Jennifer Meets a Guy

Jennifer Meets a Guy

I scrolled my phone while the fresh air flipped my hair over my face. Cut grass scents and children’s laughter filled my senses. I sat alone in the park because Dad took Isabella to a romantic and expensive restaurant, and Mom had not returned home yet. The sun caused sweat to roll down the back of my neck, and I squinted to see my phone’s screen.

“You, again,” t he boy from yesterday said, who likes his mom, stands over me, his eyes sparkle in the sunlight, and his white teeth gleam.  His buddies stand twenty feet behind him, too scared to get closer.

I read the slight eye squint, the tight lips, and the hand twitch as his body leaned forward, then back, and he shifted from right to left foot. “You didn’t masturbate today,” I said to him—an observation to get him to notice me and continue our talk.

“Because I couldn’t find an actress who looks like you,” he said. He lied. Many thin porn actresses exist on the internet, which he knew. So why did he lie?

His friends wanted to leave, but he remained in front of me, sunlight reflected off his eyes, which caused him to squint and shade them with his hand. “How did you do that yesterday?” he asked. He captured my interest. He wanted to know. Most boys his age fear me, but his inquisitive nature overrode his fear.

“You had dried sweat like you worked out, but not athletic, and you twitched when I mentioned masturbation to your friend,” I said. I didn’t mention the sticky bit on his wrist, I have found people do not like it when I point out cum stains on them.

“How did you know that it was about Mom and Son porn?” he asked. He squinted down at me. I liked his red cheeks and thin lips. He needed to exercise more, but didn’t carry much extra weight.

“You told me,” I said, because he did. The way he grimaced in embarrassment, how his pulse had increased, and how his right ear had grown redder. I have always wondered why others never notice those things. Dad and Mom disagree on the cause; Mom thinks I have a broken brain, while Dad claims I have an exceptional talent.

“Yes, but how?” he asked. And he wanted to know. Not as a fan might ask a magician, but rather as a student might ask a teacher. I found that interesting. I wanted to talk to this boy more.

“You moved your gaze to a mother while your skin heated up with guilt and pleasure before your fingers twitched and twisted your left side towards me,” I said, but didn’t mention the small gasp nor the left leg twitch. I have found that too much information confuses people. I enjoyed the conversation and didn’t want to scare him. I can’t help the fear he already felt, but I could work to minimize it.

“Garth, let’s go,” yesterday’s leader called. The boy's voice finished with a slightly upbeat tone, so he did not have confidence in his pack leader position. This mama’s boy in front of me held the group together. He allowed the other boy the position of authority, which made no sense. Why not just lead? People act strange, teenagers even more so.

“I’ll catch up later,” Garth yelled and sat beside me.

I face him while he stares at the children crawling over the multi-colored bars. He tilts his head to bring his right ear closer to me as his fingers spread on his classic blue 501 jeans, bulging the thin muscles on his forearms. His white t-shirt drapes off him, one size too big, and the Pinky and Brain cartoon declares he has a strange humor. Cookie designs on his socks under the Nike basketball shoes come across as immature instead of funny or friendly.

“I don’t care what you think,” he said as the corners of his eyes turned down. The warm sun caused beads of sweat to form on the back of his neck.

“Yes, you do,” I said. Garth does not tell the truth well. His heart rate, skin complexion, and finger movements betrayed him.

“I like your catholic schoolgirl look,” he said while his eyes roamed over my body and his fingers drummed on his pant legs. Did he tell the truth? I had trouble with his cues. I wondered if he liked me.

“Why did you lie?” I asked. I can not fully understand his signals. Only Lisa’s father gave me this much trouble. As with him, I wonder why.