The two girls - one in a knee-length pink skirt, the other in a pair of hip-hugging white shorts - nearly collided with the two men as they turned the street corner.
"Excuse me." the shorter man said as he took one step to the side, pulling his companion with him.
The girl in the shorts barely noticed, her thoughts on the party she was planning to attend later that night: May Day, the first party of the summer, even though summer was still officially almost a months away. Almost three hours she had spent in the salon - in curlers, under the dryer - to get her perm; she had to look her best for tonight - after all, he might be there.
Though she looked at the two, it was only a glance; if asked seconds later about them, she would be surprised to find she had nearly collided with the duo.
The girl in the pink skirt, on the other hand, received a good look at the pair - or at least the smaller of the two.
At least six inches shorter than his companion, he still stood about the same over her own five-two; his light brownish-blond hair was so fine she had an almost irresistible urge to reach out with one ringed hand and stroke it from where it started just above his eyebrows to where it ended, not quite at the shoulders; she could see herself laughing at the thought of the slight stubble on his face brushing her as they kissed; and his eyes... if she had looked into them first, the rest would have faded behind their hazel gaze.
"N... no !" she could feel the blush rising in her cheeks. "It was our fault !"
The smile he gave - a slight upturning at one corner of his mouth - caused her heart to flutter in pleasure. With a silent curse, she could feel her blush deepen uncontrollably.
"Well... no harm done..." his voice - soft and soothing, she noticed - trailed off into a wider smile.
You fool ! she wildly cursed herself.
"Bye."
No !
But it was too late: the pair had turned the corner.
Damn !
"Bye !" she called after them - him ! - as she took the two steps to the corner to catch one last glimpse.
With a smile the shorter partner glanced back over his shoulder and gave her a brief wave before looking away.
"Hey ! Are you coming ?"
Her friend had stopped a dozen paces up the street, and stood impatiently with her hands on her hips.
"Yeah."
She could not leave without one last look, to store every nuance of his body in her memory for the inevitable time when she found herself alone after the party.
It was not until she was about to turn away that she noticed the two were holding hands.
"Come on !"
With an embarrassed nod, she started after her friend.
What a waste...
"What were you looking at ?"
"Nothing."
He even had a nice butt...
"Snowball ! God-damn it, Snowball ! Where the hell are you ?"
Every bone seemed to cry out in agony as the old woman - "87 ! And God-damn proud of it !" - made her way slowly down her porch steps. Another storm ! her bones screeched. And you better believe it's going to be a God-damn big one ! Maybe not today and maybe not tomorrow, but God-damn soon !
"God-damn cat !" A touch of pain entered her voice as one foot came down too hard on the cobblestone walk her husband - "Playing his horn for God, now !" - had fashioned more than thirty years earlier.
"Snowball !!"
She inhaled deeply to yell again, but stopped as she noticed for the first time the freshness in the air. The mingling aroma of newly cut grass, the slight tinge of the sea in the air, the over-powering fragrance of roses...
How she hated those God-damn rose bushes !
Her grandson had offered to cut them all down last year, but - even though she found their odour sickening - she had said no; they had been her husband's. He had loved them almost as much as she knew he had loved her, taking almost religious care of them. No. No matter how much she disliked the bushes, she could not bear to get rid of them.
Not that she had actually expected her grandson to do it - "He's a God-damn lazy ass !" she would tell the few who asked. "He said he'd repaint the fence two years ago ! He still ain't done it !"
She shook her head in disgust as she approached the waist-high picket fence. Every spring - ever since they had bought the house nearly forty years ago - it had been like a ritual: she would sit on the porch drinking lemonade -or maybe "just a glass" of "something stronger" - and watch her husband with his faded overalls, crouched in front of the fence. It had always been for her - "Spring painting," he had called it - the real start of spring.
But now the paint, at one time shiny white, was dulled by dirt and peeling on almost all the posts.
Like me, she found herself thinking, old and weathered.
Looking away from the fence, she let her eyes quickly scan the yard for some sign of the missing cat.
"Snowball ? Come on now, Mommy's got a treat for you inside. Some nice fresh milk."
The annoyance which had so briefly been dispelled by thoughts of her husband slowly began to return when it became apparent the cat was not in the yard.
"God-damn you..."
She was cut off with a start when she turned to gaze out over the fence, barely suppressing a surprised cry at the sight of the two men walking past on the sidewalk, not a dozen steps away.
The shorter of the two - I wonder if he's what they'd call handsome, now-a-days ? - looked her way, as did his companion.
"I'm sorry." the shorter apologized at the sight of the old woman's startled look. "We didn't mean to startle you."
