{"id":280,"date":"2023-12-06T03:16:51","date_gmt":"2023-12-06T03:16:51","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/english.illinoisstate.edu\/euphemism\/19-1\/?page_id=280"},"modified":"2023-12-06T03:17:33","modified_gmt":"2023-12-06T03:17:33","slug":"adrenalin-love","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/19-1\/fiction\/adrenalin-love\/","title":{"rendered":"Adrenalin Love"},"content":{"rendered":"\n\n\n
\n
Walter Sanville<\/h5>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n

\u201cBrown. She\u2019s, you know, all brown.\u201d That\u2019s how Wesley described Gianna to Charles, his friend and fellow chess club member.<\/p>\n

\u201cJeez, Wes, you think you have any chance with her?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s my queen and I\u2019m her pawn. Just being near her . . .\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve got it bad, don\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, I guess.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gianna sat one row up from Wesley in their senior year English class, taught by Father Byrne, a wrinkled Jesuit who still retained his thick brogue fifty years after emigrating from Galway. The priest droned on about Shakespeare and his love sonnets. What does that old geezer know about love?<\/em> Wes thought. His eyes focused on Gianna, her soft brown hair cascading down her back, her light sienna skin, smooth legs, and major league headlights that not even a Catholic school uniform could hide.<\/p>\n

Wes always waited until Gianna took her seat before entering the classroom. If he got lucky, when he passed her, she would look up and smile, showing off perfect teeth. Wes could barely manage a quick grimace before hurrying past, his heart pounding.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo what are you going to do about it?\u201d Charles asked and moved his knight into a check position. \u201cYou should ask her out.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou kidding me? She\u2019s probably got a string of boyfriends.\u201d<\/p>\n

Charles scoffed. \u201cNo she doesn\u2019t. She\u2019s Mexican and hangs out with her Hispanic girlfriends.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo you\u2019ve been watching her too?\u201d Wes asked, grinning.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, I may be a dork but I still have genitals.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, a lot of good they\u2019ll do you at this school. Jeez.\u201d<\/p>\n

Puberty had hit Wesley hard. During the 1950s and his pre-teen years he talked up a storm, yacking away with his two older sisters and the girls in elementary school. But then his voice changed, he grew hair down there, and a suffocating shyness closed in. It got worse in high school with beautiful girls sitting within arms\u2019 reach and Wes focusing on the blackboard, trying to keep from daydreaming and committing various and sundry mortal sins in the process. But in English class, he couldn\u2019t control his mind and created all sorts of romantic and mildly erotic scenarios with Gianna.<\/p>\n

Wes never went to school dances because standing in the stag line at the edge of the gymnasium showed how desperate he and the other dorks looked. And even if he got up the nerve to ask a girl to dance, his seventh-grade modern dance lessons had shown him to be a total klutz, his six-foot body stomping down hard on dainty feet. He\u2019d grown even taller but not any more agile.<\/p>\n

But he liked going to sports events, sitting in the grandstands shoulder-to-shoulder cheering their team on while pressed against some bouncing beauty. He hoped that someday his shyness would wear off and he could actually talk with one of the girls. But he\u2019d be graduating<\/p>\n

in June, heading off to college out of state, and had yet to go on a date with anyone. Desperation set in.<\/p>\n

That Friday night their short but fast basketball team played Carpinteria. With two games left in the season Joe Blanco had only a couple of chances at breaking the school record for the most points scored in a game. Joe was a quiet guy, not flashy at all. He let his playing speak for itself without any rhetoric \u2013 Wesley\u2019s kind of person.<\/p>\n

Wes left home right after supper and cruised State Street, Santa Barbara\u2019s main drag, in his black \u201959 Renault Dauphine. While his classmates drove big American land-yachts with rumbling V-8s under their hoods, Wes\u2019s ride had a toy four-banger rear engine pumping out 32 horsepower. He\u2019d bought it for two hundred bucks, only two years old. It got great gas mileage at a time when nobody cared, at a time when the size of a guy\u2019s dick was considered proportional to the power of his car\u2019s engine.<\/p>\n

He arrived at the gym early and sat in the bleachers, four rows up from the floor in the home team\u2019s section. The Carp players were warming up, practicing lay-ups and outside jump shots. They looked smooth, capable. Their six-foot-five center could move as fast as the rest of them; their guards had quick hands and could work the ball.<\/p>\n

