I Just Read About That…

[WRITTEN: October 2000] “Just Like Gene”

Back in June of 2008, I posted a short story that I wrote about 8 years ago.  As it’s the holiday season it seemed like a good time to post another of my old stories.  I’ve got about a dozen more stories stashed away on a disc somewhere.  And I’ll likely post them in the near future too.

So, here’s my second published online story called “Just Like Gene.”

Just Like Gene

Even though I could still see her, I knew that the moment she closed the door, she would be gone from my life forever.  She had lived next door to me for as long as I could remember.  And in all of that time, I never really talked to her.  We greeted each another if we were walking to our cars at the same time, but really that was it.

Her name was Ginny.  She had long brown hair, chubby freckled cheeks and a Kiss lunchbox.

My mother told me not to talk to her because she didn’t like her parents.  They were Jewish or Catholic or Republican or something, and she didn’t like that they drove a Datsun.

My father would come home from work every time it rained muttering under his breath, “They still haven’t fixed that gutter.  They’ve been living in that house for two years now and they haven’t fixed that gutter.  If anymore rain gets in the basement because of that gutter, there’s going to be hell to pay.”

Although I wasn’t supposed to talk about “them” to my parents, from time to time I would sneak in a question or two before they changed the subject.  I couldn’t figure out why Ginny, who was my age, wasn’t in my third grade class.  One day I asked my mom.  She answered, “Because Ginny goes to a private school.  Public school’s not good enough for the likes of her family.”

The only way I could ever get to see Ginny was when she played on the sidewalk in between our houses.  On Saturday mornings, I would lie on my bed and stare out the window as she played house or hopscotch.  Most of the time she was by herself, but every once in a while she would have a friend over from school.  I didn’t like it when her private friends were over, so I would go to the living room and watch cartoons until they left.

Sometimes, when Ginny’s parents took her out for the afternoon, I would sneak over and play on her hopscotch board. Once, my father caught me.  He couldn’t decide if he was more upset that I was playing a girl’s game or that I was playing in “their” yard.

But I knew that Ginny couldn’t be bad; she had a Kiss lunch box.  I was a huge Kiss fan ever since my cousin played me one of their records.  My cousin was fourteen and knew everything about their music.  So, when he played me Kiss’ “Destroyer” album, I knew they were super cool.  His favorite band member was Gene Simmons.  Gene dressed like a demon.  He wore scary stage makeup and on stage he would wiggle his tongue and breathe fire and spit blood.  I told my cousin that I liked the guy who dressed like a cat.  “Peter Criss?” he said.  “Nah, only girls like him.  You should like Gene, he’s the coolest.”

I begged my mom for the “Destroyer” lunch box.  When I got it for Christmas, I jumped up, ran to the fridge, grabbed the Cherry Kool-Aid, filled my Thermos, and proceeded to spit the Kool-Aid all over myself, imagining I was spitting blood—just like Gene Simmons did on stage.

On our first day back to school after Christmas, I saw Ginny walking to the car.  She had gotten the Kiss “Love Gun” lunchbox.  I waved my lunchbox and stuck out my tongue at her—just like Gene Simmons did on stage.  She looked at my box and stuck out her tongue back at me.  My mother saw her and pulled me closer to her side.  “That must be what they teach them at private school,” my mother said.

That day at school, I took a piece of chalk.  When I got home, I ran over to Ginny’s hopscotch board and drew Gene Simmons’ demon makeup on her “home.”  It didn’t really look like much more than a scribble.  But she must have recognized it, because the next day, when I walked by it, she had tried to draw Peter Criss’ cat makeup, but crossed it out and drew a kitty cat instead.

The next day, I tried to figure out what to draw, but it was raining so I wasn’t allowed to play outside.  It rained for the rest of the week.  On Saturday, when it was finally sunny, her hopscotch board and all of our drawings were gone, washed away by the rain.

