it felt as if a giddy giggle were tickling her from the inside out. * * * Pastor Danny Coles and his reasonably pretty wife Cindy just so happened to be paying the Goddard household a visit that night. The church was going to have a car wash that coming Sunday after services, and most likely the last one of the year before it got too ridiculously cold to even consider it as an option for raising money. In getting prepared for everything, Brother Danny thought he and the wife could swing by the Goddard's while they were out that way just to see if Barbera (respectfully known as Mrs. Goddard most of the time around church) was still cool with taking care of the funds it would generate. While there, he figured he might try another optimistic yet ultimately hopeless attempt at getting her husband, David, to join them for church that Sunday. He could also see if Barb's, as he understood, “sweet daughters” would want to come too, and maybe even go so far as to help out with the car wash. He was a relatively new pastor at the church, having only been there for about a year and a half, but that was enough time to get to know the congregation pretty well. The Goddard girls whom he never saw were usually spoken very highly of by their mother, and he even understood that they used to attend church with their mother every Sunday without fail…and for that matter even pop Goddard was known to show his mug around there on occasion. Why they never came anymore was a mystery to him, but maybe he could change things, maybe give them all a tiny “oomph” back to church with this visit, he thought. To his surprise, Mrs. Goddard was standing in the front door before he or Cindy could even get up to it to ring the bell. Assuming the sound of their closing car doors brought her to the front door, he stopped in his stride. "Are you expecting somebody?" "Brother Danny..." Mrs. Goddard said with a smile. "Come on in. Hi Cindy!" Cindy smiled and spoke back, but something seemed amiss with Mrs. Goddard. "Are you sure? We were on our way home and thought we could stop in and see you." Danny said with a smile that he hoped was reassuring. Mrs. Goddard bit into her lips, giving them a nervous kind of chewing with her front teeth, but stepped aside and held the door open anyway. "Oh no...no...please. Come on in!" She spun around and made a noiseless motion behind her, then turned back to Danny and Cindy with a smile. "Just overlook the mess if you don't mind." Danny and Cindy were herded, more or less, to the kitchen table. Along the way there he saw Mr. Goddard, David, standing and pulling on the bottom of his shirt as if he'd just finished putting it on. Danny smiled, knowing the man was probably kicked back, shirtless and comfortable in his easy chair, watching television, and Barb felt the need to make sure that her husband was dressed before company, the pastor no-less, stepped in. He felt bad about it all of a sudden, the fuss she made and the fact that he popped in unannounced, and started nervously speaking again. "Mrs. Goddard, don't worry about clearing the table." That was pointless, the woman continued to grab up the piles of mail and the 'this-n-that’s' and hurryingly stack them into little piles toward one side of the table. "We just wanted to ask you if you were still up for all the money counting this Sunday, that's all really." "Money? Oh! Yes! Yes! No problem..." Mrs. Goddard laughed really loud all of a sudden, the laugh being pretty out of character for her he noticed. "I forgot all about it but I'll be there! Do you want some coffee or anything?" Cindy politely declined and Danny did too, but Mrs. Goddard was already running to the coffee pot and pulling out a filter from the cabinet above it before waiting for an answer. As she got the Mr. Coffee pot brewing, Mrs. Goddard made all kinds of idle chatter with Brother Danny and Cindy. She took a seat at the table with the both of them and continued chattering away while she waited for the coffee she was sure they really must've wanted. Nothing really deep conversation-wise came out of her mouth, just things like: any word on when those new offering dishes were going to arrive, did Margaret really drop out of the choir last week and what made her do something like that, was Brother Bill going to get the new swing-set put up before it got too cold for the kids to use it, did they need her to go along with the Girl's Assembly field trip to the zoo next month... Before she got a satisfactory answer to one question or topic, Mrs. Goddard was starting into another subject. Once when she looked away to check the level of the coffee as it drizzled into the pot, Cindy made eye contact with her husband with a worried kind of expression. Danny just smiled tight-lipped and closed his eyes in some 'I don't know what's wrong with her either' look. He gazed into the living room and started trying to see what show Mr. Goddard was immersed in, perhaps subconsciously trying to drown out Mrs. Goddard's nervous ramblings with the sounds of the TV. No such luck for the good pastor though. He turned back around in his seat as Mrs. Goddard finished asking him a question and was still staring at him. "Excuse me?" he asked her, having missed the question and starting to regret his idea of dropping in, having missed the Goddard daughters anyway and knowing Cindy would inevitably complain about the amount of time spent there once they got back to the car. Mrs. Goddard's cheeks flushed a little red, and looked for all the world like she was offended that Brother Danny wasn't giving her his total and undivided attention. "Uh..." she stammered "...I...it's nothing..." Danny cut a quick look to his wife, but then turned back to Mrs. Goddard. "Is something wrong...Barb?" "It's...oh...nothing." she shot up when the coffee pot fell silent and started grabbing for cups in the cabinet above the sink. She had one cup in her right hand and was trying to balance two in her left, holding only the bottom cup of the two when she turned back around. "You want some cream in-" The wobbly top cup of her left hand, the one she didn't have a direct hold on, fell off and hit the floor, breaking into about ten pieces. "Oh!" she said, frustrated and bent down to start picking up the pieces, noticing a few wound up under the table. Danny was embarrassed for her. "Really, you don't have to-" Mrs. Goddard rose up at the sound of his voice, and in so doing cracked her head into the bottom of the table with such a thump that Cindy jumped back in her seat. Cindy looked at her husband and caught his gaze, then flicked her eyes to the front door, obviously wanting to get out of there more than she ever wanted to leave a place in recent memory, but too reserved to say it. Danny wanted to fly out of there too, but he felt obligated to see what Mrs. Goddard's problem was. "You okay?" Danny asked as he stood, looking down on Mrs. Goddard as she sat there on her knees, grasping the top of her head with both hands. "You bleeding or anything?" He knew she couldn't be bleeding, no possible way, though it was a pretty good thump. It was the polite thing to ask when something like that happened to another human being, or so he tended to think. Mrs. Goddard just knelt there and started crying. When David heard his wife sobbing, he stood out of his chair and looked into the kitchen, suddenly mad that his wife was "making an ass of herself" in front of these people. He knew what was eating her, and he almost prayed that she wouldn't feel the need to talk about it to these visitors. Cindy was kneeling beside her, feeling sorry for her but still not able to help wanting to get out of there. She patted her shoulder then let her hand relax into a gentle rub of her arm. "Mrs. Goddard...please, calm down. What's wrong?" Cindy was already regretting asking the question, knowing it'd lead into more time having to get spent in this dramatic and suffocating place should the lady go into a truthful answer. Cindy stood and went to the refrigerator as Danny stepped around to Barb. "Come on..."he offered his hand, which she feebly took. He held her hand as she finally stood back up, all the while Cindy could be heard rummaging through an ice container in the fridge. He continued to hold her hand as she slowly sat back down in her seat. He released his grip, but gave her shoulder a caring pat before retracting his arm. "If something's on your mind maybe we could pray over it." Cindy returned to the table with some ice cubes wrapped in the towel that she grabbed from the side of the sink and handed the makeshift ice pack to Mrs. Goddard. "Here…put this on there before you get a knot." Mrs. Goddard laughed, sniffed a squishy snort of snot loudly in her nose, and wiped her tears with her hands before taking the pack from Cindy. The crying woman leaned forward and rested her elbow on the table, her other hand holding the pack on the top of her head. "I don't know what to do Brother Danny..." and she broke into more sobs. "Shit!" David slipped out in his angry huff as he left the living room and made his way for the basement. ‘That damn fool woman is going to have everybody in the county knowing our business,’ he thought as he angrily took the basement steps. He just knew he had to find something to get into down there, so he could hide from this sure to be embarrassing debacle that was about to take place in the kitchen, hoping to find something to keep him busy until the "church folks" left. Danny eyed the direction Mr. Goddard disappeared into, then turned his attention back to Mrs. Goddard. "Don't know what to do about what?" he tried not to see the glare Cindy was giving him from across the table. That's when everything hit. Mrs. Goddard's mouth fell open like gates opening at a race track, and like the horses that would tear out from behind said gates, off and running for all they're worth, Mrs. Goddard's whoa's and despair poured out with almost the same velocity. Stephanie, and her rebellious nature... Stephanie, and her smart-aleck mouth... Stephanie, and the bad choices she made in picking friends... Stephanie, and her total disregard for respect... Stephanie, and her sick need and what was probably an addiction to going barefoot… Over and over, in sickeningly sobbing tones, and sometimes monotonous, droning tones, Barbera Goddard talked about her eldest daughter. She would start with Stephanie herself, then work out to something bad she was doing, and other times start with something bad she was doing and work her way back to Stephanie. It didn't matter, all roads lead to Stephanie, and these same roads side-winded and detoured almost inevitably to dead-end at Stephanie's bare feet. Danny and Cindy both gave each other puzzled glances while Mrs. Goddard got lost in her stories, and both started wondering why the woman was so uptight about Stephanie not wanting to wear shoes. Of all things, they were both expecting a bomb to get dropped about Stephanie either being unmarried and pregnant, hooked on drugs of some kind, a combination of both, or any other of the gazillion problems a young girl could get into. But going barefoot? The pastor and his wife had to wonder if Mrs. Goddard had been prescribed some kind of pills for some mental "condition" they were unaware of. All of these "bad things" Barb described didn't sound that bad, not to Brother Danny's listening ears anyway, and he'd been around enough to get told all kinds of things people were having problems with…even had his own fair share of problems to face down. Sure, he was almost a decade younger than Mrs. Goddard (and probably Mr. Goddard too, he assumed), but he wasn't some wet behind the ears, fresh out of seminary school college boy, some “hothouse intellectual” type who automatically assumed the worst in any given scenario because they totally lacked experience in the real world. Try as he might, for the life of him he just couldn't see how Stephanie was so terrible as to break Mrs. Goddard down to such a degree, and he had a strong feeling that Cindy's thoughts were along the lines of his own. Mrs. Goddard wasn't timing herself (though Cindy sneaked a few peeks at her wrist-watch a few times), but after what felt like a full forty-five minutes of the build-up stories (forty-eight minutes to be exact, by Cindy's watch) the most recent Stephanie stories got started. Now a little bit of real concern started to kick up between the Coles'. Not coming home or not calling, telling her own mother to go to hell, out somewhere at the moment with God only knows who and with no indication of when or if she'd be home...these stories got a few eye brows raised. Nevertheless, the stories about dressing like a tramp and trying to go to school barefoot easily got dismissed. Stephanie hadn't gone to school dressed like something from an MTV video, they were eventually told with a little prodding, not like so many other girls were doing at the time. She was just dressed weird, according to her mother anyway, with no shoes to be had on those feet of her's. Danny and Cindy gave an eye-roll to each other when they found that little detail out and hoped Barb didn't see it. When Danny finally got a comfortable moment to speak he began by trying to ease Mrs. Goddard's nerves by talking general knowledge: about how teenagers just tended to rebel for no reason. He also tried to reinforce that most of Barb's concerns were being blown out of proportion. Trying to say it as comforting as he could, fighting his urge to get sarcastic over all of this –what seemed to him to be not much more than blown out of proportion tomfoolery on Barbera’s part- he said that by making mountains out of these little mole hills, that Barb was actually pushing Stephanie into these directions of rebellion. Barb just sat and stared wide-eyed at the young pastor when he was finished. "How...how can you...it's not my fault! How could it be?!" she whined after the initial staring. Danny pulled his little pocket sized New Testament out of his coat pocket and started thumbing through the pages. He stopped on one part and read a little bit to himself, moving his lips in his silent reading, then flipped a few more pages. "Here you go," he said, suddenly finding what he was looking for. He looked up to see Mrs. Goddard's full attention and started reading. "Children, it is your Christian duty to obey your parents always, for that is what pleases God." Barb started nodding. "See?! I'm just trying to-" Danny shot his hand up, index finger raised, cutting her off into a silence, then continued reading, really laying emphasis on the last three words: "Parents, do not irritate your children, or they WILL BECOME DISCOURAGED." He closed the little book up and shoved it back into his coat. He held his hands up, palms out. "I've never heard that befo-" Mrs. Goddard started. "It's in there,” he interrupted her “Colossians chapter three, verses 20 and 21." He then stood up, Cindy standing too. "Pray about it Barb. You and your husband both." Leaving for the front door as Cindy caught up to him, he said over his shoulder: "You've probably got a very good daughter ma'am, basically. Please, stop pushing her away." And as he opened the door: "Thanks for the coffee anyway." Mrs. Goddard just sat at the table, stunned, tear-streaked, and mouth agape that she didn't get the reassurance, or rather the ear tickling she was wanting. As they pulled out of the driveway, Mrs. Goddard not seeing them out and Mr. Goddard still hiding in the basement, Cindy muttered under her breath: "Don't be surprised if she stops coming to church." Danny just shook his head. "I don't care either way. Miss Mattingly said she'd do the job if Mrs. Goddard pulled a no-show... Sheesh, I hate to say it, but that Barb Goddard has got to be one of the most self-centered..." he paused, looking for the most appropriate and least offensive words "...Old Biddies I have seen in a long time." He gripped the steering wheel tighter as he added: "She's definitely been wearing a mask at church." then tacked on "I hope our kids' only problems are wanting to go barefoot... Dang I can't believe that woman!" "You don't hate to say it, just admit it. The woman's a fruit. And what's this about our kids?" Cindy smiled at him suddenly. "When we have some...you know what I mean!" he managed to grin back, noticing Cindy trying to lighten the mood, being the supportive wife he was thankful to have. "They say that half the fun about kids is making them." she giggled then gave him a coy smirk. Danny reached over and gripped her warm hand in his, feeling like his talk to Barbara Goddard would've probably been more effective on a brick wall, but taking some solace and consolation in the love of his own wife, who was, thank God, nothing like Mrs. Goddard. He started praying in his head for this Stephanie Goddard girl, feeling sorry for her but trying to stay optimistic that things would eventually work out, as he sped along and eventually left the nighttime suburbs. * * * Mrs. Thompson's car squealed into a halt as she stopped at the last second for the red light she very nearly ran, not seeing it at all at first. Brother Danny and his wife were the only people who were merging out on the highway in their sleek little dark blue car for the light to change. "One car! One fucking car!" cursed Mrs. Thompson with a smack to the steering wheel. As the light finally changed to green she punched the gas and continued watching the sides of the road, with way more attention than the actual road itself, for the barefoot and now very elusive Stephanie. 