Red and the Wolf

Old enemies and new possibilities.

*

Author's Note

I'm in a fairy tale mood again, though this one is much more subdued than the last and lacks the oddball humor that I usually weave in. And let me warn you right now that even though it does include a couple of cute coeds exploring their latent feelings for each other, it's purely a sappy romance with suggestions of sex, but no graphic content at all.

Still interested?

The story stems from the tale of Little Red Riding Hood, but alters several of the original aspects. The setting has moved from the European forest and into the American South, where a decidedly more butch Red has grown up and gone off to college. She's a winning motocross racer now, but being a good girl, she still finds the time to check in on her dear old grandmother quite often.

Can't say much more without spoiling the story.

Enjoy,

Wax Philosophic

*

The events and characters in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All characters are at least eighteen years of age, and you should be too if you're reading this.

*

Red and the Wolf

My boots kick up tiny dust plumes on the gravel drive as I dismount my Honda CB500X and pull it up onto its stand beside the barn at my grandparents' farm. I like my 500X. It's not as much fun as my 450R motocross racer in the barn, but it's nimble and it's street legal so I can ride it other places besides just the dirt track on race days.

And like my 450R, the 500X also comes in my favorite color.

"Hello Red," Grandma signs as she exits the house and walks toward me. I smile as I unzip my red and white mesh racing jacket.

"Hello Grandmother," I sign in return. "What big eyes you have."

Grandma throws her head back in a silent laugh and signs, "All the better to see you with, my dear."

Our little greeting ritual has been going on this way since as long as I can remember, but we never take it past the bit about the eyes. I don't like to bring up any more reminders about the wolf that lurks inside Grandma -- the lupus ravaging her body -- so we leave it at eyes and let our hugs say the rest.

"I brought you some goodies, Grandma." I slip my backpack off my shoulders and begin to unzip it. And that's when I spy

her,

Violet Bleu.

"What's

she

doing here?" I don't even try to hide my frown as I sign to Grandma.

"She's my nurse, Red. You know that." Grandmother's eyes plead for understanding, but I have none to give. Not for Violet. She and her little clique seemed to go out of their way to make my entire high school career a living hell. Now she's a certified nursing assistant and taking care of my Gran.

"Night nurse," I sign hastily. "Isn't the sunlight corrosive to her demon skin?"

Violet fixes a neutral gaze on me and waits until I meet her eyes. She has no idea what I just said, but I'm sure she senses it was about her. I watch as her lips form the words, "Hello Red," and an uneasy smile settles over her face.

I know exactly what Violet's doing, she's trying to be nice. She's probably in one of those twelve-step programs or something where you're supposed to make amends with all the people you've wronged in your lifetime.

Bitch.

As if the last three years can be erased with a hello and a smile.

I throw my hands up and stare at her. "Can't hear you," I say in English. "I'm deaf," and point to my ears with the index fingers of both hands so that she has an illustration to help get the point through that ugly thick skull of hers. I've got another illustration planned for her with another set of fingers, but not while Grandma is standing here.

I watch Violet's shoulders droop as her eyes move to study her shoes. If I didn't know better, I might think she was actually disappointed that I didn't acknowledge her attempt at a peace offering.

Well, tough shit.

But soon Violet's back to her regular plucky self, saying her goodbyes to my grandmother. I roll my eyes as she gives Grandma's hand a little squeeze on her way out the door.

"She's very good to me Red," Grandma signs. "You should give her a chance."

"She had her chance. All through high school. She blew it." But it isn't Grandmother that I am angry with, and it's not fair to take it out on her. Remembering my backpack and why I'm here, I reach in to reveal the moon pie I picked up from Grandma's favorite hole-in-the-wall bakery on the way over.

"Oh thank you Red," Grandma signs. "You really know the way to an old woman's heart."

I smile and pull out the bottle of RC Cola that I brought along to go with it.

Personally, I can't fathom how anyone could ingest that much sugar in one sitting without falling into a diabetic coma. But Grandma is dying slowly, her body being ravaged by her own immune system -- lupus, the wolf -- so if she wants to wash down a chocolate-dipped marshmallow and cookie sandwich with sixteen ounces of sugary soda, who am I to argue?

