teen lust for cash
Needless to say, I could hardly keep my mind on the Coriolis Effect which
was being deliberated upon in my next Oceanography class. My thoughts were all
of Norma, that free-spirited, insouciant Lady of The Jonquils.
When the lecture was finally over and I made my way to the parking lot, I
spied Norma, leaning against a wall, smoking a cigarette. She smiled at me.
“Miriam couldn’t give me a lift home. How about giving me one?” We walked
silently together to my old Subaru, the redoubtable “Silver Wraith.” The air
was still and dry; the sky a transparent grey, so characteristic of cheek-
reddening New England winters.
Norma lived quite far from school, in a part of town I was unfamiliar with.
Getting to her home was exasperating; she appeared to have an almost dyslexic
concept of right and left. As we drove, I learned that her roommate Miriam had
left for a holiday visit with her parents in Bangor.
We ultimately pulled up to an old building which had as a facade an
interesting tracery of ironwork. As she kneeled over the back of her seat,
scrambling for her books, she offhandedly asked: “Care to come up and have some
hot chocolate? It’s good stuff. Comes from Holland. A real Dutch Treat.”
“Sure” I answered, and followed her to the door. As she walked up the
stairs before me, my gaze was fixed on the creases behind her kneecaps which
opened and closed with each step.