'Where is she?!' she thought, frustrated as the anger overtook her once more. There was no way Stephanie went home, Mrs. Thompson knew that since she fruitlessly watched the Goddard home for far too long that evening, and going to the football game at the school didn't pan out either, being a decision hastily made at best when she eventually took to searching for her. 'Where does that little nitwit go?!' she yelled in her mind, knowing her time was about to run out. 'Where did she— ' Mrs. Thompson paused that thought. 'The river...the damned river! Of course!' She spun into a parking lot of some store that was closed for the night and whipped the car back around and out onto the road. "Nomic..." she said the word aloud, and felt her gut tighten at what it implied, hoping against hope that this river idea was going to work for her. * * * As the full effect of the nighttime darkness came into play, Stephanie eventually stopped looking down at her bare feet as she walked. Instead, she started looking all around her at the various sites as she was elevated relatively high on the flood wall that ran parallel with the river, able to see quite a bit from up there. The lights of the power plant that was miles and miles away down the river, the lights of the downtown district barely showing through the haze of fog, smog, and exhaust of the downtown hustle and bustle, neighborhoods and suburbs that were lit up and a whole lot less interesting during daylight hours...all the while she moseyed on ahead and felt her way through the knee-high weeds and brush that were way past due for a good mowing. To her left was the forest that lined the river, black as pitch by this time, and to her right was the backs of various places of business intermingled with occasional spots of suburb. Nobody seemed to stir in her near vicinity, it was just Stephanie, barefooting high above it all and enjoying the trek...the resilience of the weeds as she wound up catching some between her bare toes in her walk, the occasional bare spots of ground that were cold and wet to the touch, the mish mash of rocks and other lumps of debris that littered the ground, breaking the monotony of the wet, smooshing, tall, damp grass and thickets. The prickly jabs of other types of weeds that were obscured and hidden in the dark further broke the monotony, causing the more tasty sparks of sensation to flare Stephanie's bare and toughened soles. So far so good… Already she had braved many glassy streets and wound through many difficult places, and without a scratch to her lovely feet. Her left foot she picked up behind her and felt over the sole, thick, rough, still ticklish, but not a scrape. She outstretched her arms, half-empty 7-Up still clutched in one hand and numbing her fingers with its chill, snapping the fingers of her free hand, and swayed her hips in her stride, subtly dancing while walking. Swinging her hips and ass while walking was something she'd dare not do in more sober and social times, thinking it something only the loose girls, in their perpetual quest to get attention from others would do. Now alone, tipsy, and self-indulgent, this little dilemma of Stephanie's easily got tossed out the window. And the swagger and sway in her step felt so sinfully sweet and came with such ease that she began to hope she might be less shy about it in the future. It came easy, so easy she felt her usual way of walking might actually be the affectation, an uptightness she should let go of, rather than this seemingly natural sensuous stride. ‘Or at least,’ she giggled to herself, ‘I should learn how to use this.’ She almost doubled over laughing, feeling so free, and thinking of how she could, at the very least, use her new walk. Use it on John. She started singing to herself as she danced/walked, adjusting the sway of her hips according to the speed of the song she just happened to be singing. She sang in a low voice -even though nobody else was around- not so much because she didn't like the sound of her own voice, but out of habit. She wasn't concerned with keeping the lyrics accurate or even finishing the songs that came to mind, she just mouthed and softly voiced whatever song filled her head and caught her fancy. "Get Back" somehow managed to get morphed into "Radar Love" --she even instinctively made some guitar sounds with her mouth on this one, giggling when she realized she was doing it-- which eventually became "Separate Ways", and then strangely evolved into "Hungry Like the Wolf", which she was singing at the moment. Slowly her hips cocked to each side, her waist undulating in a soft yet clumsy circle, managing to maintain a pretty decent swaying in spite of her constant walking. All the while she still took in and registered every bit of the terrain her tough, yet ever-sensitive soles came into contact with. Simon LeBon's singing was loud and clear in her mental ears, but Stephanie's soft, sweet voice was the only sound that barely came out. And occasionally, even in the dark, through the singing, and in all the sway of her walk, she felt enough with her sensitive soles to pull back or alter her step when the rubble felt too sharp or clinked and crunched in a menacing way. This again confirmed for her that she wasn’t so sick after all. She wasn’t out to get hurt, and her instincts still kicked in to protect her pretty little feet. But the dark thrill remained; coursing through her as she took delight in knowing what sharp and jagged things might lay on the ground behind her, before her, and all around her. Even if she played it safe so far and hadn’t yet dared go near the worst of it… And it dawned on her how truly reckless it really was to come out her with no shoes, even if up to now she had been lucky. Though she swallowed hard and missed a beat in her singing, her heart missing the same beat, she kept it all going, her forward motion, her singing, her sway. But some of the sweetness was replaced with saltiness as she recognized how likely it was that her luck would run out, if not soon, then perhaps on the way home. And she hadn’t brought any shoes…she had no safety net…no security blanket or a “get out of jail free” card…it was now a matter of “do-or-die”…no tap-backs allowed. Her heart felt hot and the heat swelled up in her chest like a balloon as she feared the worst for her bare feet out here… A very real and icy fear was beginning to form and then stand over the shoulder of the dark thrill with these realizations, waiting to pounce and smother it out, so Stephanie sang louder. "In touch with the ground, I'm on the hunt I'm after you..." She stopped walking at that line of the song, and thought about the picture she'd tore out of some teeny-bopper magazine her sister had and hung in her locker at school of John Taylor, the guitar player and her personal favorite member of Duran Duran. His image had a way of keeping her company on certain nights alone in her room, imagining how he'd hold her and kiss her and all that romantic stuff, and she was intrigued that somehow those thoughts managed to kind of creep back on her now in her big night out of barefooting. She couldn't help but grin at the realization that even though things had changed, she'd grown and was now exploring and enjoying other outlets of self-induced bliss, that things still stayed very much the same. Ruthy had sniggered at her when she noticed that picture hanging in her locker that first time months ago, wondering how Steph could have a crush on the same guy Melissa was so hung up on —someone so “bubblegum”— and saying how the other teenagers would laugh at her if they spotted it. Stephanie defended it of course, simply by saying that she liked what she liked, and nobody was going to change it. She liked what she liked...Stephanie cast a gaze down at her feet as she stood fixed in that spot of brush, not seeing her feet but only her legs as they disappeared into darkness and weeds just below the knees. Her walk so far felt good to her, perhaps all too lucky and safe to her anyway, invigorating enough, sure, but it wasn't really what she was hoping for, not tonight anyway. Maybe at another time these sensations would've been enough to stir her imagination and fire her spirit to a good degree, but she was wanting a real blast of barefoot excitement now, and started to get aggravated with herself that she wasn't getting it, having no one else to blame. All of a sudden being lucky so far and feeling the heat in her chest and the worry in her head didn’t seem like enough. She consoled herself with the thought that she didn’t really want hurt, ‘Not really,’ but she had come out here to push herself to extremes. Looking around at her options, she'd got her tingling and still slightly numbed brain to narrow it down to two; either the hidden threats of the darkened woods or the far more threatening and obvious threats of the parking lots of these crummy —if not abandoned-- businesses. This brought further complications because both options carried about the same weight. Both could offer her dangers and a challenge worthy of her mood. Either way there was going to be broken glass, sharp rocks, probably some nails, no doubt some splinters, and most likely other forms of dangerous debris, only one option would provide better visibility if not bigger challenges than the other. So then it was a matter of preference; did she want to see what happened to her feet as it happened, or did she want to gamble and simply feel what happened, then admire the results later? No matter which way she went, she was determined to get as reckless as possible and she was going to get a deep, gut-wrenching, mind-blowing satisfaction out of all this before she went home and faced the music of her parents. She wondered if she could let herself do that. Did she have such recklessness in her? Either way, she would have no way of knowing until she actually stepped into the worst of it. "Choose choose choose..." she said to herself as she arched her feet then relaxed, letting her heels smack the ground as she looked back and forth. She stopped switching her head to and fro when she spotted the back-lot parking lot her and Ruthy crossed two days ago. Even from this distance, that area emanated a chilled, yet attractive draw for her. That spot was really dangerous, literally, because that spot is where Anita got killed. She wouldn't think about the morbid implications a decision like this would have until tomorrow when her head was more clear and she was less driven by hormones, but like a moth to a flame her bare, dirty, thrill-seeking feet started carrying the rest of her back to that parking lot. At the very least there she knew she would be alone. No one would be likely to see her doing this. No one would be able to pass judgment on her. No one but herself… To Be Continued... |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira Oct 14 2006, 10:12 PM |
| Barefoot Black Sheep Part 1 * Chapter 12 By: Dennis Crabapple McClain & Lou Gojira Stephanie almost jumped out of her skin when the sudden sound of a pair of cats facing off somewhere in the night grabbed her attention. She stopped her stride down the slope of the floodwall, having mistakenly thought it was the blood-curdling scream from a girl getting stabbed to death, and laughed at her over-active imagination causing the mistake. She put a hand to her chest; calming her breathing as she looked out at the empty parking lot where she was headed...she at least knew why she imagined what she did when she saw the place. 'This is stupid...I wanted to go to the river!' she thought as she scolded herself, feeling her inhalations slowly level out as she tried to imagine how poor Anita must've felt as some knife-wielding maniac brought her life to an early conclusion. She then started remembering all the things she found at Mrs. Thompson's house, feeling her insides contract with a worried burn over the confusion all of that brought on earlier. One decidedly barefoot poised itself to hoist her back in the direction of the top of the floodwall, while her other equally bared foot inched in the direction of the parking lot. Her hips fidgeted back and forth as her common sense was telling her to just forget the scene of the year old crime and go on to the river, while her challenging nature was pressing her onward. She bit into her pink, now lipstick-free and still puffy bottom lip, aggravated over her indecisive thoughts. It occurred to her that all this hesitation might just be her sensible self not really wanting to do this at all. She felt herself chickening out, then felt a swell of disgust at the very notion. She knew, however badly she got hurt, that would be far less painful to her than never forgiving herself for backing out now. However perverse or sick she felt for doing this, for coming here with such weird notions in her head, she felt a sticky and sour commitment to see it through. A bell-like tingling in her bare feet, a damp spot and tremor in her jeans, convinced her. "Fuck it..." she muttered, and started back toward the parking lot. She somehow reasoned that her thoughts about the weird findings at Mrs. Thompson's just might get some rest if she were to inspect this place. 'Take the bull by the horns...' she thought, trying to build up her courage and only half succeeded as she walked. There were the newspaper clippings about Anita...she couldn't forget that particular part of her strange findings if she tried... * * * Ernie had just put the truck into park and turned off the engine when he saw Stephanie emerge from the darkness and step into the dim lighting of the back of the lot. He was a little frustrated with himself that he didn't think to pull around closer and save himself some walking, but then he was thankful that she wouldn't get an early warning he was there when she'd inevitably hear the sounds the truck's engine was notorious at making. 