"Joke'sover."
"HaHaneedtogohomenow"
As a newly trusted driver, these are the last words you need to hear when you are the last person standing alone waiting for a freshman from the ski bus. With enough self delusion, you remind yourself that you are only responsible for yourself, and the not-death of those in your car. Hazing, monthly vaginal coughs, and whatever the fuck is happening behind the closed doors of the girl's locker room is beyond my responsibility.
Please?
Fuck it. I plunge through the door, into a porcelain world free of urinals and piss puddles, sighing deeply and surging past the feminine cubicles (with working doors, what the actual fuck?!), to hit the heavy swing in wooden monstrosity that mirrors the hinges of what used to hang on the boys side of things. The same straight away to the showers. The same untouchable benches lining the all too narrow aisle.
And you. Halfway back into the parka you though you could pull on over the oven mitts they "velcroed" on with tape when you were distracted. The "advanced ski socks" you tried on have slipped down your skinny calves to pool like leg warmers against your ski boots. Your oven mittened kneeling fumbling attempts at tugging away the wooden blocks under the boot releases on the "custom cross-propellant bindings" you clicked into, before realizing these 220 inch skis were too long for you to move in this locker room.
The fact that you decided to wear boy shorts with the word Lucky scrolled across the back is what draws my laughter, as you adjust your backwards gaze from between your knees to standing upright at attention and mittening over the irony of your exposure in your trapped moment.
I spend the moment tracing the quiver of muscles up from the knobby twitch of your knees up along your overly worked thighs, knowing their meeting point must be wider and more adult than your modesty is letting me know for sure.
"I'm guessing you would like me to just take you home before the pizza party curfew your father made me promise to while he played with his revolver?"
I'm guessing your character would like many things to happen, such as me suddenly being struck blind and mute, time rewinding, and .......
Well, that is up to you. Is there any way you can play this to salvage your pride?
As the family designated ride, am I an older mentor that was bumming along for cheap skiing, or am I an older ski club member that was here for the extracurricular and am now a bitter babysitter? Was I commissioned as a ride willingly, or are you the social impairment I have longed to shed?
What about you? Are you a tom boy with only marshmellow tips to show a girl is in that ski top? Are you the early bloomer, with more sexuality than maturity? Or are you the too shy to shine, hiding everything to stay young forever?