Greenville was once a small suburban town on the Pacific Coast, on the periphery of the much larger urban center of El Pecado, even after newcomers started flooding in from the south in droves to buy up the cheap land here, when everyone thought that the county was going to be the next Silicon Valley. Apparently things were breaking down in the old one after California seceded from the Union, and most of the corporations relocated to nearby Oregon, even going so far as to build housing for the thousands of workers they were bringing in.
Oftentimes I had to ask my grandfather what phrases like 'start up company' mean, and even after a lengthy explanation I find it difficult to piece together an image of life before I was born. Before everyone had to live by the work of their hands.
The closest I ever got to understanding it all was when my dad took me to the top of a hill, and pointed his finger toward the east. From our position on that hill, you could see the city of El Pecado resting beneath purple mountains, under a pink lemonade sky. Apparently, even the air was said to be poisoned, which is why the sky still looked the way it did at sunset, but it was slowly recovering with time. If I squinted my eyes or used a looking glass, I could see lots of tall buildings standing in the middle, surrounded by rows and rows of smaller ones. Many of the 'high-rises', as they were called, were incomplete, and grey concrete failed to cover the brown-red iron skeletons inside them. As a small boy, I was extremely curious to see that world up close, but both my father and grandfather told us that there was nothing over there for us, and it was best just to forget all about it.
From what I gathered, the whole country was falling to pieces, and our valley was supposed to be the last hope for something called the American Dream. But the land was torn apart by a depression, civil war, and epidemics. I can sort of understand the last one from direct experience, but all the seniors laugh and say that our diarrhea and fevers don't compare to the outbreaks of disease that they lived through.
The oldsters, despite the rough times they lived through, always love to tell us about their childhoods and the things they used to have and do. Their children, people my dad's age, have no fond memories to speak of and always caution me against leaving Greenville, which was now just the parts of the old town with arable land.
I can't help being curious though; my father was the foreman of our little community, and he'd be the ones organizing scavenging parties whenever we needed metal parts and diesel for our farm equipment and generators, and medicines for when our herbs weren't enough for our needs. But they'd also bring back stuff like books and magazines. I would always try to pull rank with the other kids as the foreman's son to get first dibs, but my mother said I was acting like a 'little Hitler' and made me share.
For my fifth birthday, he brought back a Gameboy, which I played obsessively until the batteries ran out. It was a beeping, shimmering piece of magic in my young, impressionable hands. But I never had four of the same AA batteries at the same time to ever play it again. My little brother Jeffrey was more bummed since he only got to use it for an hour. I asked my grandfather why we couldn't just make more, but he said we don't even have the tools to make the parts to make the things we want, so it's just better to live simply without too much technology. I shot the used batteries out of a shotgun on a hunting trip once, which earned me a smack upside the head when the batteries merely disintegrated ten feet from the gun and spooked away the deer. Dad said he would have hit me even harder if I had killed the deer with them.
Luckily there was always stuff to occupy my mind with. My father, and his father before him, was chosen to be the town's foreman because he knew how to solve problems. These were mostly disputes between people, but also lots of practical things, like fixing a generator or a truck. We had six trucks, but we only ever used two for patrols and hunting, or three if we needed something from the big city. These were beautiful off-roaders: Jeeps, Land Rovers and Cruisers, and my 'dad's' Ford Bronco with its classic V8 engine. The vehicles were all held communally, but the foreman was the only one with the authority to drive such a powerful truck in the rare occasions when it was worth burning the extra fuel. Plus, he did practically all the maintenance on it, so it was fair to say it was 'his'. By working with him, I became something of a grease monkey too.
Of course, my favorite pastime of all, when I was old enough to appreciate it, was chasing skirts. Girls were pretty much the only reason any of us guys went to 'school', the three hours in the unused barn we spent each day learning reading, 'riting, and 'rithmetic from Ms. Fitzsimmons. Aside from reading, which I do appreciate, none of the other skills they taught us seemed to have any use at all, though the girls took to their lessons well. For me, it was all I had not to check out the progressively nicer cleavage on the other side of the barn when the girls' eyes were down, fixed on their chalkboards.
Me and the guys would make crude drawings on our handheld blackboards and show them to each other when Teacher's head was turned, then hurriedly erase them before we got caught. Most of us drew stick figures of the girls with exaggerated breasts, but fat ol' Farley for some reason loved to draw penises.
"Stop it, you retard," Vinnie slapped Farley's board down, barely containing his laughter. Those two knuckleheads always pushed it too far and got us into trouble. The rest of us didn't even have to look their way to know Farley had drawn something obscene.
All of the girls, sitting twenty feet away and facing us, knew about it too. Some rolled their eyes, but most of them by now found our antics more interesting than Ms. Fitzsimmon's boring curriculum. However, the best girls were Jessica and Rachel, who'd be the only ones to join us. Jessica was the hottest girl with perfect features and Rachel was a rough-around-the-edges tomboy (and my childhood friend), but she was hot because she was actually attainable. I had discovered how sexy Rachel was just last year, and I secretly hoped no one else did. Of course, life never plays out the way you want it to.
