Teenage boys who fall in love are hopelessly hooked. Such was the case when I fell for the girl everyone called “So Fine Caroline”.
She was an exotic beauty with golden blonde hair, a sensuous, seductive smile, and electric blue, come-hither eyes, set in a perfect, pimple-free face, glowing with mother-of-pearl smoothness.
Caroline had no bad angle: from front, side, or behind, she was pure pulchritude — the kind of girl-becoming-woman who causes boys-becoming-men to sit up all night, staring at the moon, like lonely, howling coyotes.
Knowing how hopelessly in love I was, Caroline’s brother Aubrey came up with an idea: “Friday night is Halloween, and we’re going to see ‘Mystery Of The Wax Museum’ at the Temple Theater. I’ll ask Caroline to save you a seat.”
Pleased that her son was exhibiting normal, healthy, heterosexual male characteristics, Mama was excited as I was.
“Wear your best shirt and corduroy pants,” she said. “I’ll drop you off at the movie, and you can ride home with Mrs. Bailey.” (The Baileys lived even farther out in the Mississippi Delta boondocks than we did.)
As soon as my eyes adapted to the theater’s darkness, I saw Caroline’s golden hair lying across a graceful neck and falling on a shoulder.
“Are you saving this seat for someone?” I asked.
“Yes … for you.” The way she said “you” made my knees buckle.
The movie was terrifying. Seeking manly comfort, Caroline took my hand as we watched Igor dip victims into wax and create lifelike statues. At the last minute, the heroine was saved from the hot wax vat, and we sighed in relief.
Outside, I was hoping for a kiss, and Caroline seemed willing, but just as I leaned over for the lip-lock of a lifetime, her father appeared. “Good night,” she whispered.
When Mrs. Bailey let me out at our house’s long, winding driveway, I felt uneasy. The path was pitch black, beneath gloomy overhanging trees. No doubt Igor was hiding behind one of them.
Then I heard him — a swishing sound that slowed when I slowed and quickened when I quickened. My chest froze, I couldn’t breathe — I would soon be dipped in hot wax!
Swish, swish, swish. Igor took the exact number of steps I took. I raced for the front door, with Igor swish, swish, swishing at the same pace.
Clinging un-manfully to Mama’s nightgown, I told her Igor had almost captured me.
When she asked how I knew, I explained the monster’s swish, swish, swish. She began to giggle.
“Walk across the room, son.” I did, and the corduroy fabric between my thighs swished, swished, swished.
Tactfully, she changed the subject. “How did things go with Caroline?”
“Can you believe it, Mama? That gorgeous babe held my hand!”
Tucking me in, she asked, “Will you dream about Igor or Caroline?”
I told her I’d let her know in the morning, and dozed off — not thinking about evil Igor, but about the only girl for me: So Fine Caroline.
Jimmy Reed is an Oxford, Mississippi resident, Ole Miss and Delta State University alumnus, Vietnam Era Army Veteran, former Mississippi Delta cotton farmer and ginner, author, and retired college teacher.
This story is a selection from Jimmy Reed’s latest book, entitled The Jaybird Tales.
Copies, including personalized autographs, can be reserved by notifying the author via email (.(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)).
