My first posted story -- please critique and comment. All characters are 18+
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No one wears yellow. I'm not talking the muted cream yellow that brings out a nice tan, but bright yellow like the stripe on the highway. I wish more people did to remind me of this time growing up. I spent all my years in a small mountain town in the middle of Colorado's Rocky Mountains. In the mid 1980's, we didn't have a movie theater, a mall, or even a big name grocery store, but we did host girl's softball. The summer evenings were punctuated by the sound of a bat on a ball under the daylight bright mercury lamps lighting the diamond fields. Teams traveled from every corner of the U.S. to come and play in the altitude of our little town. It was nice growing up and having the pleasure of watching these shapely athletic girls play their game. High school discussions were held by the guys around the idea of what it would be like to see the team locker room. With nothing better to do than go fishing, my friends and I attended quite a few softball games to check out the players and cheer and whistle for the pretty ones.
My interest in girls was high, but every female in my class was someone I had known since kindergarten. We were all more like sister and brother than anything romantic. After graduation, I was 19, looking a college career in the face and had summer to spend down by the river, wading and fishing until I took off for school. I had said goodbyes to many of my friends who started commuting down the valley to work in the condos and restaurants of the rich and famous, so I ran alone most days enjoying my growing up memories.
One blue skied morning I headed off with my fishing pole across an old sandlot ball diamond to a spillway pipe that led to the creek that runs through town. There was a girl's 18-20 year old tournament in town and every open piece of public land had an RV parked in it. I walked past a team of ball players sporting bright yellow jerseys and gray pants. They were emblazoned across the breasts "The Lady Jazz" in calligraphic black letters. I didn't pay too close attention to the ladies, but noticed most were easy to look at. Tight butts in tight pants. Having little experience with women and having fishing on the mind, I walked past the team warm up session and entered the concrete pipe that led through the bank to the river. I had walked this route to gain access to the river since I proved to my Mom I could swim when I was seven. The pipe was six feet in diameter and opened into the sandlot as a flood diversion structure. The other end of the pipe opened to the river and if the water rose to the mouth of the pipe, it would flow into the sandlot and fill the holding pond until the river receded. Upon going down, the water would then reverse course and flow back into the river. I only saw it work once in my 19 years and the downtown still flooded that day, but it gave easy access to some of the greatest fishing holes I have ever seen. I entered the pipe and walked the 70 feet to the other side where the sound of the river was rich and inviting. I took my time in the cool air of the spillway and came to the bars that guarded the exit and was ready to squeeze through when I heard voices coming from the entrance of the pipe.
"Go on ahead, I have to pee, or I am going to leak all the way back!" came a singsong voice with a rich southern accent. Two giggling girls walked by the entrance of the spillway and a third turned into the mouth of the pipe. She walked a good distance into the pipe, cleats chattering on the concrete, and stopped to let her eyes adjust to the dim environment. I was frozen in place until I put down my fishing rod and walked back towards the center of the spillway. What caused me to go back in, I will never know but the girl at the front of the pipe heard my footsteps.
"I didn't know this was occupied. What are you doing in here?"
"I was just walking through to go fishing in the river. Are you lost?" I asked, pretending I didn't hear the conversation at the mouth of the pipe.
"Do you live here? Are you a local?"
"I am." I replied. "I grew up here."
"Good. Maybe you can tell me where the darkest part of this pipe is so a girl can take a pee." She sang with her accent while dancing in place just a bit like a little kid who really must go.
"I suppose here in the middle at the curve in the pipe." I replied. "I'll head out the other side."
"Into the river?" came her concerned response. "Just stay put and I'll get done with what I came for." She set down her bat bag, kicked off her cleats, slopped out of her socks, and quick walked towards me into the middle of the concrete tube. Leaning against the curved wall, in a single motion she pulled her sliding pants to her knees, squatted, and started to relieve herself.
"Guard that end of the pipe!" she commanded in a loud whisper. I watched interested as the puddle beneath her grew in size and then noticed she was watching me staring at her hip. My eyes looked up to meet hers.
"No one will come through here." I assured her knowing it was true.
"What's your name, Local?" she cooed and her accent echoed in the pipe.
"Dan." I replied.
"Keep talking. It will take a minute to drip dry." She said. I reached into my pocket and removed a camouflage handkerchief I carried everywhere I went.
"I've carried this and a cigarette lighter around since fourth grade. It's soft . . . and clean." I stammered. I walked closer to her noticing her naked hip and not sure of what to do or say when she smiled and reached out for the cloth.
"It won't be clean when I'm done." She giggled and took the handkerchief to dry herself. I looked away during the time she had to open her knees to gain access to use the handkerchief. My eyes moved to the toes of her feet, painted red, as she got redressed. I couldn't bring myself to view her any higher in the state she was in, not wanting to press my advantage. She noticed my eyes now looking at the concrete floor. She walked a few steps away from her mud puddle and stopped beside me. We walked a few steps farther into the pipe.
"Am I not your type, Local? Or are you just not good at talking to girls? Embarrassed you saw my hip? But, I didn't see you looking any higher." I felt my ears get hot and knew I was noticeably red in the face even in the dim light.
