“Ladies do not pump gas.”

Pete's Vagina
84. Shotgun
Erin Halfelven

We actually left the mall before three o’clock, trying to beat the heaviest traffic on the way home. Still, that meant we’d spent just over five hours in the belly of the beast. I’d had no idea what buying a new outfit to wear on television would involve. And it did no good to scream or cry that I did not want my ears pierced, let alone any of the other indignities I suffered.

Well, I didn’t scream or cry, but not for lack of wanting to. And my earlobes still hurt. I glanced in the rearview mirror after we merged back onto the Beeline Highway and headed home. The flat gold studs I had picked gleamed at me from under the fringe of my new haircut. I had a second pair of pearl studs, too—ones that Jordan and Mom assured me Lee would find adorable.

The lady at the earring kiosk said I would have to leave them in for two weeks, and that the only problem with wearing my helmet would be being careful when putting it on or taking it off. She mimed using one hand to cover the ear while the other hand pulled the helmet down, then the other way round on the other side.

“I wear a motorcycle helmet when I ride with my boyfriend, too,” she said, grinning. I didn’t correct her about what kind of helmet I intended to wear. If she saw me on TV tomorrow, she’d find out.

The highway homeward already had quite a bit of traffic until we were outside the main suburbs, but after that it lived up to its name — straight as could be for miles and miles, even when there were hills on both sides of the road. We were in Mom’s sedan, not Baby Blue, because neither Mom nor Jordan was willing to submit themselves to the back seat of my little Capri. I enjoyed the drive anyway.

Thirty miles from home, we all turned out to need a pit stop, so I took the Roosevelt Lake exit and found a gas station right across the street from the restaurant Lee and I had eaten in two weeks before. We took turns in the single-stall women’s room while the attendant pumped our gas. Mom had insisted we pull into one of the full-service lanes because “Ladies do not pump gas.”

I was glad enough to do so. Who really likes pumping their own gas? But it kind of tickled me to be taking advantage of such a female perk. Guys who used full service when they weren’t dressed for a wedding or a funeral risked being ragged on, I remembered.

As driver, I went first and walked back to the car afterward, enjoying the afternoon sun and the sight of the lake. It might be artificial, but the blue water amid the greenery looked real enough. When Lee and I were here, I’m not sure we’d taken any time at all to look at the lake.

I pondered for a moment the change in my life’s direction. I’d just spent five hours shopping for dresses, shoes, and even lingerie, and here I stood watching some guy scrub bug splat off my windshield instead of doing it myself. Parts of the day had been sort of fun, and parts I didn’t want to even think about. Like trying to walk in shoes with a two-inch heel. Trying on clothes I didn’t want to wear in the dressing room and seeing myself in the mirror wearing them had been a strange experience.

I brought myself back to the present to avoid purely internal embarrassment, focusing on the attendant. He missed a spot, I thought, then realized he’d probably done so because he was watching me instead of what he was doing. I met his eyes and frowned. He wasn’t the stereotypical high school kid you usually saw in such jobs. He looked like he might be 25 or even 30.

Jordan came up behind me at about that time, and I saw the guy’s eyebrows go up. “You girls are sisters,” he said. Well, it doesn’t take an Einstein to squeegee windows.

Jordan laughed, probably from catching sight of my expression rather than hearing the guy’s observation. “What gave you a clue?” she asked.

I blinked at her, thinking, Jeez, don’t encourage him.

“You look just alike,” he noted eagerly. “Except your big sister has short black hair and yours is long and red!”

Wait a minute. I scowled at Jordan, preening a bit by running her fingers through her nearly waist-length hair. She was flirting with this guy!

He was definitely too old for her, or even for me! Wait! What am I saying?

I reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, turning both of us away from the attendant and using my other hand to point across the street. “That’s the restaurant Lee took us to on our first date,” I said, pitching my voice low so no one else could hear.

“Fancy,” Jordan commented. “Did he kiss you?”

“Uh…no, not then — not until we went to the drive-in later.” I knew I was blushing, but she had her revenge for my interrupting her flirting. “I let him kiss me on our second date.”

“Is he a good kisser?”

I glared at her. “Well,” I admitted, “I did enjoy it—I guess.” No guessing, it had definitely been fun, but no need to tell her.

“What kind of measuring stick did you have?” she asked, grinning at me. “How many boys had you kissed before?”

My mouth fell open, and I closed it firmly on any reply.

“Well,” she mused. “I guess you kissed Jake at that party when you guys graduated junior high….”

News to me! But a check of my “Gayle” memories confirmed it. We’d been coerced into kissing by—Joanna! “Hmph!” I said, not admitting anything.

“You know,” Jordan continued, “Everyone sort of thought you and Jake would end up a couple. I mean, you two were always together, going back to grade school.”

“Jake is—like my brother. Dating him would just be weird.” I guess I made it sound like a complaint because Jordan laughed.

“And then,” she went on, “you started going out with Megan. Though I guess that didn’t surprise as many people as it might have.”

“Hah? Hm....”

“Is she a good kisser?”

I thought about that question for a while. “You have no idea,” I finally answered, thinking back to the night Megan and I spent in a motel.

She looked at me, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Do I want to know?” she asked.

I shook my head.

“Who kisses better? Megan or Lee?”

Damnit! Next time she wants to flirt with an older guy, she’s on her own, I decided.

“Why did you two break up?” she asked, this time not just to be teasing but sounding really curious about it.

I shrugged. “She decided…that…that if I didn’t…if…I….” I couldn’t find a sentence I wanted to finish.

“Then, right away, you went out with Lee. Why did you do that?”

“Uh—he asked me?”

She blinked. “Was that the first time a boy had asked you out?”

I nodded. Well, yeah, it was.

She grinned at me as Mom walked up to pay for the gas.

“I think you scared the rest of them off, Gayle,” Jordan said.

“Probably,” I admitted. “Something to think about if you’re serious about playing football.”

Jordan scowled at me, which should have been a warning. “Lee was the first boy to ask you out and the first one to kiss you…. You’re both eighteen, is he gonna be the first one to get in your pants?”

I stared at her.

“Oh, wait!” she came back before I could think of anything to say. “But I guess Megan doesn’t count?”

Just then, Mom called out, “You girls ready to go?”

We turned to see Mom climbing behind the wheel. “I’ll drive the rest of the way home,” she said.

“Shotgun!” Jordan shouted before I could wish I had one.