2006 - Vol. 3, Issue 1

Friday, 7:37 P.M.

A white two–story house stood before Duane. He approached the front door and then tapped on it four times with his clenched right fist. A girl he guessed to be his age (sixteen) answered. Her countenance glowed. Her attire, a white tank top sporting the words "I LOVE NY," as well as blue shorts which stopped halfway down her thighs, afforded full view of her contours.

Immediately, a sense of déjà vu rushed over Duane, a familiar foreboding of ensuing abandonment. He uttered, "I'm collecting for the paper."

The girl paused for a bit. Her direct gaze pierced Duane's being. "Okay, but I will have to go find one of my parents." The beauty darted off, leaving the door slightly ajar. The breach was hardly enough for him to fully catch a glimpse of what the living room looked like.

The sun still hadn't fully retreated under the western horizon, though it was casting shadows over the Cottonwood–lined subdivision. The seconds marched on in the neighborhood which made up Duane's paper route. Yet this was also the place where he attended school and fell both in love and in lust continuously; furthermore, this neighborhood made up Duane's venue for wandering around in a state of pathological self–consciousness. The regrets of Duane's young life tightened their grip because the girl who'd answered the door would be another potential opportunity wasted, unless she would take charge and rescue him from his responsibility of acting like a young man who wanted a dating life.  .  . 

I've never seen you around here before. Are you new to Casper? You know, you're a cute guy. Let's go out sometime. I'd really like it if you kissed me!

Duane immersed himself in such fleeting and imaginative conversations while standing on her porch. It was about to become another gateway into a world that he felt was off limits to him.  .  . 

Sorry, but no Duane allowed!

The girl came back with the money, flashing Duane a quick smile while handing him the two fives. The gesture heightened his angst. He realized how much he would be missing: the touch of her lips, holding her hand while slowly walking around the park just up the hill. Such pastimes would demonstrate to the universe that Duane, too, was a part of this human experience called romance.

"Do you need something else?"

Duane paused. "Ummmm..." The girl crossed her arms, looking at him with a blank expression.

He tried to summon up something gallant that was nowhere to be found within him. "But  .  .  .  nothing," was all that mumbled from his mouth.

Duane tore off the little stub that read PAID FOR MAY, and handed it to her. He felt the touch of the girl's fingers as the exchange took place. The incidental physical contact generated a stronger, but also more desperate, sensation throughout his hormone–kegged body.  .  . 

Why don't you come in now — let's watch a movie and order a pizza!

Duane couldn't discern between the unreal and the real in this moment. She quickly shut the door without saying another word.

Sorry, but no Duane allowed!

He stood there for several seconds feeling as dejected as those left standing in front of the gates to heaven upon receiving bad tidings from St. Peter. As Duane turned and walked down the steps leading to the sidewalk, he pleaded haplessly, "Why, God, why, God, do I have to be this way? Why am I so afraid?"

Darkness was creeping upon him, but he still had more collections to make.