'This is for the birds...' catching himself in his actions, aggravated as he found himself instinctively trying to hide in the shadows of the parking lot, knowing she was unaware of his being there in the first place. 'She's gotta listen t’ me...' he thought '...this sneakin' around shit is wearin' me out!' Then he leaned his head back and sniffed the air. 'Aw damn...' he cursed as he recognized the scent, being disturbed at the smell of alcohol and second-hand pot that drifted off of her even at that distance. Not that she reeked of the scents mind you…it's just that Ernie could detect them. He closed his eyes and fisted his hands, clearing his thoughts and trying to feel the mood she was in. Reckless... annoyed... daring...this would not be good, he thought, his connection with her still being very new and weak at best. 'Give it a few minutes.' he mentally told himself, hoping her mood would shift and she'd maybe get more receptive to some of the things he had to tell her. Then his head spun as he tried to figure out, again, just how to broach a subject of the magnitude that waited his telling her. Even though he'd practiced a few different spiels alone and into his rear view mirror as he drove around that day, he didn't feel confident in any of them. He knew she wouldn't believe any of it, that was pretty much a given, but how much should he try to lay on her in one session? No way he could explain all of it, so cut to the chase, he figured. If she just hears and believes some of it that would be better than not knowing any of it. Just a smidgeon of knowledge would make his task easier, and he was all for that. Within a minute his body convulsed. He closed his eyes and felt it...pain... embarrassment... humiliation... regret and self-doubt… but thankfully not fear. He tried to see what happened to Stephanie back there, but all he could make out was her sitting on the asphalt, so he knew she wasn't being assaulted at least. He gave a look around, then started strolling back there toward her... * * * "Shit shit shit!" Stephanie hissed through clenched teeth as she eyed her foot, holding it upturned in her hands as she sat on the ground. One really prominent piece of glass jutted out of her skin, it curled around and hooked straight and deep into the tender side of her heel, while smaller pieces, spaced out here and there, stuck out the bottom of the same heel and underside of her arch. 'Fluorescent bulb...of all the damn things to do damage... who'da thought?!' The smaller pieces were more annoying than painful as they were caught mostly in the soft yet leathery bottom of her foot, but that one curled piece managed to sneak its way into the still very vulnerable side, just enough past the protective callous. She glanced over at the wreckage past her own drops and smears of dirty blood where the metallic end of the bulb tube lay on the ground. 'Why didn't I see it?' And did it ever hurt, rising up in swells, pushing tears to her eyes. Tears she refused to release. Under all the pain she couldn’t feel the tingling anymore, and she worried that it might still be there. Wincing, she looked back over her path and the menacing little pieces of glass sprayed out all around the bulb. The worst was that second when she saw it coming and couldn’t stop it. No, wait, the worst was seeing it coming and knowing it was all her fault. She had been climbing right along, making a game out of scaling the rolling hills of debris as quickly as possible. She had comforted herself knowing she wasn’t aiming for nails, glass, and jagged rusted scraps of metal -not exactly. The game was to try and keep moving, and to skip, jump, and climb as close to the dangerous stuff as possible: jump and land an inch from jutting nails, climb tangles of metal —watching her naked little toes slipping and gripping into twisted rust-red corners, all the while truly trying to miss the bad stuff, just relishing the challenge in the outrageous danger-game. Once, in a fit of inspired madness, she even stopped and placed her foot over the length of a coke bottle and tried to stand on it with all her weight just to see if it would hold her. But Stephanie “chickened out” and pulled her weight off it, deciding that would truly be too much. After that she decided to back off a little, feeling she really didn’t want to hurt herself on purpose. The last challenge she faced was the final slope of the big hill of rubbish. She decided to take it in two leaps. She jumped, sailed through the air, her heart leaping, as she came down hard with both feet on the door of an old refrigerator. It shifted, clanged and thumped like hell, echoing off the walls. The echo alone startled her more than the stinging slap of her soles after hitting the metal. Keeping up with her bet with herself, she didn’t stop, but kept moving and leapt for the black bags of garbage. She felt glass give under her feet as she sank into the bags, but none of it hurt her. Not directly. She slipped and found herself thrown towards the ground, and as she scrambled to keep her balance and not hit face first—and she saw it coming —her bare foot came down hard on the florescent bulb. In that slow-motion instant she felt the sickeningly sweet churn in her gut at knowing nothing could change this now. She yelped and stumbled away as the bulb exploded, spraying glass all around. The spraying glass tinkled after the little explosion, almost sounding pretty as wind chimes as it scattered across the broken blacktop and pavement. And now she sat wincing, clutching her toes and cursing herself. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she cried, almost crushing her toes as the pain just kept zinging up her leg. “Damn,” she huffed at last, feeling a strange wash of relief, or something like it. After all, this accident was the point, and it had happened without her doing it on purpose. Well, not exactly. And, this rush and this pain took her mind wholly off her parents, school, and everything else. She simply felt here now, barefoot, hurting, ashamed of herself, but here now. Here now, just her and her desperately bare feet, no shoes anywhere. The smaller pieces she plucked out with no problem, leaving little gashes that didn't bleed so much as just sting. Timidly, she touched the end of the curled piece and pressed it. When she did, she watched the skin of the whole side of her heel bob about a sixteenth of an inch then snap back into place, and this completely grossed her out, seeing her flesh tug away from muscle more than flesh normally would. She swung around, twisting at the waist, and what was still in her stomach came splashing out onto the asphalt in chunky plops. Stephanie grimaced and spit what remained of the taste of alcohol and tiny specks of chow mein off of her lips. "Damn it!" She swung herself back around and grabbed her foot again, mad at herself, queasy and feeling even more nauseous than she did when she left the Sacred Spot under the bleachers. Still there remained that clarity, ringing like a bell. Nothing else mattered now but her bare feet. Even in that clarity she instinctively drew her can of pop up to her lips to rinse and spit away the foul taste lingering in her mouth, even gargling with the soda. Her heart raced in her chest at knowing this wasn’t even over. At knowing she couldn’t undo it. "Y' better be careful...those kinda' bulbs c’n be sharper’n ’ey look." Ernie's voice suddenly cut through the darkness and Stephanie's body jolted in place. With the alarmed start, she gave the big piece a tug and threw it away, hearing it *tink* as it landed and getting back on her perfect but bleeding bare feet as she recognized who it was before she saw him. The adrenaline rushed to her tensed legs, but before she could cut out of there he added: "I'm not th’ killer..." Nervously, she stepped back and felt her foot crunch down on the pieces of the bulb that were there, but thankfully at this point laying flat. His words had a way of freezing her in place yet again...how did the old man seem to know what she suspected? She didn't know what she felt more at the moment, hate or fear for this old creep as she saw him step into view. And shame. What if he had been watching her? What if he knew about her? About why she came and what she was doing? "Y' gotta admit though..." he said, looking around the area "Whoever it was couldn't 've picked a place much worse." Stephanie trembled and forced at least one leg to scoot away, yet hated that she wanted to hear what he was going to say next. He looked at her and smiled, that same stupid smile she didn't like to see at all. "Will you r’lax?" he held his hands up. "Didn't’cha read any a’ those newspapers? Didn't say nothin' ‘bout an old man doin' it..." Her mouth fell open. "W-what..." "I guess y’ didn't go over there then..." he huffed as his smile waned and he stuffed his hands into his pockets. "I got that shit all set out an’ ever’thang, an’ then ya’-" "Mrs. Thompson's..." she said without realizing it. "Is that that old hippy girl's name?" his yellowing grin came back. "So ya’ got ev'rythang." he shook a fist with a satisfied smile. "I knew y’ was goin' that way...So what did y' do with all that stuff?" "Fuckin'-" Stephanie wanted to say so much but didn't know what or where to begin with it all. And jolts of pain still shot up from her heel. Ernie's expression dropped into dead-seriousness. "Easy..." he motioned with his palms in a downward push. "It's alright." 'Oh my God, what if he killed Mrs. Thompson?!' Stephanie's mind was screaming at her as her eyes suddenly became saucers. "You didn't..." "I didn't kill the old girl if that's what yer' thinkin'..." he shrugged. "Glad ya’ think I'm a psycho!" he rolled his eyes. "I didn't think-" Stephanie sputtered, but became determined to finish her sentence even though her thoughts were going a hundred miles a minute. "Where was she?! What were you doing over there?! She doesn't even know you!" "Oh yeah she does." he clenched his lips together and wrinkled his brow. Stephanie narrowed her eyes to slits. "Liar! You didn't even know her name! How does she supposedly-" "She don't know me personally." he cut her off with a nod. "Yer' right, but I'm not a liar." his eyes darted down to her feet. "Whoa, yer' cut pretty bad..." Stephanie looked down as she stood there all tensed up and saw the tiny dime-sized puddle of blood that was accumulating at the side of her foot. Through everything she still blushed at the thought that he knew what she was up to. "What's it to you?!" Now the cut started back to stinging since she took notice of it again. He shrugged once more, hands back in his pockets. "Jus’ thought I'd point that out..." Stephanie's teeth were bared as her heart raced. "Look old man, you have got a lot of nerve coming up here just to-" "Ernie." he corrected her, any form of welcome he may have had getting worn out by the second. She squeezed her lips together so tight she felt them tingle against each other. "Please..." he said. "Jus’ think for a minute about ev'rythang you saw at that house." She looked puzzled, having not known what to think earlier, and sure as hell not sure of what to think now in the midst of this ordeal. "The hair... the cup... the glass..." "The drawing..."she added defiantly. "So what?!" He grinned and pointed at her. "All you." She stared at him, unable to say anything, her look of frustration frozen on her cute face. "Why d'you think that- what's her name? Thompson...why d'you think Miss Thompson kept all that?" Stephanie shook her head. "Why? I don't...what difference does it..." "She's a Hunter!" Ernie blurted out, but hoped she'd take the bait. "What are you talking about?" Stephanie's top lip curled as she looked back down at her bleeding foot, imagining this old shithead forgot his straightjacket at home. She looked back up. "Are you crazy or something? And what does she ‘hunt’ Mr. Weirdo?" "Oh boy...here we go. " he paced a bit in his spot, stopping to face her. "I'm not crazy, an’ I wish I was makin' this up, but I ain't. I also ain't a murderer like ya’ thought, an’ I'm not a..." he collected his thoughts for a second, "Well, maybe I am a lil’ bit of a stalker..." he giggled, but needless to say she didn't find it amusing in the least. "I'm here t’ protect ya’..." "From what?" she asked, allowing the annoyance to show through in her voice, her foot burning like fire by now and causing her to shift her weight off of it when she thought to do it. Her stomach was so sour and the flame shooting up her leg wasn't helping it settle. She was determined not to vomit again though, especially not in front of this old man, and since she still had some barefoot adventuring she was going to enjoy. The night could still be salvaged, maybe... "Ya’ already think I'm crazy, so jus’ humor me for a minute. " he said looking back down at her foot. "I really think ya’ need t’ wash that cut..." "Don't worry about that cut..." her skin crawled "Just stop looking at my feet you old pervert." She crossed her feet on top of each other in a vain attempt at hiding them from him. Her arms folded, spilling a few drops of 7-Up on the side of her jacket in the motion, and her lips pursed in and out, impatient with Ernie. "Okay...okay. Ya’ already think I'm crazy, so c’n ya’ at least hear me out?" he felt a little bit defeated, but his will was steeled to not give up this time. Stephanie gave a deep sigh that trailed into a groan. "You won't leave me alone until I do anyway, right?” Ernie nodded and grinned. "Pur’ty much..." then added "Wasn'chew goin' somewhere?" he pointed "Th’ river?" Stephanie was flooded with too many thoughts to even begin sorting them out. "I'm not even gonna ask how you know..." "Ya’ wouldn't get it anyway." he chirped. "Come on..." he motioned with his shoulder as he turned away. "...I'll walk with ya. I like the river too." Stephanie just watched him as he gained a little distance in his stride, thinking that maybe- "An’ I swear I'm not gonna get’cha in the woods just t' kill ya'." he said without turning to look back. 