The Sound Of Boots
The girl had never been to “The Big Apple,” but she figured it was the best place to start so she lied to her parents and hopped a train. She was fifteen, already a woman with a past and about to begin on her future. She sunk into the seat nearest the door and looked around the car. There were a few tired women, two men in suits and a dark boy with a pony tail. He was not beautiful, but when he glanced at her, his eyes got her attention.
“Is that a guitar?” she said nodding at the large bag at his feet.
“What?”
“Do you play in a band?”
“No,” he said with dignity. “I am a tennis player.” He spoke with an accent.
“Awesome.” She crossed the aisle and sat next to him. “I’m Savannah George.” She held out her hand and after a brief hesitation, he took it. “And I am Gabriel Raul.”
“You staying here long?”
“A week. Ten days. It depends on how I play.”
“Cool. Now listen. I’m just going to come to the point. I have this Plan, kind of a Life Plan. I live in this little town in Pennsylvania where nothing happens and I’ve got to move on. So, I’ve come here to experience life while I’m young enough. Are you staying in a hotel, because if you are, I’d like to stay with you for a few hours, maybe the night.”
“Are you crazy?” Gabriel drew away. “You are a child.”
“I’m much older than I look. It’s the freckles. Actually, I’m twenty-one.”
Raul was an Argentine and Savannah, having certain ideas about Latin men, stretched her arm along the seat in back of him. “So, Gabe from Argentina,” she said. “Are you going to help me out or not?”
The boy thought quickly. His coach would not be here for six hours. He wasn’t supposed to make love before or during a tournament. He wasn’t supposed to make love during training either, which made life very difficult because he loved women but he was a boy who believed in obeying the rules.
Still. He too was twenty-one.
___
Raul closed the door to his hotel room and when he turned around Savannah was pulling off her T-shirt. She pushed her skirt over her hips, past her knees, stepped out of it and over to him wearing only her cowboy boots, having never liked under wear. She began pulling his shirt off and pushed him toward the bed, trying awkwardly not to step on his feet. She felt him tremble as she helped him take off his clothes.
“Are you going to keep the boots on?”
They rolled together, the boots knocking against the footboard. It was over quickly, both of them soaked in sweat, and, no, Savannah had to admit it wasn’t great, nothing like Mr. James T. Elliot, the man she had willingly given her virginity to. She wiggled out from under the boy and walked into the bathroom, fetched a glass of water and offered it to him. He gulped it down, looking at her over the glass.
The second time was over soon too, but not the third. Not at all. Not compared to Mr. James T. Elliot or anything she had read in books or seen in movies or any standard she had ever heard. Finally, they lay wrapped and wet together, Savannah’s arm flung across his chest. “My coach will be here soon,” he said.
“I know.” The girl was half asleep.
“I am not allowed to do this before a tournament. You will have to go. I am very sorry.”
Savannah rolled onto her back... “Hey, leaving now is nothing to be sorry about.”
“I want to see you again, though. My coach does not need to know. Say you will come tomorrow night.”
___
continued next week