Slowly, the bleachers filled. The noise level in the gym increased to a dull roar, accented by high-pitched laughter and giggling from the girls. Then Gianna and her girlfriends entered and time seemed to slow. She scanned the bleachers, stared directly at Wes and grinned. He felt the back of his neck go cold and a shiver rattled his body. The gaggle of girls hustled up the stairs and filed into his row, Gianna dropping into the space next to him, dressed in a sleeveless blouse, her bare brown arm touching his.<\/p>\n

\u201cWes, right?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou sit in back of me in English.\u201d<\/p>\n

He nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cI see you playing chess with your friend in the quad. You don\u2019t look the type that would like sports.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat . . . what type is that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know what I mean . . . the jocks . . . the troglodytes that hang out at the coke machines and stare at girl\u2019s boobs and legs.\u201d<\/p>\n

Wes could feel his face grow hot at the mention of boobs. \u201cYeah, those guys,\u201d he murmured and laughed, feeling guilty.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy are you here?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cCame to see Joe, see him break the school record. Why . . . why are you here?\u201d<\/p>\n

She turned sideways and looked directly into his eyes. Her smile vanished. \u201cMe and my friends came to watch a bunch of hunky guys run around in shorts.\u201d<\/p>\n

Wes stared at her open-mouthed.<\/p>\n

After a count of three, Gianna grinned and bumped his shoulder. \u201cI\u2019m kidding, I\u2019m kidding. Joe\u2019s my cousin. I decided to come out and see what all the fuss is about.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI . . . I think he\u2019ll do it. Their guards are quick but Joe can really . . . \u201d<\/p>\n

Gianna continued staring into his eyes. Her grin faded to a quiet smile. She turned away and talked excitedly with her girlfriends.<\/p>\n

I am not a troglodyte<\/em>, Wes thought and focused on the basketball court, watching each of the players move confidently, take extraordinary practice shots from outside, and finally retire to the bench for the pep talk and final instructions from coach. All the while, he felt Gianna\u2019s arm<\/p>\n

pressed against him, felt her warmth through his Madras shirt. He thought about chess to calm himself. It didn\u2019t work. If anything, being so close to the queen curled his toes.<\/p>\n

Meanwhile, holy mayhem happened on the court: fast-paced breaks, shooting from outside, full court presses, rim-bending dunks by Carp\u2019s center, steals, and a half-court basket as the halftime buzzer sounded. Throughout the game the crowd bolted to its feet every time Joe scored, mostly jump shots from beyond the key. Wes kept track of Joe\u2019s points as their total slowly mounted.<\/p>\n

The game\u2019s second half repeated the first, except that the coaches substituted players to give the starters a rest \u2013 all except for Joe who kept racking up points. The teams traded baskets, neither side gaining more than a two-point advantage. In the closing minutes, the fouls mounted. Carp started double-teaming Joe. But he was quick enough to drive around them to the basket, or somehow sink a jump shot over four extended arms. He hit 30 points within seconds of the final buzzer, the home team ahead by three. And that\u2019s how it ended.<\/p>\n

The crowd swarmed the floor, lifting an exhausted Joe Blanco up and carrying him around the court. Wes found himself next to Gianna. She jumped up and down, laughing, her girlfriends in hysterics. Finally she turned, grinning, and threw her arms around Wes and gripped him in a bear hug, the smell of her sweat overpowering her perfume. Wes didn\u2019t care and clutched the warm shaking body to him. The crowd sound faded and it felt like just the two of them, celebrating their own personal triumph.<\/p>\n

Finally Gianna tapped him on the shoulder and he released her. She backed up, open-mouthed, staring. Wes dropped his hands in front of his crotch just in case he had gotten too excited. The girlfriends laughed. He couldn\u2019t tell if it was at him, Gianna, or both of them. Gianna\u2019s body shuddered once then calmed.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo . . . so Wes, you gonna go to Dino\u2019s on the Mesa?\u201d<\/p>\n

He stared at her blankly.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s where everyone goes after the game for, you know, pizza and sodas.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh . . . yeah . . . sure . . . I\u2019ll be there.\u201d<\/p>\n

