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It was my very first time, and I was so afraid of doing it wrong or hurting her that my hands wouldn't stop shaking. Most of my friends had done it -- more than once they said, but never really went into detail about what they'd done.
She had blonde curls and the bluest eyes I'd ever seen. I could tell from the way she was looking at me that she trusted me to do it right, and damn it I didn't know how.
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The Enemy in the Looking Glass
The townspeople of Clifton, Georgia were both intrigued and confused by the actions of their new Minister.
After Reverend Fielding died, everyone thought the new Minister Reverend Beloit would just be a younger version of the old.
The day of his arrival he walked the full length of Main street, his cape billowing behind in the March wind; stopping in front of the church, he posted a notice
"Services normally held at 8:00 A.M. will be held at 8:00 P.M. Parishioners will spend the day reflecting on the Commandments. Be prepared for a lengthy discourse. Looking forward to your presence,
Jason Beloit."
Sunday evening service was packed. Faces, not seen for many weeks, were eagerly waiting for a glimpse of this strange new minister. Sarah Wilson, the wife of the town banker thought, as she gazed at Jason Beloit entering the pulpit,
"God! what a handsome devil. So tall and regal looking with those dark curls and broad shoulders. I wonder why he has those sad eyes and such a bitter mouth."
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A long time ago -- it was before kindergarten, I had these horrible, reoccurring nightmares. It would be dark, but I could see by the light of the full moon. I would be outside in the front yard, trying to get inside, but the front door is locked; then, suddenly, down the street would come this huge monster. It was gray with glaring yellow eyes, walking on its hind legs, and swishing its tail back and forth.
It sees me and comes crashing into our yard. Its big teeth are snapping right behind me; when I start pounding on the door and screaming,
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Fred Wilson sat at the dinner table reading his paper.
"Your four-year-old son ran away from home today." Emile stood watching -- waiting for a reaction. There was none. Bobby wasn't paying any attention either. He appeared to be listening. Suddenly, he jumped up, ran to the door and opened it. His mother watched in amazement as he closed it and returned to the table.
"What was that all about, young man?"
"Just letting my doggy in," was the reply.
"Fred! God Damn it, pay some attention, will you? Our son runs away from home, some old bum brings him back, and you just sit there reading. Now he thinks that he's got a dog -- Fred!"
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