"Well you did !" she shot back, the irritation over her missing cat and the pain in her bones finding an outlet. "You should be God-damn ashamed of yourself! Scaring an old woman like that !"
"I'm sorry," he offered again. "We didn't see you there."
"Yeah well, you should walk a bit heavier so a person can hear you coming !"
She could almost see him tip an imaginary hat to her as he nodded his head in agreement and flashed a disarming smile, "We'll do that."
"Well... see that you do." Already she was starting to look away, turning to look in the opposite direction.
"Good afternoon."
"Aft'noon !"
The first had belonged to the shorter man, she knew; but the second had surely been too high and childish to belong to the second man.
By the time she looked back at them, the pair were walking away, holding hands almost as if the shorter were leading the taller. It took a moment for her to notice the way the bigger man was purposely bringing each foot down heavily on the sidewalk with each step. Like a child.
The way the two walked - the shorter watching with a good-natured smile as the taller plodded along, stomping his feet; they way they held each others hand - brought back a memory of her father and younger brother, almost eighty years ago. They used to walk like that, sometimes: her father smiling and even laughing out loud at times as his son imitated him, lifting each foot high and bringing it down hard. If not for the fact that the pair were obviously close in age, she would easily have mistaken them for father and son.
"I'm gettin' senile," with a shake of her head, the image of her father and brother faded. "Lettin' my mind drift like that."
Watching the pair, so seemingly happy and carefree, she felt a pang of guilt at the way she had snapped at them. They had not done anything wrong. And the one had been extremely polite in the face of her anger - something she had never expected of the younger generation; and most especially not towards her. She even went so far as to unlatch and even open the fence gate, to go after and apologize.
Then she felt something rubbing against her leg.
"Snowball !"
The grey cat - at one time as white as the fence had been - began to purr at the sound of his name, looking up innocently as he continued to lean against her leg.
"Bad cat ! Bad !"
With one wrinkled hand, the old woman reached down and scooped up the feline.
"You're supposed to come when Mommy calls you !"
The cat merely purred louder in response to the scolding.
"You had me scared half-to-death !"
He ignored her, absently licking one furry paw with his small pink tongue as she started back for the house. Letting out a sigh, the woman began to pat the cat with her free hand.
"I suppose you're right, though; it's too nice a day to stay inside. Maybe I'll just fix my tea and your milk and sit on the porch. What do you think of that ?"
He did not have a chance to answer, as the old woman's foot again came down a bit too hard, sending another shot of pain through her body.
"God-damn !"
"Happy BIRTH-day to me. Happy BIRTH-day to me. Happy BIRTH-day, dear JOE-y. Happy BIRTH-day to me."
In beat with the song he sang quietly to himself, the young boy tossed the white-stripped red ball against the side of the house, catching it and letting it loose again.
Sure, he had received a fair number of other toys when he had awoke, all wrapped in bright paper and with colourful ribbons and bows; but it had come as a surprise to his parents that he had set the others aside for something as simple as a ball.
For an hour or more he had been content tossing the ball and catching it; first against the garage door then, when his Mother had complained about the noise every time the ball struck the metal, against the house.
"Happy BIRTH-day to me..."
His father had even joined him for a short period, returning to the house after ten short minutes, but not without first asking: "Don't you like your other presents ?"
"Yeah,"
"Happy BIRTH-day to me..."
"But I like the ball better."
His father had simply laughed, then tousled Joey's hair as he had turned to go back to the house, shaking his head in wonder.
"Happy BIRTH-day, dear JOE-y..."
His childish voice trailed off as he missed the ball, touching its red plastic shell with the tips of his tiny fingers, just enough to send it bouncing down the driveway.
Only one thought ran through his young mind as he quickly set off after the bouncing globe: My ball !
As fast as his young legs would carry him, he chased his favourite toy, almost catching up to it before it reached the end of the drive. But not quite.
He came to an abrupt stop a foot from the passing road, staring dejectedly as the ball rolled across the street, its white strips spinning hypnotically.
"Drat !" he cursed in imitation of his mother as the toy came to a stop against the opposite curb. It was so close, but it seemed as far away as the man in the moon to a child who had been taught never to cross the street without an adult present.
In desperation he looked up and down the street; it was clear.
Still, his parents would yell at him if they saw him out in the street - or worse, send him to bed without a slice of birthday cake ! And his father had picked up his favourite: an ice cream cake !
Oh well, he would just have to go inside and get his father...
It was then he saw the two men walking along the far sidewalk, almost at the spot where his ball rested. He saw them holding hands, but instantly dismissed it; his parents always held each others hands.
"Hey ! Mister !" he called out in a voice he hoped was loud enough to reach the men but at the same time too quiet for his parents to hear.