She turned abruptly and hustled out of the gym, her girlfriends hurrying to catch up. Wes stood and watched the last of the crowd leave. Hoots of joy came from the locker rooms along with the team chanting \u201cJoe, Joe, Joe.\u201d Carp\u2019s team stayed quiet. Outside, cars still packed the school\u2019s parking lot; students standing by open doors took nips from pocket flasks and talked excitedly. Wes made his way to the Renault, cranked it up, and streaked down State Street to Las Positas, then south to Cliff Drive, weaving between slower cars and laughing.<\/p>\n

As he turned left and uphill onto the wide boulevard, a beat-up Nash station wagon pulled next to him in the fast lane, its windows rolled down. Inside, Stan Edwards from his class yelled, screamed and pounded the dashboard with a fist, a shit-eating grin on his face. Wes crammed the Renault into second gear and stomped on the gas. The tiny car surged forward. But the Nash was slightly less gutless than his car and caught up. Blasting along side-by-side, they yelled at each other over the scream of the engines, the blood pounding in Wes\u2019s temples.<\/p>\n

Stan pulled slightly ahead. Wes looked forward. The rusted bumper of an old Buick rushed toward him. In that split second, he cranked the steering wheel to the left and lifted his foot off the gas. The Renault hit the Buick a little to the right of center. The impact flung him forward, his body straining against the lap belt that his father had insisted he install. A spray of glass. Everything went black, and stayed black. In the quiet, Wes raised his head and saw nothing but black metal just above his head. The Renault\u2019s hood that opened toward the windshield had popped up and smashed into the car\u2019s interior, right over his head. The right side of the car was gone, gaping holes where the doors had been. He unfastened the lap belt and climbed through the opening.<\/p>\n

Several cars had stopped and somebody laid a row of lit flares on the asphalt, blocking off the right lane.<\/p>\n

Stan came running up. \u201cJesus, Wes, you . . . you okay . . . holy shit, your car\u2019s destroyed, man.\u201d<\/p>\n

Wes nodded, his brain fogged.<\/p>\n

Stan pointed, \u201cYou\u2019ve got a bump on your forehead.\u201d<\/p>\n

Wes reached up and felt the raised skin. A goose egg was already forming. \u201cI must have hit my head on the steering wheel.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, you better let the ambulance guys check you out. I\u2019m gonna go. Don\u2019t want to catch hell from the police.\u201d<\/p>\n

Others came forward and led Wes to the edge of the road to sit on the curb. An ambulance pulled up and two attendants took his vitals, shined a light in his eyes, and checked him out, finding nothing broken or bleeding. They decided that he didn\u2019t have a concussion. The police arrived along with a car with a KEYT Channel 3 logo painted on its side. A guy lugging a heavy camera with lights climbed out along with a woman neatly dressed in a business suit and heels. Wes recognized her from the late TV news that his folks watched.<\/p>\n

The woman shoved a microphone at him as the camera lights blazed. \u201cI\u2019m talking with Wesley who was just in one heck of a collision. Are you all right, Wesley?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, I guess. I just bumped my head. But I feel fine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCan you tell us what happened?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not sure. I ran into the back of that Buick. I didn\u2019t see it parked there. It was dark.\u201d<\/p>\n

The cameraman abruptly left to take film clips of the destroyed Dauphine and the barely-damaged Buick. The police took Wes to a patrol car where they hammered him with questions and scribbled their reports in their notebooks. Wes left Stan out of his story. The police called a tow truck and had what remained of the Renault hauled to the salvage yard.<\/p>\n

\u201cI can have dispatch contact your parents and have them come here to pick you up,\u201d one of the police offered.<\/p>\n

\u201cCould . . . could you just drop me at Dino\u2019s and I\u2019ll call them from there?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou sure you\u2019re okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, yes. I\u2019m fine. I just need a little time to . . .\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTo get your story straight?\u201d The cop grinned.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, something like that.\u201d<\/p>\n

The patrol car pulled up in front of Dino\u2019s and Wesley climbed out. Some of his classmates were outside in the breezeway, chatting with their friends and surreptitiously passing a bottle to spike their cokes. They stopped talking and turned toward the police and Wesley.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat the hell, Wes?\u201d someone called.<\/p>\n

He stared at the smiling crowd. They looked different, older, like spectators of a comedy that he\u2019d somehow become a part of. The excitement, the flow of adrenalin, the anticipation, and then the crash \u2013 I could have been killed before I\u2019d taken even the smallest taste of love.<\/em><\/p>\n

