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It was Homecoming at Kaypee Middle School, and someone was going to get fingered. My mom drove us to the dance. There was me, my date Roxy, my best friend Graham and his date Heather. I was wearing a pair of Levi's pre-fades, a white tee and my Top Gun flight jacket. The station wagon smelled of leather and Eternity. It was 1986.
I laid some much needed groundwork early, whispering in Roxy’s ear, “You’re extremely special,” as we alighted from the Buick. She had her hair done up just like Susanna Hoffs.
Graham and Heather got busy in the bathroom real early. Graham had brought a flask of Rumplemintz and he wanted Heather sloshed by the time Mr. Mister’s “Broken Wings” came on. The schnapps had been procured months before, the hard way – Gerry. He hangs out in a tan "K" car near the packy. I watched Graham get in Gerry’s car and they drove off. Half hour later, they returned, and Gerry bought the fifth.
Out in the courtyard, I was doing pretty good with Roxy. She had just reapplied a thick coat of pink lip gloss. Her tongue was small and cool. I got my fuck finger ready. Now we’ll see what all the fuss is about… Busted! Mr. Dukette, my JV lacrosse coach, appeared from out of nowhere.
I put my fuck finger away and headed inside with Roxy, planning. Maybe I could finger her in the coat room. I opened the cafeteria’s pneumatic glass door. There was Graham. He stuck two fingers under my nose.
“Smell,” he said.
I held Graham’s wrist and breathed in the still-warm fetor. I looked at Heather behind him, drunk and proud.
Roxy’s chin quivered and her eyes dewed up. She knew I would dump her for sure now. I grabbed her fishnet-cloaked hand and took her inside for one last slow dance.
Denis DeYoung wove a fantasy over the PA: “…we were dreamers, only dreamers… on desert moon…”
Date Written: April 15, 2003
Average Vote: 4.6667