'I can't fucking believe I'm doing this...' Stephanie thought as she found herself following after him, suddenly remembering his comment about blue skin and becoming very anxious to ask him about it now that the opportunity was there. "And will you please cut that shit out?" "Sorry..." he answered. “Guess ya’ ain’t us’ta somebody knowin’ what’cher gonna say ‘fore ya’ say it…” Stephanie angrily slapped her bare soles on the asphalt as she caught up to him. "You just did it again. That's annoying as hell Ernie!" she hoped that by using his name, it'd help to force her point. He beamed a smile at her from over his shoulder. "Good! Yer' usin' my name. This must mean we're friends." he saw her eyes roll in the darkness. "So what's yer' name?" "Can't you read my mind and know it?!" she smarted off, still bothered by Ernie and his little quirks she was fast becoming familiar with. Ernie started the ascent on the slope of the floodwall with a strained sigh, but then stopped to put a hand to his lower back. "I'm not that good..." Stephanie by-passed him and started her barefoot climb with much more ease than Ernie with his worn-out back and clunky work boots, though she knew she'd scale it better if she wasn't so nauseous from the lingering effect of the alcohol and the puking. She stopped and turned, watching the old man start his climb again. "This was supposed to be my night! I didn't want company down here..." From her stance nearly three-quarters up the hill she could see bits of glass glinting here and there. Even where she stood the ground felt hard and threatening under the weeds and grass. Up she went, a little more nervous now that she knew, really knew, what it meant to be cut and how much it hurt, and how much it still bled. "Ya’ prob'ly didn't want that big gash in yer' foot this soon either, but'cha got it..." he smarted off, slowly making way through the dew-slick weeds. Stephanie wondered if she could actually square a kick just right to his head and watch him tumble back down the slope. She dismissed the thought as she took a refreshing swig of her pop, feeling the cool fluid run down her aching and strained throat, trying to settle herself. Wait...'This soon...' Damn him! She rubbed her forehead as he caught up to her, hating the way he seemed to have a hand up inside her brain, the dew of this nice patch of grass feeling particularly soothing on the fresh, bleeding gash as opposed to the dirty and grainy asphalt. "B’lieve me..." he panted, still clumsily huffing himself higher and wanting to curse his back for aching him so. "I don't know where t’ begin." Stephanie shot ahead a few more feet then stopped and waited again, watching him catch up. "What about that-" "Blue skin?" he asked, then caught himself. "Sorry." He tried to smile it off, but started talking once he saw her glare. "I'm guessin' ya’ prob'ly wondered, at least once here lately, what yer' skin would look like if it was blue." Stephanie just locked up, not knowing if she would feel comfortable enough to say he was right. Okay, worst-case scenario: the old man was a professional bullshitter and decent sentence finisher, and she was stupid enough to waste her time and play along…but the blue skin? That was too frighteningly specific to her. If this was a game he was playing, he must've had her room bugged with a spy-camera or something to know that. Best-case scenario? She wasn't sure what that could possibly be... He stopped his climbing and just wheezed, trying to get his breath back. Once Ernie slowed his panting down, he said: "Ya’ prob'ly noticed little diff'rences too...like yer' attractin’ stuff…bugs or whatever…" She remembered the comment Ruthy made about butterflies being around only when she was. "That's nothing..." she started, "Just some silly little butterflies…and I’m sure I’m not the only one to get them…hell, they're probably just attracted to the hairspray or something." Ernie shook his head as he stood in place, and smiled feebly as he stretched his back, his knees now aching along with it. "Ya’ don't use that stuff." She put her free hand on her hip, aggravated at his brazen behavior, acting like some know-it-all about her. "And how do you know this?" she smirked as she cocked her hips in the tight jeans. Ernie tapped his nose with his index finger, and with that Stephanie threw her hands up and tossed what was left of her 7-Up away, but even in this mess she aimed her trash towards a tipped over fifty-five gallon drum rather than thoughtlessly shooting it any-old where. What could she say? He was right, she didn't use hairspray as she tended to think the current hairstyles on most all the girls at school looked phony and plastic, and damned if she'd go along with that trend. Of course that got her ribbed by some of the more pretentious girls and even a few of the superficial guys, but that never perturbed her much. What did irk her in a major way was this implication Ernie was making that he could smell her hair of all things, good enough in his "skills" to know this. Stephanie darted up to the top of the hill before she said anything about it, afraid he'd make her put her foot in her mouth once again. "B'sides..." Ernie started his pain-racked ascension again. "I get 'em too. The animals know somethin's diff'rent. People don't notice." Stephanie laughed, suddenly remembering her night at Ruthy's and how she loved on Sarge off and on through the night. "My friend has a dog that didn't notice a thing. You're full of crap." Partly out of her love for the woods, but mostly just because she didn’t know what else to do, in a fit of nervous energy she kicked at her empty can, making sure it went deep into the old drum. Even to her this bit of neatness seemed absurd out here amidst all the rubbish and litter. She stopped, forgot Ernie for just a second, and realized her refusal to litter came from her dad. Even as much as she hated him right now, she felt a little warmth inside at knowing that he had at least passed his respect for nature along to her. Ernie, her awareness of him came back to her all at once, and she turned and kept an eye on him. Ernie stopped and looked around suddenly. Stephanie noticed his look of confusion even though it was so dark outside. And his look of confusion brought her back around to the conversation they had been having. "What's the matter? I just blow your bullshit story?" She smiled, feeling like she turned the tables on the over-confident old fellow. "Yer' blood...it's callin'..." Ernie's muscles tensed all over. "M-Maybe ya’ need t’ skip the river..." Stephanie bent forward, putting her hands on her knees and focused on this little old man that couldn't catch up with her. "You go ahead and skip the river Ernie boy. I'm tired of your stories anyway." "No...I'm serious...ya’ need t’ get outta here..." he looked up with pleading eyes. Stephanie pranced ahead a few paces. "No, you need to get out of here you tall-tales old goat. I'm going to the river and you can't stop me! Go on home and watch your old movies you old-timer..." she pointed away from the river as she teased at some imaginary house he supposedly lived in, then resumed her skedaddle along the top of the flood wall, relishing the feeling of the cold weeds on her bare feet and her silencing of old Ernie. The worst of it was knowing it was all over, her big night, done. She was mad now, scared —not about the cut, but about the old man— and her mood to continue her private night of barefoot thrill seeking was shot. Taking a deep breath, Ernie forced his aching joints to endure the rest of the climb as fast as was possible for him so he could begin to catch up. Once at the top, he saw Stephanie getting further ahead, uncomfortably far away from him. "Ya’ little smart-ass!" he could feel his angry face filling red with blood as his chest hurt like a toothache. "Come back!" Stephanie turned and flipped him off, even though she knew he wouldn't see it in the dark. To think, this was the same old man that had her running scared just a day ago. She laughed and twirled as she kept her vigorous barefoot walking up. 'I shot his story down and he can't stand it...' she mentally gloated. And she smiled to herself, no less creeped-out by this old stalker, but convinced and comforted at the realization that even she, skinny and little as she was, could probably take him, or at least outrun him. Ernie's heart jackhammered his chest as his hands began to tingle. His breathing was beginning to get painful as his arms suddenly went numb. "Help..." he dropped over face first, his knees buckling on him. Stephanie heard the thump as he hit the ground and turned to look at him, seeing the mound his collapsed body made there on the hill. "That doesn't work twice Ernie..." she laughed. He didn't budge. "Okay, game over..." still no motion. Her arms dropped to her sides. "Come on Ernie, stop playing. Don't you have anything better to do?" Ernie finally stirred, his wheezing gasps for air so loud. "Help...me..." Panic hit Stephanie all at once. "Oh my God!" she ran up to him and knelt in front of him. "You- you just hold still...I'll find a payphone!" As she stood to run away, Ernie shot a hand out and latched onto her jewel-covered ankle. She gasped. "No..." he forced a swallow, still holding onto her leg, his dried, coarse fingers slipping and caressing her smooth dew-wet heel and a bit of her topside. "No...doctors..." his hand slipped off as he turned on his side, beads of sweat rolling down his head. "Help me...take this...coat..." he started putting his hands out. Thinking the old man too hot, hence the sweat, Stephanie started tugging on his sleeves. "Let me call a doctor!" she said, aggravated at his decision and fearing what was happening, not sure what to make of it. "I...said...no..." he wheezed. "I jus’ need t’...catch... my breath..." Stephanie continued struggling with the coat. For a split second she was angry that she was having to deal with this kind of crap on what was supposed to be a night of reckless abandon before going home to face eternal damnation from her parents, but that thought disappeared as quick as it came. Stephanie was kind-hearted to anybody in immediate need, whether she wanted to be or not. "Don't you die on me!" she tried to joke. Ernie managed a laugh. "Too much t’ do...t’ die." His breathing slowed down as he started feeling his arms again, though his heart still thumped irregularly. He was able to squirm enough, as he lay there, for his coat to go sliding off, Stephanie stumbling as she took it the rest of the way. "Thanks... ma’am..." he coughed. "Stephanie." she corrected him as she smiled in relief, seeing his condition improve, if only just a tad. "I'm not old enough to be called ma'am, not yet anyway." She really felt relieved to see him sit up and start wiping the sweat off of his head with his hand. She balled his coat up as she held it, not knowing what else to do for the moment, and forgetting her own feelings of queasiness. "I can't b’lieve this..." he chuckled as he sat hunched over, feeling the dew of the cold ground soak right through his jeans. "I get stuck in this old body…I need t’ work on this…" "You'll be alright." Stephanie tried to reassure him, hoping he would in fact be alright. She really started to dislike the fact that she was caring about the well-being of this old man who just days ago she was creeped out and practically traumatized by. He turned to see her from over his shoulder. "We still goin' t’ the river?" Stephanie smiled closed-lipped and shook her head. "No. You need to go on home..." dread filled her stomach "...and I do too for that matter." "No y' don't..." he said, staring at the ground between his legs. "Ya’ need t’ do this..." he struggled to get to his feet, and Stephanie found herself helping him up. "Y' want this...this walk." he held out a hand and nodded his head toward his coat once he gained his footing and was standing without help. She put his coat back into his hand. "I do, but it can wait." She felt like humoring him in hopes of it helping him along, so she added: "Don't I need to get out of here? You said I do." A grin slid across Ernie's face and his eyes slitted up, almost evil in their appearance. "No..." he started nodding his head, as if the nodding helped his confidence climb back up. "No, we're not runnin'…an’ this is yer’ night…I want’cha t’ have a lil’ fun…" "Running? From who?" Stephanie asked, feeling so sorry for this feeble old guy, but getting put-off by this looming idea of a story that she felt coming on. "You're not in the shape for it...Ernie." Ernie stretched his arms above his head and let them drop. "Well then...Stephanie...I'll make y' a deal." He slung his jacket over his shoulder. "If I drop over again, ya leave me t' die." Her eyes squinted. "Huh?" "Ya’ walk away an' forget about me." "I can't do that..." "Sure y' can. Nobody'd know. You just go on yer' own way if I fall over." "Like hell..." "Then we go to the river?" "Shit..." Stephanie tried to reason with him. "Make up your mind. First you tell me to leave…now you want to go to the river with me. Like you want me to go down there or something..." He reached out his free hand, almost like he'd put it on her shoulder, but he pulled it back halfway there. "Ya’ don't wanna go home..." "Duh..." she eyed her shoulder where his hand almost went. "Jus’ let me go with ya'..." "No...no...I can't just..." "Please...just so you c'n let me tell ya' what I wanted t' say." Her head dropped. "I won't have another close one..." he said, realizing she was relenting. "And if I do-" "I'll walk off and leave your ass!" she cut in. He laughed. "Hey now…ya’ hate when I do that…ya’ readin’ my mind now or somethin’?" She shook her head and laughed at her weak-will, too annoyed and tired to scold herself. "Okay...deal." she seemed to have a lump in her throat when she said it. "But I'm serious...and don't say I didn't warn you." Stephanie doubted whether or not she actually would stroll off as the old man's heart seized up on him, if it seized up on him. She was hoping he'd think she was capable anyway. Ernie felt confident enough in himself and his health, but just to make sure he was being taken seriously, he said: "I'm not talkin' 'bout just goin' home. F'I have th' big one an' die, ya’ get that stuff I set out for y' an' move out of this state." He started walking and passed by her. She watched him for a few seconds and then caught up to him. "You're totally serious about all of this..." "Serious as a heart-attack!" he smiled at her, trying to keep his hand from his chest so she wouldn't worry. "Ya' even look in th' pockets a' them hippy jeans?" "Why?" her eyes went to him as she walked beside him. "Let's just say that old woman kept all kinds a' money around th' house, an' I didn't want it..." "You ROBBED Mrs. Thompson?!" she paused in her step. "Naw...I jus' gave her money t' you..." Stephanie stood idle as she watched Ernie continue his walking. "You...you thief...how...why?" "Thief? Me? Naaaaa." he grinned, knowing she was still eyeing him from the back. "I'm giving that stuff back! You really take the cake you asshole! The only reason I took that stuff is because I thought Mrs. Thompson gave it to me!" "Miss Thompson would've gave it to ya." he stopped and turned to face her, wanting to laugh that her mouth was hanging open, stunned at him, but he kept his mood grim, because this was a serious situation. "Only that's not Thompson..." * * * Mrs. Thompson felt the bottom of the Lincoln Town Car bounce and then scrape most painfully on the dirt road as she kept the pedal pushed to the floor, getting a good start down the back-trail of the woods by the river. She was beyond reason, not caring at all if the car was torn literally to pieces that night. All she thought about was Stephanie, and how she had to accomplish that one, single goal of wiping her out, and by any means necessary. "Your little Movement is over!" she growled. 'It ends tonight...' she thought 'It all ends tonight...I'll do it...fucking Beasts...it's over!' She squeezed her eyes shut, laid her head back, and laughed most maniacally. To Be Continued... |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira Oct 18 2006, 12:22 AM |