He ducked inside the low building. A wave of heat and noise hit him hard and he leaned against a wall to get his bearings.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour friends are in the back,\u201d the bartender called and he pushed through the crowded dining area to a rear room full of high schoolers gobbling pizza, guys hanging on their girlfriends. A TV muttered in one corner near the ceiling. Joe Blanco sat at the head of a table taking it all in, grinning.<\/p>\n

When Joe saw Wesley he rose from his throne and called, \u201cHey Wes, glad you could make it.\u201d<\/p>\n

The crowd laughed. Someone touched his arm; it was Gianna.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you okay?\u201d she asked. \u201cYou\u2019re not hurt are you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m mostly fine. How did you know?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEverybody knows. You were on the TV news.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cChrist, my folks watch Channel 3. I\u2019ve got to call them; get a ride home.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCome on, follow me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gianna took his arm and guided him outside into the parking lot and a Chevy Nomad wagon.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll give you a ride. You look beat. Lots of excitement tonight. So where do you live?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOn Calle Poniente, just over the hill from here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAll right, get in.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t have to\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust get in.\u201d<\/p>\n

Wes slid onto the front bench seat and reached for the seatbelts. There weren\u2019t any.<\/p>\n

Gianna looked across at him and shook her head. \u201cYou really scared me, you know. I was looking forward to seeing you at Dino\u2019s and then your face appears on the TV. I almost screamed.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m . . . I\u2019m sorry. I was . . . so excited after the game . . . excited for Joe . . . but mostly excited to get here to . . . to see you. I didn\u2019t pay attention and ran into that damn Buick.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo you wanted to see me?\u201d Gianna said, a coy smile curling her full lips.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, to see you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s sweet.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her smile slowly faded. In silence she drove Wesley home, pulled up outside his house and turned off the engine and lights.<\/p>\n

Turning toward Wes, she pounced. \u201cWhy the hell didn\u2019t you ever talk with me? I\u2019m sitting right there in front of you in English class and you never even said hi.\u201d<\/p>\n

Wes bowed his head. \u201cI didn\u2019t think you wanted me to. You\u2019re sort of . . . out of my league.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s dumb. Leagues are dumb.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, but I\u2019m . . . I\u2019m too shy to talk about it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJeez, how often do I have to smile at you for you to get the message?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEvidently more than a few times.\u201d Wes managed a weak grin.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, shy guys. Why do I fall for shy . . . \u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo can . . . we talk some time and maybe . . . you know . . . go out?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou mean on a date?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, on a date. It\u2019ll be our second, this being our first.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gianna groaned. She slid across the bench seat, took his face in her warm hands and kissed him, lingered, withdrew, then kissed him again. \u201cYou\u2019re too late, Wes. Too damn late.\u201d<\/p>\n

Wes frowned. \u201cWhat do you mean, too late?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLook, in two months school will be over. You\u2019ll be going away to some out-of-state University and I\u2019ll be going downtown to secretarial school. I\u2019ll learn how to type, take dictation, organize files, answer phones, and learn to keep secret blouses that show just the right amount of cleavage. If I\u2019m lucky I\u2019ll meet some young attorney, fall in love, fill a house with kids and live happily ever after. It\u2019s . . . it\u2019s just too late for me to start anything with you. Too many plans already made.\u201d<\/p>\n

Wes sat stunned. \u201cI . . . I had no idea. You\u2019ve thought about this. If only we had talked.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, if only.\u201d<\/p>\n

She leaned in and kissed him one last time. \u201cSee you in English class,\u201d she said then slid back behind the wheel.<\/p>\n

Wesley got out of the car and waved as she motored down Calle Poniente. He stood there staring after Gianna, smiling to himself. I\u2019ve had one date in high school, have kissed and been kissed by a girl, and felt the pain of her leaving. But at least I\u2019ve had my taste. Sure hope it gets easier.<\/em><\/p>\n

Wes turned and climbed the front porch stairs of his house, almost ready to face his parents.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Walter Sanville \u201cBrown. She\u2019s, you know, all brown.\u201d That\u2019s how Wesley described Gianna to Charles, his friend and fellow chess club member. \u201cJeez, Wes, you think you have any chance with her?\u201d \u201cShe\u2019s my queen and I\u2019m her pawn. Just being near her . . .\u201d \u201cYou\u2019ve got it bad, don\u2019t you?\u201d \u201cYeah, I guess.\u201d … <\/p>\n

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