I couldn’t think of anything to draw.  So, I tried to think of the words to a Kiss song. My favorite song was “God of Thunder,” but that wasn’t very romantic.  “Beth” was a romantic song, but it was the wrong name.  Then I remembered “Calling Dr. Love.”  What could be more romantic than love?  So, I knelt down and wrote, “Call me Doctor Love.  I am the Doctor of Love.”

When Ginny and her parents returned later in the day, I ran to my room and looked out the window.  Ginny walked to her hopscotch area and read what I wrote.  She giggled and looked up at my house.  I waved to her but I’m not sure if she could see me through the blinds.  I put on my headphones and listened to “Calling Dr. Love” over and over again.

Later that night, the doorbell rang.  It was Ginny’s dad.  He and my father were arguing.  I heard my father say the word “gutter” several times.  Then Ginny’s father shouted, “Your son is playing doctor with my daughter!”

I thought they had left because it was so quiet, until I heard my mother scream, “What!”  The front door slammed.  I looked out the window and saw my parents looking down at what I had written for Ginny.  My mother’s hands covered her mouth as she turned and looked at my window.

Ginny’s mother joined my parents by the hopscotch board, and the four of them talked loudly at each other.  I couldn’t understand much until I heard my mother yell, “Do not tell me how to raise my child.  We do not spank in our house.”  Minutes later my father pounded on my door.  He opened it and stood in the doorway with his belt in his hand.

“What did you write that for?”

“It was just words from a song,” I said.

“You have no business doing anything with that girl.  Do you real—  What did you say?”

“They’re words to a Kiss song.”

“Kiss?”

“Yeah, I saw that she had a Kiss lunchbox, so I wrote words to a Kiss song on the ground.”

My father made strange gestures with his hands, “So you never…?”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.  Forget it.”

He walked out of the room shaking his head.  A few minutes later I heard him and my mother laughing in the kitchen.

For the next couple of months, Ginny’s parents kept Ginny and me apart.  She didn’t play on the side of the house anymore, and if we walked to our cars at the same time, Ginny’s mom would always hold Ginny’s hand tightly.

Then, near the end of May, I overheard my father say to my mother, “I hope the new people finally do something about that damned gutter.”

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Those people next door, they’re moving,” my mother said.

“Moving?  Why?”

My father laughed loudly, “Don’t know.  Don’t care.  Just good riddance.”

I looked out the front door and saw the For Sale sign in front of Ginny’s house.  I didn’t know what to do or how to get in touch with her.  I wanted to tell her to move in with us, to stay here so we could listen to Kiss records all day.

I watched from my window as different families walked through the house.  I heard my parents say, “I hope that couple with the Volkswagen Bug doesn’t move in there.”  Or, “Jesus, did you see that pair?”  But I didn’t care about any of the families moving in.  I thought about trying to keep people from buying the house by scaring them away—like they did on the Brady Bunch—but I didn’t have five brothers and sisters to help me.  So, I waited with my fingers crossed hoping that she wouldn’t move away.

Towards the end of June I started to think that they weren’t able to sell the house and that Ginny wouldn’t leave.  But a week after school ended, a moving van pulled up and Ginny’s parents watched as the movers loaded their furniture into the truck.

I tried to watch TV to forget about what was happening next door, but every time I looked out the window, I saw the truck filling up.  About an hour before dinnertime, the truck rumbled to life.  I walked to the front door and looked out.  The men had filled the truck and were moving out.

I stood on the front porch and watched the truck pull away.  Then Ginny and her parents walked over to their station wagon.  I watched Ginny climb into the back seat.  She stuck her head out the door and looked at me.  I smiled and started to wave and then she stuck out her tongue—just like Gene Simmons did on stage.

Her mother told her to put her head in and then she closed the door.  The sound of the door closing snapped me out of my surprise, and I walked down the front steps.  Ginny’s father started the car and began to drive away.  I ran after the car, but they were gone before I reached the curb.