Both turned to look in his direction; the shorter one with a smile on his face, the other staring at the boy curiously.
Rather than risk calling out again, the little boy pointed at the red ball and looked at the two men with pleading eyes.
The two glanced down at the ball, then the bigger one looked questioningly at his companion. With an agreeing nod, the shorter man smiled to his friend and spoke a few words, too softly for the boy to hear. Letting go of his companion's hand, the taller one headed to where the ball lay, reaching down and picking the toy up in his large hands. Standing straight, he stuck his head out to carefully look up and down the street, looking so comical that the little boy nearly laughed.
But then the man started to cross, and the laughter stopped before it even had a chance to start. There was something familiar about the way he walked - his shoulders curled slightly forward, the way he seemed to sway from side to side with each step. Then he remembered: a few weeks earlier he had walked into his parent's room late at night to ask for a glass of water. His father had still been awake, sitting up in bed watching the television. Curious, little Joey had looked at the black and white picture; what he had seen had given him nightmares for a week: there had been a man who had walked the same way the stranger did. But there had been more: Joey had seen the man on the television grab a little boy about his own age and do... something bad, before Joey's father had finally noticed him standing there and turned off the set.
By the time he began to feel afraid, it was already too late.
The man stood before him, the ball held out to Joey, a questioning expression on his face.
"Ah..." the little boy stammered as he cautiously reached out to take back his toy. "Thanks, Mister."
"Wel-come."
His fear turning to curiosity, little Joey looked up at the big man's face; he didn't sound like a grown-up.
It was a wide face he looked into - wide cheeks, wide nose, wide chin - with skin which appeared as soft as his own; dark brown eyes, the same colour as the man's curly hair, which reflected the boy's own child-like curiosity; two only slightly over-sized lips which parted in an almost angelic smile which reached his eyes as he gazed down at the child not half his size, revealing shiny white teeth behind.
That smile chased away the last of little Joey's fear; and now he did laugh, joined instantly by the man, a high pitched giggle which only made the child laugh harder.
"Here..."
Momentarily forgetting his parents - he did not want to imagine what they would do if they caught him talking to a stranger - Joey took two steps backwards and, still laughing, tossed the white-stripped red ball to his new friend.
The giant - as the little boy called anyone twice his size - smiled even wider as he caught the ball. Taking only a second to glance briefly over his shoulder as if looking to his friend for approval, he tossed the toy gently back to Joey.
Back and forth. Back and forth. Three, four, five times. The two laughing joyously all the while.
"You're fun !"
The giant's eyes almost seemed to glow at the unexpected compliment.
"You too !"
"Joey !"
Both turned fearfully at the sound of the horrified voice coming from near the top of the drive, the little boy barely catching the red ball before he turned.
"Come away from there this instant !"
From the tone of his mother's voice, Joey could tell he would be going to bed early. And without a piece of ice cream cake.
"Aw, Mom..."
"Now, Joey !"
"Kev !"
It would only make things worse if he did not do what his mother said, but somewhere in the back of his mind, Joey somehow knew it would not do to leave his giant playmate without saying good-bye. Turning back to the big man, he paused while the man called innocently across the street to his companion.
"We's just playin' !"
"It's time to go !" the short man called back.
"Joey ! Don't make me come get you !"
The large man looked back at the small boy, confusion in his eyes.
"I've got to go."
The big man looked up at the boy's mother, a mixture of confusion and sadness in his expression. Like a scolded child he pleaded his case in a humble voice, "We's just playin'."
"Joey !"
"Bye."
Without even thinking, he reached out and placed his hand on the giant's, patting it comfortingly.
"Bye."
"Bye."
Turning, the little boy rushed quickly up the driveway to his angry mother, dreading the punishment that was sure to come, yet at the same time feeling a sense of happiness at the few brief moments he had shared with the giant.
For the first time in his short life, the little boy had met a grown-up who could play with him and feel the same joy he did.
The little boy was five years old.
"Come on, Kev. Let's go."
Kevin turned to face his older brother, wondering how he had got across the street so quick. He did not know - and he would not have understood how it could have happened - that a full minute had passed since the boy had entered the house, taking with him his white-stripped ball.
"We's just playin', Brad."
Smiling in reassurance, Brad reached out and took one of Kevin's hands in his own, squeezing it briefly.
"I know, Kev, I know." Gently he began to lead Kevin away from the house. "You didn't do anything wrong."
The bigger man ambled obediently after his brother, but his head was turned towards the house.
"Just playin'." he muttered softly to himself.
Brad merely nodded, his own thoughts on the child's mother - the horror in her eyes at the sight of her son playing with Kevin.
Damn you ! he had wanted to shout at her. He's not a freak !
But he had remained silent.
And smiled.
