The Drive-In

His name was Jason Jackson. Captain of the Football team, a starter on the varsity Basketball team. The Lions of Milton High never won, and he wasn’t a very good player, but all the girls wanted him, even some of the boys. Not me, though (he told me that’s why he chose me). When he asked me out to the Drive-in theater off of 53 highway, it made a big stink in the sophomore class. The girls wouldn’t look at me for the rest of the week (he asked me Tuesday to go on Friday) and the boys suddenly wanted to hold all of my books and walk me from my biology class to choir even though it was just across the hall.

I told my mother on Wednesday. She was over the moon. I had never even been friends with a boy (besides Danny Andrews who turned out to be homosexual) let alone asked on a date by one. Mother let me borrow a dress that she had worn on her first night with my father. It was a knee length dress that was patterned in green and pink gingham with black buttons that ran down the bodice. In the middle of the waist, a big black bow sat squarely in the center and black lace trim finished off the hem and puffed sleeves. She told me stories about that dress and my father like they were one in the same. She talked about how they (mother, father, and the dress) had vacationed in palm beach in ‘47. How Daddy wanted he and Momma to play pretend while they were out in public (he would play as her father, she his daughter). How madly in love she thought they were, how wildly they had behaved in the hotel room they rented and how peacefully the dress hung from the handle of the bathroom door. She had been 15 then.

My father cared for my mother as deeply as she loved him. Daddy loved me more. When Momma found out about what he was doing, she didn't chase him out of the house like I thought she might. She didn’t even ask him if it were true (she knew it was). Although, she never really got the chance. A few days after I shared with Momma our little secret, Daddy was dead. An automobile accident. He was speeding down a hill when a horse out of Thomas Payne’s pasture ran out infront of his Pontiac. As fate would have it, and for a reason unknown to everyone but God, Daddy’s brakes gave out on him (he had them replaced two weeks before).

Momma and I had to go down to the coroner’s office to identify his body. He was a smashed and mangled mess. His head had taken most of the bashing. Dr. James Carver (the coroner) said that it wasn’t the horse that killed him, it was the tree that was 30 feet behind it. After smashing into the horse (Bucky), the Pontiac swerved into the right lane, jumped the ditch and impacted right into a 50 foot tall pine. We had to drive by it on the way home that evening (we stopped by the DQ for orange Julius’ after leaving the morgue); clumps of blood and hair stained the tree’s bark.

I looked at him, my Daddy, lying on the table, covered only up to his collar bones, and thought about the nights he would climb into my bed when Momma’s wasn’t enough. I felt as though I knew more about love than Momma ever could. She believed in fairytales and soulmates and horseback rides into sunsets. She was driven so mad by my father that she mistook lust for love. Daddy didn’t love Momma. He just wanted to have sex.

On Thursday, the school was buzzing with speculation about how my night with Jason Jackson might play out. Gretta Thorne (she led a Bible study in her dad's church. She was a real bitch) was convinced I would end up pregnant by Saturday. She told me she would pray that the lord would take the baby before full term. Brandon Fowler asked, if I would be so generous, to let him try Jason’s sloppy seconds. He was not good looking, he had no respect for women, and Anna Ludwig joked about the size of his manhood (they had gone to prom together the year before). But I agreed to an outing set for a week after my date with Jason.

Friday morning, I opted to stay home from school; let my classmates' anticipation choke them until they were able to ask me about the evening on Monday. I rode into town on my bike to pick up a few things I would need for the night. The men at Ace hardware said I looked out of place in such a grown-up store. They followed me around and helped gather the things I had written on my list. Henry, a middle aged, pimply man, grazed my thigh as he reached down to grab an item from the bottom shelf. Bobby Carter (he was a member at Gretta’s church) walked up behind me and pressed his pelvis into my skirt as he grabbed a hammer on the top shelf. Both made sure to comment on my petite frame and slim waist.

As I was checking out, Henry looked at all of the items he had bagged and quickly cut his eyes to me. He leaned over the cash register and came close enough to my face that I could smell the nicotine from the cigarette he had smoked on his break an hour before.

“Little lady, If I didn't know any better,” He paused, a serious look swept across his face, “I would think you was plannin’ a murder.”

I came in closer then, our noses almost touching. “Maybe I am.”

We stayed there for a moment, my eyes locked into his age-worn gaze. After a few seconds a smile jumped onto his mouth and we both laughed. I grabbed my bags and started for the door.

“You have a goodnight, now, ya’ hear.” He watched my hips while I walked away.

“Oh, I will. I have a date.”

“Gee, that’s a real lucky fella.”

I turned around to look at Henry one last time, paused a moment, then headed for the door again.

“We’ll see.”

Momma came home as soon as she was off of work to help me get ready. Candy Johnson lent me her November Vogue issue so that I might copy the cover girls hairstyle for the occasion. Jean Shripmton was front and center of the magazine. Her cover shoot was inspired by Jackie Kennedy (as was every woman of the time). I had already cut my hair in a shoulder length bob months before so the style was easy to imitate. My mother helped me pin my hair. I did my makeup; momma made me change my lip color three times before she settled on a bright red.

Lastly, I slipped on momma’s dress. I stood and walked over to a large mirror she had placed in the corner of my bedroom. I flattened out the bodice, then the skirt. Momma came up beside me and pushed fly-away hairs into the ‘do she had crafted before spraying me with a final spritz of Aquanet. If she were 16 years younger, we might have looked like sisters, twins. Daddy used to say that.

By seven o’ clock, the doorbell had rung its second ring (momma warned to never answer the first chime) and she rushed to the door before settling into a more prim demeanor. She called for me to come into the living room.

