I was in the eighth grade when an uncle gave me the next piece of clothing that would become my new obsession. It was a set of Army surplus fatigues with more pocket space than four pairs of Levi’s, They even had extra pockets at the calves of the legs, with flaps that buttoned down (pre-Velcro).
The boys loved them, the girls marveled at their capacity, and mom plotted their demise. I wore them to school, to church, and would have gladly worn them to bed if mom hadn’t watched me close. My interest in girls had nearly surpassed Hoppy by then, but I was still shy, so a friend named Sonny, who was years ahead of the rest of us boys in his professed knowledge of girls decided to help me get over the shyness. Sonny coached me and even gave me some of his “surefire never miss lines,” making me repeat them over and over until he felt I was ready to try them out on a real girl.
My moment of truth came at a Saturday matinee. (Hoppy of course) I wore a new shirt and those prized fatigues. A girl sat alone in the flickering projector light of the darkened Uptown Theater.
My coach and I sat several rows back as he gave me last minute instructions, and made sure I hadn’t forgotten “The Line,” then I walked slowly down the isle, and stood just back of the girl’s seat trying to muster the courage to go on. My throat was dry, and I could hear my heart racing in time with the hoof beats on the screen. I must have stood there too long because a crushed popcorn box hit me in the head, and Sonny yelled, “down in front.” I took a deep breath and uttered “the much practiced line,” in a nearly empty theater I asked “Is that seat taken?” pointing to the one next to her. She slowly swung her legs to the side, so I could get by, but she never looked up.” My name is Jack,” I said settling into the seat next to her.
“I know,” she said, still not looking at me. “I recognized the pants!”
“You did,” I asked, sure she was about to compliment me on style.
“Of course you wear them almost everyday to school” she said, sounding almost like mom- then she looked at me, and I recognized her for the first time as the prettiest girl in my class. She stood up then, and started to walk away, as I slid lower in the seat, then she turned and hit me with the other barrel. “By the way,” she said coolly” I hope you get the gum off your back pocket before school Monday.”
I sat there oblivious to everything for what seemed like hours until Sonny sat down beside me. “Is she coming back,” he asked.
“Nah,” I lied “She had to go home – some kind of emergency.”
He just chuckled, “an emergency named Paul in the balcony!” During the bus ride home I told Sonny what the girl had said
expecting a little sympathy.
“Yeah, those are a little rank,” he said instead.
I looked down at my pants then, and for the first time little stains.
I had never noticed before became visible to me too. Mom hadn’t served gravy for three days, but there it was on my pant leg, and the dried up noodle that came out of my pocket earlier had to be from the first of the week.
“I’m a pig,” I said a little too loud.
The driver glared at me in the rear view mirror, but didn’t say anything.
“You know,” Sonny whispered “You did actually get to sit with a girl.” He was right I had conquered my shyness, but I was soon to learn something more about girls. They always seemed to want someone older, taller, or with a better car. The Army surplus pants were destroyed in another wash day accident a short time later. The wringer washer got the blame, but only mom knew the real truth.
The next memory is from my navy days, and a uniform with great texture.