"You're welcome Grandma," I sign.

As I pull out a chair to join Grandma at the dining room table I catch my grandfather shuffling toward us and casting a disapproving look at the moon pie in Grandma's hands. I just smile. Grandpa's sweet and I love him to pieces, but he's got the onset of Alzheimer's so I'm sure he'll soon forget about my little transgression.

I hurts me to think that someday I'll have to be the one to put the two of them in a nursing home. Though not today. Today they're doing just fine.

Grandpa's forgotten his displeasure over the moon pie already and is now singing love songs to Grandma. I can feel his deep baritone causing my bones to rattle, and the smile on Grandma's face is enough to let me know that he's probably pulled out the Barry White repertoire again. I suppose things could be worse. At least they're happy together.

"How's college?" Grandpa signs.

"Great."

"You still racing?"

I tug at my jacket and cock my head and stare at him with wide eyes in a look that says nothing short of, "Duh." To which he lets loose a mighty laugh that I can feel in the soles of my feet and then wanders off toward the kitchen.

"Anyone special in your life Red?" Grandma asks.

"Not much time to look." I shrug. "And it's all boys on the team except for me."

"I'm sure you'll find someone." Grandma pats my hand in a gesture of understanding that only a sweet old moon pie-eating lady can pull off. "Violet's awfully nice. She always asks about you and how you're doing."

I shake my head vigorously while signing, "No." I can't believe Violet's pulled my gran under her spell so quickly. I sign "No" two more times.

Fortunately Grandpa appears from the kitchen to save me from any more of Grandma's misguided matchmaking attempts. "You want to take a few laps around the track?" he asks. "It'll be about an hour before I have dinner ready."

"Eggplant?" I sign as I catch sight of the long purple fruits sitting on the butcher block in the kitchen.

Grandpa nods. Fortunately the Alzheimer's hasn't affected his long term memory and he can still whip up a mean eggplant étoufée with a little prodding from Grandma to keep him on task. I feel my stomach rumble just a little as I zip up my jacket. I kiss Grandma and Grandpa quick on their cheeks, and head out to the barn.

*

I really ought to get out here and drag Grandpa's disc harrow over this track a few times,

I think as I hit a rut after the first jump. The back end of my bike goes wild and I struggle for a moment, but soon I'm stable and pouring on the speed again.

I love being out here. Even with my full gear and helmet on I can still feel the rush of the wind, and there is something supremely calming about it. All of my mind's power is focused on just three things -- controlling the beast underneath me, conquering the track, and winning the next race.

I hit another jump and fly through the air. For the moment there is no room to think about anything other than my trajectory -- no time to worry about Grandpa's Alzheimer's getting worse or the steady progression of Grandma's lupus -- only about keeping my composure and staying upright when the tires bite into the ground again.

I hardly even have time to think about that bitch Violet Bleu as I bank hard into the turn, my armored left knee skimming across the track and kicking up clouds of dust -- think about how someone I used to think was so pretty could be rendered so repulsive because of the way she flipped out when I once suggested that I might be attracted to her. Violet.

I push Violet's image out of my mind as I come into a series of whoopdees, the small closely-spaced hills that really test my control as they try to throw my bike this way and that. A couple more jumps and a hairpin turn, then I'm pouring on the speed for the straightaway that leads me back to where I started.

It's not a huge track -- my grandparents still rent out most of the farm's acres to be planted by sharecroppers -- but it's enough to bring me the thrill of the race whenever I visit. And along with that daily adrenaline rush comes the visions of beating State U and adding my first collegiate trophy to my already crowded wall of accolades.

A couple more laps around and I'm heading back to the barn, ready to wash up and join my family for a delicious plate of Grandpa's étouffée and quiet conversation before heading back to the dorms. Fortunately, there is no more mention of Violet Bleu over dinner.

*

It was almost three years ago to the day that I first met Violet, so I suppose it was only natural that I dreamed of her last night. It was one of those hyper-realistic dreams too -- the kind where you wake up with a smell or a taste still lingering in your mind as if it were all happening again for the first time. Except for me it was a crystal clear vision.