| Barefoot Black Sheep Part 1 * Chapter 13 By: Dennis Crabapple McClain & Lou Gojira It didn't matter what sort of question Stephanie had, Ernie came off with an answer for it. As they walked the winding path through the woods, Stephanie found herself starting to loosen up around this old guy she was just a day or so ago terrified at seeing, even though she had it figured out that he was going to be in some very deep shit sooner or later for his breaking into Mrs. Thompson's house. As she loosened up around him she found she could even return to quietly enjoying the thrill of her challenging barefoot walk again. The difficult terrain started to mean less to her now than the clean and clear sensation of being barefoot that kept creeping up her feet and legs in tremors. So what about the two notes and all the items placed so interestingly at Mrs. Thompson's house? It was all Ernie’s doing, or so he claimed. According to what the offbeat old fellow told her, he had watched Mrs. Thompson's house since early that morning, waiting for the former hippy to leave. Once she left, he just strolled right up to a window at the side of the house, hoisted up on it, and climbed on in. He arranged all the items and typed the notes himself, having a very good feeling Stephanie would find everything, but knowing she wouldn't take the things unless she thought Mrs. Thompson was okay by it. And why did he bother with all of that? This answer went back to the night when he burned Stephanie's shoes by Mrs. Thompson's back porch, and inadvertently forced Stephanie to go to school barefoot. He didn't go into a lot of detail, but stated, rather matter-of-factly even, that Mrs. Thompson had put off a smell that night that gave her away. His first draw to the spot was Stephanie's shoes and socks, saying he could sniff those out from the road as he drove by. Of course he assured her that her feet didn't stink and her shoes and socks weren't smelling-up the whole block, he just had a bloodhound's sense of smell and he wanted to investigate why he sensed her so strongly back there. He figured that after the close call with the police, Stephanie would go back to the spot for her shoes, though he knew how she hated to have to wear the imprisoning things in the first place. That's when Mrs. Thompson was putting out the smell, so he thought that by burning Stephanie's shoes, he would scare her out of going back to the place, at least for the night. He sniggered when he told her that neither she nor her friend (whom Stephanie told him was named Ruthy) were as quiet and slick as they thought, hiding in the background. In the distraction of all their talking and in the glow of truly feeling a deep awareness of her barefootedness she felt less and less upset about “chickening out” and not pushing harder and harder for dangerous thrills. Even this simple walk she found to be plenty menacing to her little bare feet, as without even trying, the ground around the river was difficult. She realized though that she had meant to push harder and seek more dangerous ground. That would have to wait until another night, this would have to do, and it was challenge enough just as it was. What smell was it and why was Mrs. Thompson so dangerous? Going on what Ernie was saying, and he was sounding more and more full of shit to Stephanie as he talked, Mrs. Thompson was excreting something that night, bodily fluids in fact, and he didn't go into detail on what type of fluids or what she was doing to bring them about. He merely said that there was a tell tale sign of Mrs. Thompson's true being in the scent, which nobody else would've picked up on. Why did he arrange the items then, if he didn't want Stephanie around the place? To point out that Mrs. Thompson was up to something, since he knew Stephanie would try going back to the house sooner or later, and the old girl had been up to something for a long while; the items being the proof and the other things as an added bonus for Stephanie. So Ernie was implying that Mrs. Thompson killed Anita, and that Stephanie would've been next? Not by Mrs. Thompson’s own hands, rather she was putting others up to her dirty work. Ernie acted sheepish when Stephanie asked who was the culprit of said dirty work, but didn't seem too reserved when he said the culprit was probably at the bottom of the river or in a Dumpster somewhere, going on the scream he heard not long before Mrs. Thompson tore out of there. That old girl had some serious business to take care of when she left that morning, going on how she sped out of the garage, he told her, and he’d be willing to bet that she was going to take care of all of that. And who was the culprit? The same person who was with Mrs. Thompson that night; a man, young, and Ernie had recognized his scent, as he smelled Mrs. Thompson’s scent. From where did he recognize the scent of this culprit? The bus ramp at the middle school a bit earlier, when he had ran up on her that night. Who? Which one? It was the longhaired boy- kind of unshaven and dirty, slightly tall and fairly built. Tommy? Ernie guessed that was his name when Stephanie threw it out there. Ernie asked if he was a friend of her's, and Stephanie gave an emphatic no for an answer. That's why he ran to her, the culprit was going to act and Ernie had to stop him, he told her. Stephanie had to take a seat after all of this. Try as she might at getting some daring barefoot time in as she listened to Ernie weave his tales during their walk to the river side, this was too much to take. She didn't know whether to laugh at him, because she didn't believe anything he could've been saying, at least the last bit of it, or to run for her life since he talked about her death, or the possibility thereof, so straight-faced. “Ow, shit!” she hissed, feeling something or some things biting into her foot from toes to heel. Picking up her foot, she felt the sickening sensation of her flesh being caught and not budging anymore. “Shit, shit!” she cried, focusing her eyes, heart thrashing in her chest. “Oh, thank God,” she breathed a sigh of relief, “just thorns.” Carefully, she leaned back against the nearest tree and peeled them away, the little holes almost healing up behind the thorns in the thickness of her summer-soles. She sighed, having hurt both feet. Her heart still raced in the panic that it might have been worse than thorns in the panic that worse might lie in wait ahead. But it was the simmering panic she longed for. ‘Ernie!’ she huffed inside her head. Her feet hurt, she was afraid, and not of him, but she knew however far she walked, she would have to cross the same dangerous ground to get back. But this wasn’t what she wanted. It was more than she could take, but it wasn’t at all the wild and reckless trek she had planned. If it wasn’t for Ernie, she could have done just as she had set out to do. Part of her hated him for ruining this for her. "Why, Ernie? Why?!" she asked, more frustrated than she realized. "If you like me, for whatever reason you have, we can be friends I guess...but why all the stories?" She put her feet up on the fallen tree on which she sat, rested her elbows on her knees, and rested her face into her hands. She tried to watch the river from there, hoping to put her mind at ease, but it wasn't working. Her troubles at least now were more focused. First there was all the weird shit Ernie was telling her, but then there was the long walk home on her hurting bare feet she would have to face soon enough. "I know y' don't believe me..." he started as he got a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, still carrying his jacket slung over his shoulder. He lit up, blew the smoke out, watching it as it went, and allowed Stephanie some silence before he continued, hoping it would help her. "If y' don't mind me sayin', I wish you'd start believin'...this is important." In the few moments Stephanie let down her guard, stroking her topsides and toes in a moment of reverie, Ernie stared, stared right at her toes as she curled them up and rubbed across the smooth knuckles of her toes with her fingertips. She hopped up and went tiptoe over the fallen tree as if it were a balance beam. Stephanie had done some gymnastics when she was younger, and it was the only sport she really liked. “And if you don’t mind my saying so… if you’re gonna go all over town havin’ heart attacks, you probably oughta quit smoking.” Ernie laughed. “So says th’ girl who cuts her feet up but still r’fuses t’ wear shoes.” Stephanie glared down at him. “Hey…shut up!” He smirked and looked away from her. "So Mrs. Thompson is some manipulative, second-hand murderer who got Anita stabbed, and now Tommy's dead too because of her?" Stephanie sighed and then rubbed her eyes. "Ya' saw th' news papers..." he leaned up against the same fallen tree Stephanie played on, and he could not help but watch her toes again as they worked and strained in her walk across the tree. "You-" Stephanie sputtered. "You don't get it! Mrs. Thompson is cool...she wouldn't hurt anybody. If...if...if somebody held a gun to her she'd stick a flower down the barrel for God's sake!" She let her dainty hands slap against her seat as she turned to face him, meeting his gaze. "She's the only adult I know who's so...so peaceful...got her act together...Why do you want to pick on her?!" "Who's pickin'?" he took another draw from his smoke. "I'm tellin' y' this f'r yer' own good!" he flicked some ash toward the dirt trail. "I don't doubt yer' word on her bein' "cool", but I'm tellin' ya' that's not Miss Thompson we're dealin' with..." "Oh yeah...she's a Hunter...’” Stephanie wiggled her fingers and went "wooooo" for a second, her eyes widened and lips poking out, an adorable expression regardless of her smart-aleck intent. Though secretly she wished every word were true, as that would mean that under all this her Mrs. Thompson might still be there. But all her scoffing at Ernie made her wobbly on the fallen log and she quickly caught her balance. Ernie shrugged as he got more comfortable in his leaning. "She is...an' I'm here t' protect ya'." "Okay Ernie...okay!" Stephanie hopped down, her bare feet thumping the cool, dirty ground when she landed. "You be sure and protect little ol' me from that dangerous hippy woman! Ruthy's gonna crack the fuck up when she finds out Tommy almost killed me...it'll give her a funny story to tell Tommy the next time she see's him." Ernie shook his head and sighed. "You kids..." "You crazy old people!" she shot back. "Did Mrs. Thompson turn you down for a date when you guys were in school? You do seem to like girls a lot younger than you...Did she turn you down and you've been talking shit about her ever since?!" she waved her hands as she talked. "Let me guess...just to keep this interesting...Mrs. Thompson is really an old whore who was fucking Tommy...all your talk about bodily fluids and everything...Tommy being there that night...they were bumping nasties, right?" "Well, since ya' put it so nicely..." he rolled his eyes. "And, uh...she was fucking Tommy to have him kill people...right?!" Ernie just looked back at her, his lips tight together. "Aside from the fact that Mrs. Thompson wouldn't have a damn thing to do with some burnout asshole like Tommy...she wouldn't even know Anita! Why would she want her dead?!" Ernie pointed at Stephanie's bare feet. "Anita went barefoot too, yeah, I know… and you’re sayin’ that had something to do with it?" "I'm guessin'..." "Please!” snorted an incredulous Stephanie. “You guess..." Stephanie folded her arms. "You lie is more like it!" "Thompson got it wrong...she looked f'r th' wrong signs." he sighed. "Goddam Crystals never get their shit right..." "Who the fuck is Krystal?! Some other girl you're following arou-" "Tha's what yer' friend Thompson is!" he cut her off, showing his teeth. "Fine! Don't believe a fuckin' thang! Either way I'm gonna be around...little know-it-all smart-ass..." Stephanie felt her mouth fall open. She helped save his life --probably-- she let him tag along on what was probably her last night among the free population, she heard him out even though she thought he was full of crap...and this was the thanks she got? To be called names? This cranky old bastard was no better than her parents...he didn't appreciate anything...he was the one who said she wanted to fit in with the "in-crowd" earlier...he's the one who...who...knew exactly what to say to cut her to the bone...Stephanie started gasping as her lips quivered, furious that her eyes were welling...again! Thanks to him! A dirty, lying old man! ‘Am I that fucked up,’ she thought, ‘to let the likes of this cretin, this loser, get to me…to hurt me?!’ Ernie took a final draw of his smoke and flicked it away. "Yeah, yer' a smart-ass! An' if you were mine I'd smack yer' mouth!" he wrinkled his face even further. "I'm not so bad..." he trailed off, knowing it'd annoy her that he picked up on her thoughts yet again. "FUCK YOU!" she shoved him with both fists, watching him fall back on the tree then stand upright. "FUCK YOU!" she shoved him again. Ernie straightened his shirt, turning his eyes away from her, but not raising a hand to her. Stephanie eyed him for a few seconds and then took off running. She heard him call after her, but she didn't care. She also felt the rigorous abuse her feet were taking in the blind run through the woods, but she didn't care about that either. The tears streamed her face as she tried to put as much space between her and Ernie as she could, making her way back from the river. Maybe she should just turn back and jump in the river to get this pain over with…she somehow managed to think in all of this running. Trees...weeds...clearing...she was at the spot where her and Ruthy hung out with the "bad boys" a couple nights ago, but it didn't fully register. She just pounded her feet into the dirt, not caring if she found something sharp along the way, feeling the cut she already got filling with stinging dirt. 'Let it get infected...I don't care!' she thought, emotions train-wrecking all through her. The trail, the car trail…the one where people could drive back to the river... she found it after passing through the glass-riddled clearing. Home. She had to get home. Face the music, face the hell, just get away from Ernie...Two head-lights cut the darkness right in front of her and before she knew it she was being thrown to the side. Ernie's face! On top of her! How did he catch up so fast?! 