I was still standing in front of the mirror when Jackson arrived. I couldn't help but marvel at the fact that the dress momma had lent me was present for her first time and would now have a front row seat to mine. And I did look very pretty. I smoothed the skirt down a final time before scooping up my bag and entering into the living room.

I enjoyed the movie we watched quite a lot. “Because, Because of a woman,” became a favorite of mine after that night.

When the film ended, I made it clear to Jason that the night had not. I suggested we go park on Lovers Lane like some of the other girls in my class had done with their beaus. He questioned it at first, citing my curfew for his reason of hesitation.

I assured him it was alright, momma knew I was with him (she called him a “stand-up” guy), she wouldn't mind if I were late. “I Promise.”

“Well.. okay if you’re sure it’s fine.”

“I am.” I looked over at him.

He propped his arm against the driver side door and puffed the cigarette he had been nursing since the third act of the movie. He looked at me, smiled a sly smile, traced his eyes over my chest, and glanced back up to me.

“You’re gorgeous, ya know.” He chuckled, taking a final drag before tossing the cigarette out the window.

I smiled and watched out the windshield as we pulled away.

* * *

“Are you sure about this?”

“I’ve never been more sure.”

Jason and I were sitting in the back seats of his car. They weren’t comfortable, there wasn’t much space, there was ash covering the floor mats. Jason leaned in and kissed my neck, then my cheek, and finally landed on my lips. He could have used some Vaseline and his breath was horrid, but even in my repulsion I found the moment endearing.

“Take your dress off.”

“NO. You do it.”

He smirked and carefully unlatched the buttons on my bodice. I pulled the dress off my ankles, folded it, and placed it on the dash, knocking over the hula dancer that once took its place.

“Your turn.” He had already undone the top button of his jeans. I took them down from his waist and threw them into the driver's seat. We sat and looked at each other for a moment, surprised by our (mostly) nude bodies, before I straddled his lap and he kissed my collar bone. After what felt like an eternity of him sucking the skin on my breasts, I became aware of the motion of his hips pressing into the center of my legs. It was exactly how I imagined it.

I pulled his face off of my skin and looked him in the eyes. His were deep green with a golden ring just around the pupil. They were really very beautiful, compellingly bright.

“So… now that we’ve… well what I’m really asking is… when are we going to go official?” I asked.

He was still pumping his hips.

“We’re doing this now?”

“I think it’s important,” I kissed him on the neck and pulled back, “now that we’re going to be together.”

He stopped. “We can’t... do that.”

“Why not.” I knew the answer. It’s the reason I had agreed to this date in the first place.

“My girl is coming home from school any day now, I thought this could just be a fun thing, it doesn’t mean anything, right?”

I nodded. “Right. Of course not. It’s just--”

“God will you please stop talking!” By now he had started pressing into me again. I could tell he was close.

“Jason?”

“Oh my- what?” He was still going.

“How big is it?”

“You’re not really aski- I don't know 6, maybe 7 on a good day.” He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into him as he pumped.

“Hmm. What a shame. Mines 9,” I whispered under my breath. He stopped.

“What?”

The items on my Ace hardware list were: a hammer, a tarp, rope, bleach, a couple of rags, wet wipes, duct tape, and, most importantly, a knife. When Henry reached down to the bottom shelf (caressing my thigh), he brought back up a beautiful piece of steel. A black, wooden handle with five grip lines and a hilt that was perfect for hitting fish and small animals in their temples. I took it from Henry's clammy hands and held it up to the fluorescent light. It gleamed, I could see the detail of my eyes when glaring into the blade.

It was this same reflective surface that I had taken above Jason's head as he fucked me in his car (he hadn't noticed when I put my dress away, grabbed the blade out of my bag that was in the passenger seat, and placed it on the back dash). It was perfect, all nine inches.

“Nothing. Keep going. Harder!” Whatever hesitation he had then left him as he pulled me closer. It was simultaneous, my timing was impeccable.

As the last of his life erupted inside my legs, my blade plunged into the side of Jason’s throat. I got to watch as the light in his beautiful eyes turned off and the blood poured from the gash I created. I was an artist, my blade a brush, and Jason's skin my canvas. I gave him three more gashes, then a fourth for good measure. I dipped my fingers into the red pool that had formed in the indentation of his collar and spread it under my eyes, I read in one of momma’s magazines that it was good for the skin.

* * *

It was three a.m. when I finished cleaning the scene. I dropped Jason at the tree that my father had met some years before and propped him against the base of the tunk. I drove his car to a pond that was situated in the back of Thomas Payne’s pasture (he never locks the gate) pulled the gear shift to neutral and watched as it slid down the embankment, settling at the bottom of the muck. I had my bag in hand and was back in my mothers gingham dress (I washed off in the pond before dumping the car.) When I left the pasture, it was nearing six-thirty a.m. I walked most of the way back to the theater before a man in a white pickup truck pulled off the side of the road to offer me a ride. “No woman such as yourself should be left on the side of the road,” His eyes drifted between my eyes and my chest (I left the top three buttons of my bodice undone).

Outside of the drive-in I found a payphone and called my mother. She was up most hours of the night.

She picked me up at seven-thirty a.m. Momma pulled up to the sidewalk as I peeled myself off of the bench I was resting on.

“How was it?”

“Oh momma, it was everything and more,” I could hardly hide my delight.

“That’s how I felt after my first time, too. Are you hungry? I was always starved when I finished.”

“Oh, no, that’s alright. We ate at the theater. But, maybe, an orange Julius might be nice?”

“My thoughts exactly. The DQ should be open for breakfast about now, ya think?”

“I’m sure they must be.”

I watched out the windshield as we eased down 53, turning to momma and smiling.

“How does my skin look?”