There she was in the hallway, textbooks clutched in her long graceful fingers, hair so perfect, smooth skin almost glowing as she stood surrounded by her adoring entourage. I'd never met her, but I knew that her name was Violet Bleu. Everybody know her name -- boys, girls, teachers -- even a little fireplug like me who ran in completely different social circles was aware of Violet Bleu.

The youngest daughter of Roquefort and Cordelia Bleu, the lumber baron his young socialite wife, Violet was by far the prettiest girl in school. I would often gaze upon her -- always from a safe distance -- keeping a glimmer of hope in my heart that one day her eye might be drawn to me, the shy girl who tinkered with motorbikes in her grandparents' barn.

Looking back I honestly should have wished for something else, because once Violet's eye settled on me it was nearly impossible to shake her loose. For three whole years she seemed to always find me, flailing her hands around in some nonsensical gesture every time she crossed my path. Always out to knock me into a locker or stare into my eyes while she mouthed hateful words that no one else could hear.

I thought I had escaped all of that when I went off to the university and Violet stayed behind to enroll in the local community college nursing program. But then one day there she was in my life again, Violet Bleu, a newly-minted certified nursing assistant, taking care of my dear old grandmother. And what a cruel twist of fate that was.

After a quick look at the clock I cast aside the covers in a huff, grab my bathroom tote and head to the dorm's community shower. My little Violet nightmare has caused me to oversleep, but if I'm lucky I can still zip right through my morning hygiene ritual and still get to class on time.

I push the bathroom door open and see a cluster of three girls all wrapped in their bathrobes and still shaking off sleep while they wait for the next open shower stall. I'm going to be late.

Damn that Violet Bleu. This is all her fault.

*

I pull my 500X up on its stand out front of my grandparents' barn and step up onto the front porch. It's a lovely breezy afternoon and the door to the house is standing wide open. As I reach to twist the knob of the screen door I see

her

again, unmistakable even peering through the tightly-woven wire mesh that's supposed to keep the pests out.

As I walk in, Violet looks up to meet my gaze. I wait for her to mumble some sort of halfhearted attempt to assuage her guilt and repair the rift between us. But her lips say nothing. Instead, she raises her hand to her chest. She has it clenched into a fist as if she were finger-spelling the letter A. She circles it around once.

I stare in disbelief.

Could it be that Violet has learned a bit of my language in her latest attempt to alleviate her guilt?

That seems so far fetched that I don't even want to entertain the thought. Then I watch as she circles around twice more. "I'm sorry," she says quite clearly. "I'm sorry."

That's it, just I'm sorry, but I honestly don't know what to think so I just stare at her with my mouth agape. Violet looks at me for a few seconds, her big brown eyes wavering. But when I offer no words in return she shifts her gaze to her shoes and simply shuffles out the front door.

"You can't hold a grudge forever Red," Grandma signs. "It's not healthy."

I skirt around the issue of Violet by pulling the moon pie and RC Cola from my backpack and placing them on the dining room table. "What big eyes you have, Grandma."

"Oh Red." Grandma steps over and wraps me in her warm embrace.

While Grandma is bound and determined to squeeze a little love into me, Grandpa pokes his head out of the kitchen and finger-spells the word Jambalaya. And with my chin still resting on Gran's shoulder I nod slowly and show him my broad smile.

"Big race this weekend," Grandma signs as she releases me.

I nod as I watch her unwrapping her moon pie. "You'll spoil your dinner," I sign.

Grandma just smiles and tears a big bite out of her sugary treat.

*

It's Saturday and I'm out in my element again, on the track. Though this time it's not a leisurely jaunt at my grandparents' farm, this time it's at State U and I'm lined up in the starting gate. I squeeze the clutch in and twist the throttle a few times. I feel the goose bumps rising on my skin as the beast at the heart of the 450R rumbles between my thighs.

At the five second mark, every muscle in my body is coiled like a spring as I focus my mind and wait for the gate to drop. I know that Grandma and Grandpa are here in the stands to cheer me on. I also know that Violet is with them, that somehow she convinced Grandma that she should tag along.

It doesn't bother me so much when she's up in the stands, at a distance. In truth she does take good care of my grandparents, and I think a lot of it is off the clock. Violet always seems to be there, day or night. I'm starting to think that there may actually be a decent human being hiding in there somewhere.