'Is he going to rape me?!' but before she could get past that thought, Ernie was standing and turning to face the source of the head-lights. Stephanie looked in that direction as well, and saw the back of Mrs. Thompson's car crunch to a halt. Sanity at last! Mrs. Thompson! She stood to run up to the car, but Ernie clamped her arm. "Stay here!" he growled, and then she was landing in the grass. Did he throw her? She was too far for it just to be a push from the weak old man. Now this "weak old man" was charging up to the vehicle, and running no less! The same old man who couldn't even walk up a hill earlier was now running! Stephanie just laid there, her legs still raised from her landing, seeing this between her bare feet as they were in her field of view. Her breath caught in her chest...she simply couldn't believe what she was witnessing already, then things took a turn for the completely bizarre… A white light, like staring at the flash from a camera, only about a thousand times brighter suddenly blinded Stephanie. Surprisingly, her vision cleared as fast as the flash happened, and just in time to see the coat Ernie had been carrying land on her still tensed legs. "Who the fuck?!" she cried as she looked back to where Ernie was. That's right, was. Ernie was nowhere to be found but there was a huge figure beside Mrs. Thompson's car. Light gray all over, the huge figure was rippling with muscle, and apparently in the nude. Mrs. Thompson's car door went flying away as this figure seemed to rip it off and tossed it behind him like it was a tab on the top of a can of soda. She saw Mrs. Thompson's head for a split second as she seemed to emerge from the car, then there was another blinding flash, like the first, only this one was green. There was some growling, some scraping, some smacks and thuds as the two figures connected in a mass of flaying limbs. Stephanie tried to stand but couldn't...she was numb all over...terrified, confused... the sound of metal crunching and glass cracking. And sounds the likes of which she couldn’t name…had never even imagined. Then there was language...gibberish...the likes of which she'd never heard in her life being shouted. One shouted something, and the other shouted something else as they were locked in what appeared to be an all-out fight. More shouting, more fighting...Stephanie couldn't see which one was doing what because it was happening so fast. The green figure broke away from the struggle and came toward Stephanie as she lay there, and for a split second she could make it out. It looked female, tall, so very tall and slender, naked like the first one, green skin that shined like glass, and with hair whipping behind her in a mass of flowing purple. Stephanie put a hand to her face, scared that she was coming at her so fast, then the female figure reversed. Now that same figure was being thrown in a direction opposite from Stephanie, the huge, gray, muscular male figure seeming to have a hold of her leg and doing the throwing. Then there was more struggling...more fighting...more shouting back and forth in this weird language. Bits of dirt and rock went flying in all directions, and then there were snapping sounds...trees. Trees were getting snapped right in half before Stephanie as these two fighting forms took their struggle toward the sides of the trail, somewhat into the woods. Stephanie had never seen a tornado, fortunately, but she imagined what she was seeing probably being very similar. Glass shattered, metal crunched, Mrs. Thompson's car was now a mat of sorts, flattened out as these two figures were now back on top of it, still fighting. Stephanie couldn't move a muscle, and only now realized that she was getting pelted with the dirt and debris kicked up by these two. The gray male form went flying off of the green female form, the female's leg extended as if she'd kicked him away. Again, the female lunged toward Stephanie as she lay there, too dumbfounded to even get her numbed muscles working well enough to get herself out of there. The green figure went away as the gray one plowed into her from the side. All of this, in reality, was about a three-minute ordeal, but to Stephanie it felt like half an hour. The struggling and shouting never relented the whole time, but eventually the green female form broke away and seemed to vanish into a streak of neon light, leaving a lens flare in Stephanie's vision. The gray male figure just stood and stared into spot of the nighttime sky where the green neon streak vanished. He turned and fixed his gaze on Stephanie now...that face...he, or rather it, didn't look human. It looked almost like a cow, or a bull...and those eyes...solid white and glowing. The glow from those eyes illuminated what looked to be horns on the top of his head, pointed back almost like a Billy goat's. It had something hanging off its chin...two black leather-looking tendrils that seemed to worm and snake around as they hung there... Stephanie wanted to throw up all over again...but the dumbfounding was turning into terror...real terror as it finally dawned on her that this was all really happening. For a second Stephanie actually heard her own teeth chattering, and she realized that she was gripping the coat Ernie had tossed to her tight to her chest, like a security blanket. Now the gray figure took a step toward her. "Are you alright?" he asked, the voice so deep and reverberating. That was the last sight Stephanie saw that crazy night before she finally, thankfully, blacked out into a comforting unconsciousness...she had literally been overloaded with strangeness…so her body did the only thing it could do… It shut down for a while… * * * Waking up hurt. Not like an ordinary pain she could name, not like a headache, more like a dull drained sensation that overtook Stephanie’s whole body…but mostly her mind. Not until sitting up did she realize just how cold and hard the ground was. The moon was a little higher in the sky than the last time she saw it. If it wasn’t for the low wheezing, clanking, and maladjusted headlights of Mrs. Thompson’s battle-beaten car, Stephanie could have easily convinced herself that none of the otherworldly weirdness she had just witnessed had happened at all. Her mouth tasted foul to her, and she spit and spit before eventually opening a crumpled stick of chewing gum she had forgotten in one of her pants pockets. As if that wasn’t reminder enough of just how real and bizarre this turn in her life was, standing up brought it all home. The pain took her breath away. The nasty cuts in her heel impressed the weirdness of her life right now further into her. “Oh God,” she whimpered, taking a hobble-step. Somehow the glass in her foot felt sickeningly exhilarating when it was fresh and bleeding. Now the dirty wound and smaller wounds simply felt miserable. Nothing more than a dry thud of a pain, itchy and unpleasant, the skin out around the cut now feeling crisp and hard. Even the places where the thorns had bitten into her felt swollen and hard. “What was I thinking?” she muttered. “It had to be the shit in that bottle,” she said hopefully, remembering her grabbing the flat-bottle away from Ruthy, and now unable to handle that she may have actually wanted to hurt her pretty feet. Hurt it did, both feet, though ironically the damage was not nearly so bad as what she had dreamed up and dreaded when she headed out this way. But now she felt in no mood to push anymore. She just wanted to go home. Scratching her head, sorting through all the dizziness, she headed for home. If not home, then at least a place not lit up by Mrs. Thompson’s headlights and eerily noisy and abandoned car, a place not so near Ernie, and Stephanie’s own disturbingly perverse self-punishing walk. Though she was surrounded by sounds of the lonesome lapping of the river at night —safely alone— she also sensed that Ernie was nearby, observing her or watching over her like some creepy guardian angel. Stephanie chuckled wearily to herself, “I had always hoped my guardian angel would look more like Mel Gibson than Chester the Molester.” With each step, whine, and grimace she felt simultaneously more confused and uprooted from the precious little she actually understood about life and the world in which she lived, and universe, the whole universe seemed bigger now, more like a universe than a small town, conversely she felt a clarity ringing away in her head. None of the bullshit mattered. In light of all Ernie had said, and all she saw with her own eyes, being grounded and shouted at no longer seemed like a big deal to her. Not now, not in her much larger universe. Still, she couldn’t shake the sensation of just being Stephanie, ordinary flesh and blood. Her parents and their rage were no more than specks in her mind now. And her feet really hurt, and each step pushed more and more trivial bullshit aside. Here and now the last thing she wanted was to finish off her night of wild and dangerous barefoot adventure. She just wanted to get off her hurting feet —and without suffering any more pains. And it no longer felt like chickening out. She would, maybe, try it again. She was too tired now. She cried to herself just thinking about the long dark and unkind miles ahead of her and her naked feet. Home suddenly seemed like a nice place to be —wherever home might be tonight. In fact, right now, being barefoot felt like nothing more than one more obstacle between her and a nice hot bath. She felt filled with a helpless dread about the long walk ahead, and actually thought she might not mind a pair of shoes on her feet now if it meant she could get to bed sooner. * * * Her mind occupied itself with figuring out then taking the easiest and safest roads she could find. She was not at all up to any dark wooded paths or even long stretches of roadside gravel and litter. Nice clean sidewalks, if any existed in her part of town, would suit her just fine. Somewhere along the same stretch of road she had walked when she first noticed Ernie stalking her, another shitty old rusted-out car spat and sputtered to a stop alongside her. “Stephanie? Is that you?” She looked into the car wearily. “John!” she cried, relieved. Without hesitation he threw his car in park and ran around the front end. A look of concern big and beautiful filled his long but striking face. He caught Stephanie as if she were about to fall over right there on the sidewalk. “God, Steph, are you alright? You look like you’ve—“ “—Seen a ghost.” “Yeah. No, oh no. Dear God, please,” he shook his head, trying to hold onto her while opening the passenger door. “Don’t tell me you’re all fucked up. I don’t want to see you end up like my sister.” She looked at him dumbly. She needed to tell someone everything. No way. Who would believe half of it? “I’m OK.” “You sure?” he looked at her, unconvinced, helping her into his car. “Yeah, I’m fine, it’s just that my life’s gotten… complicated.” “Take it easy.” He made sure she was all in the car, especially her dirty and delicate-boned little toes before he shut the door. As he stole glances at her, he pulled his car out onto the road. Stephanie sat stiff and miserable in her seat, wincing as the dry pain nagged at her feet, but happy she didn’t have to walk anymore. “I stepped in glass,” she whined. But it came out funny to her, like a non-sequiter. “You alright?” “It hurts.” A tear finally rolled down her cheek. “Let’s get you home. I hate to say it, but lets get you into some shoes.” “No!” she said stridently. “No, I don’t need any shoes. I just need to get a bath or something. And I don’t want to go home. God, I don’t want to go home!” she yelped, arching back in her seat. “My mom’s a nurse. I’ll take you to her house so she can look at you.” “No. No doctors, it’s not that big a deal.” “Don’t worry, I’m not taking you to a hospital, just to my mom’s house so she can fix you up. Then I’ll take you to me and my dad’s house, or to Ruthy’s, or wherever you want to go.” “Just take me to Ruthy’s. I’ll be fine.” “You sure? You sure you’re alright?” “Yeah, I told you, things are just really complicated and weird for me right now.” She looked at him and even managed a smile. “Thank you, John, you’re so nice.” “Oh God,” he groaned. “Please, don’t call me ‘nice,’ girls hate nice guys.” “Well, you are nice, and I don’t hate nice guys. And I’m sorry.” “Sorry about what?” “I just… I don’t… I mean, you probably think I’m really weird, all the way out here, all cut up, and with no shoes.” “No. I don’t. I told you, I think barefoot girls are the best. I just wish you weren’t hurt or whatever.” ‘All the way out here…’ he thought, thankful that she didn’t ask him why he was out here himself. The truth of the matter was that he quietly excused himself from the Sacred Spot when he saw that Stephanie hadn’t returned by the time he figured she should’ve…and he started cruising around looking for her. She was pretty tipsy when she wandered off and his concern for her well-being was genuine, but he just knew she’d think him a stalker or whatever if he told her all of this. For a while neither of them said a word, leaving Stephanie plenty of space to sink deeper into her weary awareness that her world had changed. Along with it came an awareness that she never could have expected. After all the drama of the day and the blinding weirdness of everything she witnessed along the river, how she saw the world now surprised her. After witnessing the violent otherworldly battle, the world —her world— had changed. Surprisingly she found that the world did not suddenly seem ordinary, dull, or drab by comparison. No. Quite the contrary, as John drove she took special notice of things she always took for granted before. In all her years here she had never even noticed the oak tree alongside the library. Then there was the way the streetlights illuminated the remaining leaves and intricate network of branches of the scrappy trees along the road, all of it filling her with wonder even in her exhaustion. The tops of the trees glowed like moons and lightning against the starry sky. Looking over at John she realized, sadly, that he was not seeing things the same way. No doubt the world looked to him the same as it had yesterday and the day before. Even the tatty drab buildings seemed remarkable to her now, and she saw in them more than years of rundown hopeless neglect, she saw all the hope that must have filled the lives of those who knew those buildings when they were new. Another tear slowly welled in her eye. According to the clock outside the bank it was 1:49 in the morning and forty-six degrees. “Could you take me home, please?” she asked. Amazing as the world was here and now, it had worn her out. “No.” She looked over at him, mouth agape, full of fear. Beautiful as the world was, she was finding it difficult to trust her apparently narrow understanding of reality, let alone individual people. After all, even Mrs. Thompson, as it turned out, was not what Stephanie had always thought her to be. “Not like this. We’ll stop by my mom’s. I’ll let her fix you up, then I’ll take you home. I promise.” The smile he wore when he turned to her convinced her that she could at least trust him. And, it convinced her that he would not take “no” for an answer. Resigned, after a sigh, Stephanie settled back into her seat and waited. * * * Another surprise was in store for Stephanie, but this one was more down to earth and it confirmed some things she had been starting to accept. Even at this hour John’s bath robed, sleepy headed, and clearly just-out-of-bed mother answered the door with more concern and interest in her face than anger and self-righteousness. This was not the greeting Stephanie would have received at home. Stephanie was exhausted. So much so that even though she knew they were talking about her she scarcely bothered to pay attention to anything outside her haze until John’s mother began cleaning the many little wounds decorating her feet. “Ow! God!” Stephanie cried, every muscle tight as she sat in the musty old recliner reeling in all the poking, digging, and prodding that came with having her cuts cleaned. “You’re worse than Gina,” said John’s mother, and Stephanie noticed the look she gave John. “God, mom, don’t say that,” John said, “Are you high?” sighed John’s mother. “No,” Stephanie replied, gasping as John’s mom dug in, cleaning the cut to its depths. “Ow! God! Ow!” Stephanie jerked her foot away, her heel grinding with pain far worse even than what she felt when she first stepped in the glass. With a desperate grip she held onto her bunched-up toes with one hand and her ankle with the other. The pain just kept coming in waves until at last the waves flooded to a steady drone. Never had she considered that getting cut on her dangerous trek would not be the worst of it. And worst of all this pain was sober and not at all spiced with tingles. John looked on, not sure what to do. Could he, should he touch her, comfort her? Her grubby feet stirred up both surprising and familiar things in him, and yet he felt nothing but sympathy for her. He didn’t see her as being the least bit “weird,” or, perhaps he did, but it was a weirdness he really liked. In the end he cautiously rested his hand on her shoulder while she relaxed a little. “When was your last Tetanus shot?” asked John’s mother. “April, or May, or something,” Stephanie hissed as the pain burrowed into her like an acid burn headed straight for the bone. Still wincing, sighing heavily, she curled her filthy toes before sacrificing her foot to John’s mother’s cleaning again. “Good. And stop fidgeting,” she said with as much humor as a woman woken up out a good night’s sleep