Jessica was the first to figure out we were objectifying them, mostly because a lot of us were staring at her face for long stretches of time to sketch her. Being the town hot girl that she was, she didn't take offense and in fact, saw it as the boys idolizing her, so she egged us on. Rachel found out because she had tricked me into telling her.
The two decided to join us in our game, with Jessica taking the initiative. She had long, sable-brown hair, well-shaped eyebrows that brought your attention down to her hypnotizing hazel fuck-me eyes. She was the kind of girl who'd put on makeup to enhance her already attractive features, not to cover them up. Her father being a doctor and a rich man in our community, afforded her the only real wardrobe in town: no one else changed their clothes as often as she had.
Naturally, as the queen bee, she had eyes for Magnus, the big blond hulk with arms like tree trunks and a family of similar social status. Sadly for Magnus, Jessica liked to tease everyone and flirt around. He had the looks for a girl like her, but not the wit or dominating personality to keep her in line, so she always played games at his expense.
During an algebra session, while Miss Fitz was busy slugging back cough medicine, Jessica abruptly lifted up her board to reveal a cute drawing of a cat, with the caption 'Rate it?'
Immediately the boys scribbled down such flattery as '10/10' or '5/5' or a drawing of two thumbs up. Farley, to our astonishment, rapidly drew five detailed penises. Jessica scrunched her face in disgust, before scanning the rest of the room. She reacted to the rest of our boards in approval, blowing a kiss at Magnus' heart symbol, then pouting at my '3 - average' message. She blew off a strand of hair from her face with a pretend-annoyed huff, then turned to Rachel, whispering something excitedly in her ear. The two then returned to their boards, Jessica in more of a rush to complete her clever little message while Rachel hesitated for a moment. She then gave Jessica a sly glance when she wasn't looking, and erased her original drawing to draw a different one.
From the other side of the barn, I could see Jessica mouth 'three... two... one' before the two girls held their boards up in unison. Jessica's board had my name on it, followed by the caption '3 inches, below average', and an illustration of a tiny cartoon penis with big balls pointing off to the side where Rachel's board was. The male side of the room (and some of the girls') erupted into stifled laughter, and I would have been offended, had it not been for Rachel's half of the picture.
Where Jessica's dick drawing ended, Rachel's drawing had a cartoon woman's face with big, puckered lips to the side, so it looked like the woman was kissing or fellating the tiny dick. Above the drawing was a caption of Jessica's name, so the overall picture was of Jessica kissing my 3 inch penis, which must have subverted Jessica's original intention.
Jessica could only see the boys' silent hysterics (and Magnus' annoyance), so she had no clue what was going on until she looked at my cocky (no pun intended) smile, which caused her to look down and examine Rachel's drawing. Rachel, unashamed, turned her sketch to let Jessica admire her cleverness. The brunette made a genuinely offended expression, before snatching the drawing from the tomboy's hands and erasing it.
However, she only erased the caption, and replaced her name with Rachel's, holding the two drawings up again to display the correction. It was now Rachel's turn to snatch the board from her hands. She shot a glance my way, before blushing like a tomato and burying her face between her knees. She silently sat like that for a while, hugging her skinny blue-jeans tightly with her arms. I couldn't see my face, but I'm pretty sure my mouth was hanging dumbly while my eyes glazed over. Both the boys and the girls were audibly laughing at this point while Rachel and I struggled to avoid eye contact.
This snapped Ms. Fitzsimmons back awake from her dextromorphan-induced stupor to yell at us to settle down. The rest of the class proceeded with an air of giddiness that only Rachel and I didn't share. At the end of the lesson, Rachel exited the barn from the opposite door instead of joining me on the walk home. Red-faced, I obliged our mutual desire for distance, and joined the fellas.
"Hey look, it's the loverboys," Smokey (as we liked to call Rob, because his clothes smelled like cigarettes, and not because he's black) teased me and Magnus as we caught up to them on the dirt path along the runaway car fence and unused freeway road.
Magnus had less of a reason to be upset than I did, but his massive shoulders slumped forward anyway.
"Man, Magnus, you gotta keep that girl in line," quipped Vinnie, joining the roast. I silently bit my tongue, waiting for them to tire themselves out on Magnus before ripping on me.
"You know, Jessica's drawing was quite realistic. It had the coronary ridge, frenulum, and even the raphe of the scrotum. It was astonishingly accurate," Farley added, contributing the weird, awkward Farley-ism that we've come to expect from him.
"It was not accurate! Mine's nothing like that!" I rejoined, realizing too late that I've humiliated myself yet again.
"No one said it was," Farley looked at me quizzically. "I was just curious how she knew WHAT a penis looked like in the first place?"
The five of us walked along the metal fence in thoughtful silence.
"Uff da!" Magnus exclaimed, "Women are such trouble!"
We all agreed, and let the subject drop.
The air was filled with the sounds of birds and prairie dogs. A long breeze blew through our hair, making our shirts flap about our chests like flags. Vinnie threw his arms out and leaned forward, letting the wind hold him upright. The rest of us just enjoyed having the sweat evaporate from our skin.