But I push that thought to the back of my mind as I rev the engine. I only have room to concentrate on one thing right now and that's getting a good start in this heat, pushing me to the front of the pack and that much closer to beating State U and adding another trophy to my wall.

Fortune smiles on me today as I drop the clutch and rocket out of the gate heading for an early lead. I missed the holeshot, but I'm second in a small cluster of three riders as we head into the first turn. I ease back just a little as I see the rider out front struggling to keep control. Conditions on the track are tricky today.

I watch as he continues pouring it on, and sure enough he's gone wide and heading for the wall. In a poof of hay and dust, he's down and now I'm the one out in front. I promise myself I won't make the same mistake as I head into the first jump.

The machine under me powers up the hill and soon I am flying through the air. I imagine Grandma and Grandpa's cheers as I keep the momentum, sailing through the next two jumps. And Violet Bleu. I wonder briefly if she's cheering, but I push the thought out of my mind and bring my concentration back to the race.

A quick check of my peripheral vision shows no other riders on either side of me, but races are not won by the timid so I pour on the speed through the series of whoopdies that await me. The back end of the bike is wild at the end of it all, but I still manage to maintain control.

I ease off the throttle, slowing as I see the hairpin turn approaching, but quickly realize that I've miscalculated and that I've got too much momentum. Way too much. Try as I might, I can't keep my bike from breaking loose and I find myself rushing headlong for the wall.

Oh shit, I'm going to crash.

That's the last thought in my mind before everything goes black.

*

I have another one of those hyper-realistic dreams again. There is a smell of antiseptic and the rhythmic pulsing and clicks of strange vibrations coming from all around me as I head into a long white tube. I'm not sure I want to be here, but I'm strapped down and there are pads on either side of my head that keep me from moving anything other than my eyes.

Right now all my eyes can see is a narrow strip of white light inside a dark tube, but I do recall the earlier sight of Grandma and Grandpa with concerned looks on their normally carefree faces. Violet was standing with them and she looked worried too.

I'm so tired.

I blink and then suddenly I'm out of the tube and into the light. There's the smell of sautéing vegetables all around -- onions, peppers and celery with a little hint of garlic and the spice of cayenne -- the delicious savoriness more than overpowering the clinical antiseptic.

God, my head hurts.

When I wake from my dream I'm back in my bed. Well, not exactly. I'm not in my dorm room anyway, I'm in my bedroom at my grandparents' house. Grandma is smiling down on me.

"What big eyes you have Grandma," I manage to sign with some effort. It seems that every move I make is accompanied by a twinge of pain to some degree.

Grandma turns her head and her lips move. She's calling out Grandpa's name, and if I'm not mistaken, Violet's too. My suspicions are confirmed as Grandpa comes shuffling over with Violet Bleu on his arm. Or maybe it's the other way around, maybe he's being supported by Violet.

The three of them gather around my bed.

"Hello Red," Grandpa signs.

Violet signs a timid "Hi" as well.

I turn my gaze to Grandpa. "So is she part of the family now?" I ask.

"Be nice," Grandpa says. "She's been taking care of you."

"The neurologist only agreed to release you after Violet said that she's certified and that she'd be here to keep an eye on you," Grandma puts in. "Otherwise you'd still be stuck in the hospital."

"And hospital food is no match for mine," Grandpa says. "I guarantee."

I smile, and though it still hurts more than just a little to move my head, I turn my gaze to Violet and raise my fingers to my chin to sign "Thank you."

"She says thank you dear." I watch Grandma's lips as she translates for Violet.

"I know," Violet's lips say to Grandma. And then to my surprise Violet faces me, touching her fingers to her chin and pulling her hand away as she returns the same sign to convey, "You're welcome."

I am stunned for a moment that she understands me, so when she reaches to take my hand in hers I don't pull away. And when she squeezes, I squeeze back.

She's certainly trying, I'll give her that.

But then reality sets in as my head begins to throb again. "What happened?" I ask.

"Concussion," Violet says, in English this time. "And a few contusions. And some strained muscles in your back."

My eyes go wide.

Sounds serious.

"You'll be fine though," she assures me. "You just need rest so your body can heal."