could possibly muster. “Now, if you have more sense than Gina did you’ll keep your shoes on for a couple days, just until this heals up.” “Mom!” scolded John, though he smiled at his mother. All this affection between them confused Stephanie. This wasn’t how families were supposed to work… was it? “And if you don’t have more sense than you know who, then at least make sure you wear a Band Aid.” She winked at John and squeezed his hand. It cut Stephanie deeply to see this, to really know the truth. To listen to her own mother talk she always assumed that “trashy” divorced parents of “burnout” kids didn’t really love their children. Not like “good Christian” parents. Parents like hers. She always thought people like John and his parents were “weird” —her Mother’s favorite word— but right now Stephanie was having more and more doubts about who and what was supposedly “weird.” “Oh! Shit!” Stephanie gasped as John’s mother sanitized the wound, the pain like fire on her foot. She pulled her foot up and clutched her own toes with both hands while the sting drilled into the cut. “Sorry,” she gasped. “I didn’t mean to cuss.” John’s mother just patted her knee and started to get up. Thorough as John’s mother was, she was also fast, and the cuts were already clean. “I’ve seen worse,” she said, giving the bare toes of Stephanie’s other foot a warm and gentle squeeze. Stephanie started to sit up. “Oh no,” she firmly pressed Stephanie back into place in the recliner. “I’m not through with you yet. Stay put.” “Yes, ma’am,” Stephanie stayed put. Embarrassed, so shy about her bare feet still, her cuts, and worse. She was mostly shy about how being barefoot made her feel. She feared they knew the truth about her, about her feet, about where she had been and why she had gone, as if they might somehow know that she had been on a perverse thrill-seeking quest in her bare feet. She pulled her feet up and inspected the worst of the cuts; which no longer bled. Though it grossed her out nonetheless, the cuts didn’t look nearly so bad as she first thought. She felt, most shamefully of all, a little disappointed in herself for not having gone farther. Most of the cuts were small, almost invisible in the thick skin of her heel. Fortunately the worst cut sat up over the ridge of her heel where she would not be constantly stepping on it. “It’s so gross,” she said more to her foot than to John —his mother busy in the closet. “Well then stop looking at it,” he chuckled, gently taking her foot away from her and setting it back out on the footrest. “You want a pop or something, Sugar?” John’s mother asked as she walked to the kitchen with a handful of little boxes. “Just a 7-Up or a Coke, please.” “Very polite,” she said more to John than to Stephanie, winking to encourage him. John winced. Looking Stephanie over from her bedraggled hair to her dirty toes he hoped she somehow missed his mother’s embarrassing winking. As a twinge of tingling whirred around in his crotch he cringed, feeling guilty that Stephanie’s hurting and dirty foot actually shot an unshakeable rush of pleasure all through him. How distinctly he still remembered Gina’s friend Paulette, unlike Gina who was tall and blonde, Paulette was small and brunette like Stephanie. It was Paulette who first got his sister into going barefoot all the time. As much as John adored and worshipped his sister, Stephanie reminded him of Paulette. Even as a child he felt things for Paulette, things no child could understand, things that drove him to show off in ways Paulette must have found more annoying than flattering. He cringed again recalling the childish and dorky things he did to get her attention. Sadly, Paulette moved away shortly after Gina died. “Excuse me,” John hopped up and headed in to the kitchen. “Nice girl,” his mother whispered while Stephanie sat in the living room and picked up a tattered copy of “Reader’s Digest” as she tried to pretend she didn’t know they were talking about her. But she was dying to know what they were saying, and straining to hear. “Don’t get too excited, she’s just a friend.” “And she’s polite, too. And cute!” She nudged her son, teasingly. “Mom,” he chuckled, glancing back at Stephanie, who pretended to be reading all the dumb jokes and sappy articles. “I wish you weren’t bringing Gina up all the time around her.” “Sorry, Johnny, it’s the bare feet. You remember how I tried to get your sister to stop that —running around like a hippie or hillbilly or whatever— but it just seemed to make her want to do it more. Watch this girl, I would hate it if… you know.” “She’s not like that.” “Oh, God,” she moaned, the moan bent around a little and turned into a chuckle, a twinkle lit her eye. “You were probably too young to remember, but Gina was always coming home with cuts in her feet.” She laughed. “No, I remember, and I remember you giving her hell for it, too,” he confessed. “She used to try and hide them from me. Now Paulette…she never seemed to get cut. I guess she wasn’t as fucked up as Gina was on dope all the time. This Stephanie girl, she’s not doped up… so what’s her problem? Is she just clumsy?” she chuckled. “Well, whatever, I guess there are worse things than running all over barefoot. But honestly, you’d think after the first time or two a girl steps on glass that she’d give it up.” She shook her head. “It’s like some sort of obsession with these girls. Well, you take care of this one.” “She’s just a friend, mom.” “I know, but that doesn’t mean you can’t take care of her.” A few minutes and sips of Coke later and it was over. John’s mother had not only butterfly bandaged and Band Aided the worst of the cuts, but also sent Stephanie home with a few spare Band Aids and instructions on how to keep her cuts clean and bandaged. “Thanks so much… Mrs… uhm, gosh, sorry, I don’t’ know your last name,” Stephanie looked at John and blushed. “Call me Susan.” “Thanks… Susan.” Stephanie started out, John right behind her. “And, Stephanie, Sugar, if you ever hurt yourself again, don’t be shy about stopping by, anytime day or night.” “Thanks,” said Stephanie, limping off, touched by Susan’s warmth. “Your mom’s real nice,” she said after Susan shut the door. “It’s Vincent, y’know: my last name.” * * * Stephanie hadn’t meant to, but she slept through most of the ride home. As John saw her to the door she realized she didn’t care about the world of trouble awaiting her. She was too tired to even dread facing her parents; even at this hour, even barefoot. John backed away from the door, feeling more than a little squeamish about this awkwardness. This wasn’t a date, and that goodnight kiss —as much as he wanted one— seemed absurd even in the glow of his surprisingly sudden infatuation with peculiar little Stephanie. “So, tomorrow, can we go to a movie or something?” “I’d love to, but… I’ll probably be grounded for life after all I’ve pulled.” Looking up, Stephanie realized with dread the impossibility of sneaking in. It was well after two a.m. —her parents always in bed by ten-thirty at the very latest— and the living room light was still on, and the TV was still casting blue flashes in the sickly yellow light of the room. She sighed. “See you in school Monday. And, John… really sorry about tonight. I’m just… it’s been weird, and I’m really tired.” “That’s cool.” “Really, I’ll see you in school. I’ll feel better then, I hope.” “Good luck,” he chuckled knowingly as he heard weary and heavy footsteps coming to answer the door Stephanie hadn’t even knocked at yet. He made his way around to the driver’s side of the car. ‘I wouldn’t want to be her right now.’ The front door opened. Stephanie almost choked on the heavy pent-up air that seemed to be sucking her into the house. There her mother stood. Face puffy, splotchy from plenty of crying, and looking as if all her crying had twisted her face in around her nose. She looked twenty years older. Barbera Goddard’s whole body was bent under the weight of all her obsessive worrying. She looked as if she had been up for two nights straight. All the work her mother did to make her misery clear to Stephanie annoyed Stephanie more than anything. It seemed clear to Stephanie now that her mother was not so much interested in Stephanie as deeply involved in her own emotional drama and martyrdom. No hug, no welcome home, just lips pursed and red eyes, a Kleenex wadded in her hand. Stephanie, ashamed of her dirty and bandaged bare feet, stepped in, braced for hours of lecturing and a very long night, guilt, and a long steep in her mother’s single-minded stew of showy misery. “I don’t care anymore,” her mother said, backing up the stairs with all the grace of an invalid. “You just go on and do whatever you want to do. You obviously don’t care about anyone but yourself. I give up. I quit.” She turned around and felt weakly up the stairs, either putting on a great show or totally consumed in her own drama, either way Stephanie merely resented the whole pathetic display. It was the slow heavy and ever-controlled footsteps of her father coming down the hall from his bedroom that alarmed Stephanie the most, riveting her by the toes to the spot on the landing. Her naked feet suddenly crept with burning shame. Down the stairs he came, his eyes always seeming to be focused squarely on the top of her head. He stood toe to toe with her, towering over her like some animate storm cloud, but still as stone. He looked her over from her tousled hair and skintight torn jeans to her scandalously bared and dirty bandaged feet. “You get more and more disgusting every day,” he said, standing so tight and so clenched that she knew he meant for her to realize it was taking every ounce of his resolve to not beat her senseless. He turned and left, following his —once again— sobbing wife down the hall, catching the light and TV remote along the way. He stopped and faced her in the dark. “So long as I live I will never forget what you have done to your mother.” Stephanie stood plunged in total darkness, except for the light leaking in from the porch-light outside the window in the front door. Slipping quietly to her own room, Stephanie didn’t feel the least bit guilty. At least not about the things her parents meant her to be steeping in remorse over. Nor the many things her mother wanted her to be torturing herself over: going barefoot, disobeying, dressing like a tramp, hanging out with Ruthy, hurting her raw-nerve mother and pissing off her asshole father. Stephanie instead felt a clinging warm guilt over feeling such a solid resentment for her own mother. A guilt born of beginning to see things for how they were in the light of everything she was discovering about other families. But that was that. Feeling her way down and to her door, passing her father’s workroom, she flipped on her light and plopped right down onto her own bed. Alone, in the basement-quiet of her room, she sat. Walls full of smiling rock stars stared coldly at her, dumbly, sunshine and wind behind them. Thinking of all the fairy tales her mother had read to her, thinking of all the bright summer times, of all the times her mother had taken her swimming, or to the mall, or to the used book store, or to the park…Stephanie just curled up and cried. The End... (for now) |
| Posted by: kalki Nov 13 2006, 06:08 PM |
| This is a fantastic story so far! My compliments to both authors. How soon until we can read part 2? Stephanie is a fantastic character. She reminds me of Lindsey Weir from the American TV series "Freaks and Geeks," and of course Mara. Has Dennis done any illustrations of Stephanie? |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira Nov 14 2006, 01:27 AM |
| Thanks for the kind words kalki. Part 2 will be available as soon as my website becomes available. Don't worry, it will be a free site and it will feature both Barefoot Black Sheep and The Spider and the Fly (another barefoot girl story that's about a quarter of the way finished), among other barefoot girl related goodies. I just posted the first 13 chapters of Barefoot Black Sheep to drum up some interest and to see if people liked it or not. Hang in there and be patient my friend, when the site becomes available I'll be sure to let everybody know. And no, I'm sorry to say that Dennis hasn't illustrated any of this story. For reasons that are very personal to him he won't be illustrating anything any time soon, but don't worry about Dennis, his passion is alive and well with his writing and the man continues to kick ass to this very day. I however will be illustrating this story when it goes up on the site. I don't know if you've seen any of my drawings or not, but I hope you'll like what you see when I put pen to paper for some barefoot girl artwork. |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira Nov 15 2006, 01:27 AM |
| Just in case anybody's curious about my artwork pertaining to barefoot girls, here are seven different pieces I've done that happen to have barefoot girls in them... http://wusfeetlinks.com/artwork/lougojira/lg_artwork.html These drawings were either done for certain sites or independant publishers. They aren't "barefoot girl art" so to speak, and they're all more than a few years old, but hopefully you'll get a basic idea on what to expect as far as story illustrations. Hope you like what you see. |
| Posted by: kalki Nov 23 2006, 10:33 PM |
| I love the art, and can't wait to see more. |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira Nov 27 2006, 01:26 AM |
| Thank you sir. And some good news about the art...I just got home, literally, from Mara Land!  I was fortunate enough to get to spend the entire Thanksgiving weekend with Dennis and Christine at their place waaaaayyy up North, and one part of the fun was having Dennis drive me around to all the real world locations that inspired him for certain scenes in Barefoot Black Sheep. I brought along a camera, and he snapped off a bunch of pics to help me out in drawing out Stephanie's world. It was so cool to actually see all the locations that I helped write about, and I hope that by using this source material it'll help give the art some real world feeling. Hang in there Bro...when this stuff is completed and goes up I'll be sure to let you know. Thanks for all your interest and encouragement. |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira Dec 30 2006, 01:27 PM |
I'm so happy to see that the view count keeps climbing for this topic! I like to think it means that people are interested in this story, so as an added treat to the thread, here is a pre-production ink sketch done on a particular character... His name is Verono, and folks who have read these 13 chapters won't be a stranger to him. Don't let his appearance fool you...he's one of the good guys! Sorry for not posting a drawing of barefoot Stephanie just yet...I gotta save the really good stuff for the site!  |
| Posted by: kalki Jan 6 2007, 09:41 PM |
| Great drawing Lou! I have been looking forward to updates on the project, and I'm pleased with everything that I've seen so far. |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira Jan 6 2007, 11:29 PM |
| Thank you Brother kalki, glad you're enjoying this. Just a little update on this project as a whole: As of this posting, I'm in the middle of the HUGE finale on this story. Everything has lead into this pivotal point, so I'm taking extra special care to deliver an ending that will hopefully satisfy myself and the folks who read this tale of our barefoot girl Stephanie. Once the actual writing of the story has been finished, I'm going to dedicate all my time to the artwork...something I'm really anxious to start full swing. Naturally there's going to be some revisions and rewrites before it all goes public, but that shouldn't take too awfully long. Thanks for your continued interest Bro...and thanks for your patience with me as I get this labor of love finished up. |
| Posted by: DG2001 Jan 7 2007, 04:11 AM |
| It's a great story, we'll stay tuned waiting for more!!! And that drawing of Verono is cool! Thanks for bringing Stephanie to our lives. She's the dreamgirl of any barefoot girl lover!!! Regards DG |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira Jan 7 2007, 01:13 PM | ||
Thanks Bro...coming from you that means a lot! Stephanie was a big departure from the types of girls I tend to portray in the stories I write. If you've read any of The Spider and the Fly (and I know you have DG ), Stephanie is almost a CHOIR GIRL when compared to Lacey...whereas Lacey is basically reckless, amoral, and trashy (in good ways *hopefully*), Stephanie has a lot of dilemma's in her decision making, and she tends to fuss and worry a lot. Dennis and I didn't necessarily set out to make her this way, that's just how the chips fell...in other words Stephanie somehow took on a personality all on her own as we wrote about her, and there were times that Dennis and I both felt that we'd lost control of her character! I know stuff like that happens sometimes, but we sure didn't see it coming here...Anyway, I'm glad to know that Stephanie's been so well received. Hang in there for the whole ride Bro. It should hopefully be a blast. |
| Posted by: DG2001 Jan 7 2007, 05:37 PM |
| Ah, Lacey! That's the other side of the coin, the opposite to the good Stephanie. Believe me, I miss Lacey! On the other hand, a good, well behaved girl like Stephanie can become wild, out of control from time to time!!! Regards DG |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira Jan 7 2007, 11:22 PM | ||
And she does just that my Bro! That was another part of the fun in this project...taking a good girl and really bringing out her wild side! |
| Posted by: joecool Jun 11 2007, 05:31 PM |
| 'Barefoot Black Sheep' is awesome! How soon until can we see the remaining chapters, I want to see how it ends. |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira Jun 13 2007, 01:27 AM |
| Thanks for the compliments joecool! The story went A LOT longer than Dennis or I thought it would, but it's FINALLY coming to an end very soon. After the story is finished, I have to do some artwork for it and assemble the site on which it will appear. Thanks for your interest, and hang in there my Bro! I'll be happy to let you know when everything is ready. |
| Posted by: Southerncrossfire44 Nov 1 2007, 04:13 AM |
| I just wanted to bump this back up. It's too good to get lost! |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira Nov 2 2007, 12:30 AM | ||
Thanks Bro. In case anybody's wanting to know where this project stands at the moment, here's a little bit of a run-down: The story itself is finished, but as I mentioned earlier it went a whole lot longer than Dennis or I planned. We've clearly got some turning points and cliffhangers to work with in the story, so expect Barefoot Black Sheep to get serialized into "episodes". Now, while the story itself is finished, we've still got the epilogue to write...just one last chapter to tie up some loose ends. I'm in the process of doing a rewrite on it, and I'll hopefully have this done reasonably soon. Some artwork and graphic designs have been completed for the site. So hang in there folks, Stephanie's barefoot adventures are coming as soon as they can! I hope everybody will enjoy the ride. |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira Nov 3 2007, 05:11 PM |
Here are two pre-production Stephanie sketches by none other than Crabapple himself. I was more than pleasantly surprised when I suddenly received these and several other drawings of her in the mail the other day, let me tell you! Enjoy!   |
| Posted by: descult Nov 9 2007, 09:39 PM |
| http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p1jc7o9PLts |
| Posted by: Southerncrossfire44 Oct 4 2008, 03:16 AM |
| Hey, I just wanted to bump this back up. It's way too good to get lost! |
| Posted by: DG2001 Oct 4 2008, 04:02 PM | ||
I fully agree with you, this story is excellent, a wonderful saga. |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira Oct 6 2008, 01:54 AM |
Thanks for the nice words guys! It's actually kind of embarrassing how long this project has taken, and there STILL isn't a site or anything to show for it. Without going into a bunch of gritty details, there's been a literal truckload of setbacks...everything from deaths in the family to extra jobs to power outtages lasting over a week...if it means setting me off from working on this project, then odds are it'll happen. Glad you Gents are enjoying the preview...all of it will come to fruition one day. Which day, well, anybodys' guess is as good as mine, because I sure don't know!  But don't give up any kind of hope just yet. Dennis and I are still working on this here and there...we've both got pretty full schedules so getting to it has been challenging for the both of us...but we haven't given up the ghost. |
| Posted by: DG2001 Oct 6 2008, 02:21 AM | ||
Hi Lou Well, until you find a proper site, I am sure this forum would make the work very well and that we all would enjoy the following chapters :-) Another idea would be making it in MySpace, just like the BarefootSorority stories http://www.myspace.com/barefootsorority |
| Posted by: Southerncrossfire44 May 6 2009, 07:47 PM |
| Hey, just wanted to bump this back up. It's way too good to lose! |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira May 13 2009, 12:13 AM | ||
Hey, thanks for the bump-up Bro! Very much appreciated. Well, as if anybody was still waiting for this entire story to hit the internet, as you can see the arrival time for both this tale and the site to which it'd belong has been postponed indefinitely. To make a long story short, the truth is I've just had too many irons in the fire and been distracted with too many other projects to really knuckle down and post this stuff, let alone do all of the artwork that I'd like to do for it. But on the positive side I haven't given up on the idea, so who knows? Anything could be possible one day. And of course if and when something happens I'll be sure to let you guys know about it. In the meantime, here is one of the completed drawings. This is the first "real" drawing of Stephanie that I'd ever done (never mind all the little sketches and things beforehand), and I'm pretty sure the readers will know which part of the story this scene belongs. I hope you folks like it.  |
| Posted by: Southerncrossfire44 May 16 2009, 08:04 PM |
| Holy crap, Lou! That is some awesome art! Stephanie is HOT! You just know everybody's going to be eager to see more! Is that all done on computer, or is the figure hand drawn? I know what you mean about too many irons in the fire, though. I'm a victim of it myself. |
| Posted by: Viral May 18 2009, 01:51 PM |
| Wow! Great picture to go with a great story. I've been reading it on and off for a little while, haven't finished it yet. I really like it. Is there anything more beautiful in this world than an angsty teen barefoot girl? Hoping to see more pictures of Stephanie. I love the art style. P.S. I'm an old fan of Dennis' Mara stories |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira May 22 2009, 08:39 AM | ||
Thanks for the nice words Bro. The art...well, this drawing at least, is about half and half...Stephanie and some parts of the background were done on paper, and then a good portion of the rest of it was done on computer. I've done a couple more Stephanie drawings, and those have been mostly on paper, with even less use of the computer. I'll see what I can do about posting those sometime if anybody wants to see them. I very recently acquired a copy of a Poser program called "Figure Artist", and I'm actually kind of anxious to see what I can do with that. Once I get some of these other drawing projects I'm currently working on finished, I plan on knuckling down with the program and learning it well enough to try implementing it into Stephanie's art. I'm not wanting to replace old fashioned hand-drawn art with the computer, but rather I'm hoping to hit a nice enough middle ground with the two. Wish me luck! Thanks again for the nice, understanding, and encouraging words...it's all very much appreciated. Sorry I took a while to get to this topic. |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira May 22 2009, 08:55 AM | ||
Thank you sir! I hope you continue liking the story! Anything more beautiful in this world than a barefoot teenage girl? Hmmm...tough call...there might be something in this world more visually appealing, but if there is I have yet to see it. Of course capturing that amount of God-given beauty in a mere drawing is a real challenge, but then anything worth doing is always going to present some kind of a challenge. Thanks for the nice words, I'm glad you like the art, and I'll see about posting more sometime soon. And yes, I hear you loud and clear about Dennis' Mara stories. I was always a fan myself, so it was a pleasure and a real treat to finally get to work on a project with the man whose work always inspired me. And just so you know, Dennis and I have been working on yet another barefoot girl story. It's too early to go into details on it, but I hope we can be at a safe enough point in it sometime reasonably soon to where I can post some of it as well. |
| Posted by: DG2001 May 22 2009, 05:06 PM |
| Lou The story is wonderful, amazing... it has everything: Suspense, Sci-Fi, action...and of course beautiful, hardcore barefooter girls!!!! I love how Stephanie turns from a "good girl" into a hardcore barefooter, how her inner feelings and emotions are described, how she loves to put her helpless bare feet into perils and endurance tests... Yes, what else can one ask for? I hope you publish the following chapters here, for the pleasure of the forum members. To you and Dennis: Thank you, good work!!! |
| Posted by: Southerncrossfire44 May 27 2009, 04:28 AM | ||
Regardless of how you did it, that is some excellent work! I don't know what you do for a living, but you could be a professional artist. I know that I, for one, would love to see what other Stephanie drawings you have, and I'm looking forward to the Figure Artist work. Any chance you'd want to take a stab at doing a "Barefoot Sorority" piece? |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira May 27 2009, 10:01 PM | ||
Thanks for the nice words Brother! I'll see what I can do about posting more of Stephanie's story here at least. Dennis has been giving the whole epic saga a major rewrite as of late, and I'm going to have to give it all another go around myself before it goes public. All together, Stephanie's story went well over 1000 pages, and that's not an exaggeration. Who would've thought that an all-American barefoot girl-next-door could've had such a massive story in her? We sure as heck didn't when we started it years ago in e-mails! |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira May 27 2009, 10:16 PM | ||||
Thanks for the nice words my Bro! As for what I do for a living, growing up I always wanted to be a comic book artist...and, well, for various reasons things didn't quite go in that direction...but that's fine, because I like what I'm doing now, and I still do art both on commission and for fun. I think I have MANY miles to go before I'm as good as the hundreds of artists that have inspired me, but getting there is part of the fun I guess. As for The Barefoot Sorority, Bro, I'm so steeped into projects right now it'd take both an act of God and of Congress to get a little free time to take a stab, but I can post a couple more Stephanie drawings for you. This first one is part of the scene where Stephanie's making a run for home. It's just a close-up of her foot hitting a puddle, but it was a fun piece to draw...  And this next one is an unfinished cover for chapter one. There is a lot about this piece that I wound up not liking, so I may wind up scrapping it all together...but in the meantime it's here for your viewing pleasure. I hope you like it...  I'll post some Poser style stuff if and when I get anything worthwhile done. Thanks again for your nice words, and I hope the drawings don't disappoint. |
| Posted by: Viral May 28 2009, 05:55 PM |
| What a nice surprise to lift my spirits up for the rest of the day Thank you Lou! On the "chapter cover" picture, is it just me or does Stephy's right foot look a little weird? It looks like her big toe's joint is broken, or she's got a bunion... Love the "foot in puddle" drawing. The frayed jeans are priceless. What is it that makes denim go so well with bare feet? |
| Posted by: Viral May 29 2009, 07:43 PM |
| Hey, question! So why is Ruthy's nickname "Water"? I'm thinking that she's rather "easy", if not downright slutty, so it's a dirty double entendre implying that she's always wet. Am I right? (If I am, you guys have dirty minds, hehehe. If I am not, then I am the one with a dirty mind). |
| Posted by: DG2001 May 30 2009, 02:21 AM | ||
Yes! A pretty girl, bare feet and jeans... a beautiful, sexy combination!!! |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira May 30 2009, 02:32 PM | ||
You're welcome for the pics! Glad I could lift your spirits. About Stephanie's right foot...I'm sort of inclined to agree with you. I used a photo reference in that drawing, and in the photo the girl's foot looked fine. Translating it to line art didn't quite work as well. I'm not sure if it's a shortfall on my behalf, or the fact that sometimes things we take for granted seeing in real life in three dimensions sometimes don't make a good transfer into two dimensions. Either way, like I say I'm probably going to wind up scrapping the piece. My favorite part was how her jeans turned out, and maybe the background...other than that I think I should've tried much harder. Thanks for the nice words about her foot in the puddle. Honestly, I don't know what makes seeing barefoot girls in blue jeans so incredibly awesome. I don't care how many times I see it, I never ever ever get tired of it. I get tired of seeing red polish, I get tired of seeing skirts, and I get tired of seeing pants rolled up to the knees, but when it comes to a barefoot girl simply wearing jeans...I don't know. I just lose it. In a good way of course! |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira May 30 2009, 02:35 PM | ||
Brother, if I were to come out and answer that I'd remove some of the mystery about good ol' easy Ruthy. Just stay tuned and keep on reading. I think the answer will become really obvious before it's all said and done. |
| Posted by: Lou Gojira May 30 2009, 02:40 PM | ||||
Yeap, like I say I can't put my finger on it and I won't waste time trying...barefoot girls in denim pants rule. I think it's one of those cardinal rules of being alive and appreciating girls or something. Glad you guys liked the pics. Sadly that's all I have for now of sweet lil' Stephanie, but if I can get on the ball, get some more of these projects finished, and stop playing so much Luxor in my spare time, Heaven forbid I might even get some more Stephanie drawings done! |
| Posted by: DG2001 May 31 2009, 03:36 AM | ||||||
I'd also love to see some drawings of Jessie!!! |
| Posted by: DG2001 Jul 20 2021, 10:54 PM |
| I was just listening to some 80's music and it brought me back memories of this story. It's a good one, I think several of you would enjoy it. |