CHERILICIOUS SWEET

1. Ms. PETERSON

My name is (or was) Shane. I was a punk. My parents both worked in high travel jobs for the state department, and when my father was killed in an embassy bombing, my mother pretty much just gave up on family, turned her back on me, and devoted her life to her work. I didn't really recognize this, as she was never really a loving, affectionate mother anyway. So, needless to say, I had pretty much the run of the house, and didn't spare myself from getting into trouble. I loved skateboarding. I would spend all afternoon skating around, and particularly loved trash night in the neighborhood, as I would skate by trash cans, and knock them over back into the neighbors' yards, trash splaying everywhere. I had a knack for not getting caught.

On the evening school let out for summer break, after parting with two neighborhood buddies Scott and Ricardo, I was doing my routine trash can tipping on the way back to my suburban DC cul-de-sac house, when I knocked a can, but it didn't budge, throwing me off course and into a bump in the sidewalk. Momentum sent me through the air and the skateboard flying high above me. I heard the smash of the skateboard into glass behind me, and simultaneously had my landing softened by a very fresh smelling perfumed body. I opened my eyes and saw lying under me on the grass of her front yard, was Ms. Peterson, a neighbor down the street. Her thick, long blonde hair was tangled in my face.
As we realized our disposition, we both let out a shriek and pushed away from each other. She was furious. There were grass stains on her pretty floral dress, her hair was a mess, she lost both heels in the tumble, and I could see little bits of blood forming beneath her now shredded white stockings. My first instinct was to get up and run, but this was too close to home.

"What the FUCK Shane?!?!?" She screamed at me as she bolted up and grabbed my meek forearm. Then, as if our brains were in sync, we both turned to her pearl white Cadillac Escaladea to see half of a skateboard projecting from the shattered windshield.

"Ms. Peterson, this was an accident." I pleaded to her.

"Look what you've done, you reprobate punk!" She shouted, gripping my arm ever tighter as she gestured to herself and her car. "I have to go take care of this", She said pointing to her now red and white striped legs, "But you WILL be at my house tomorrow morning, 9 AM, to settle this matter! IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?!?!" She shouted louder, shaking my arm at the emphasis of each word. I didn't know what to do.

"Yes Ma'am." I replied, startled. No one had ever yelled at me that way before. As she started limping back to her house, stocking feet, heels in hand, I went to extract the skateboard from her windshield.

"No you fucking don't, punk! That board is staying right where it is!" She shouted, without even looking back. "9 AM SHARP!"

Now finally my flight response was operational, and I bolted back to my empty house, and locked the door behind me.

OMG. What the fuck just happened!? Fuck if I'm going back there in the morning! She can keep the skateboard and just deal. But I doubted even at saying that to myself, that I could maintain that tough obstinacy.

That night, I had nightmares about Ms. Peterson ripping me out of my bed and throwing me into prison.

The following morning, after a restless night, I woke up early. Why is this woman in my head?! I kept asking myself. I have certainly faced up to getting busted for pranks before, why should this bitch be different! Fuck it! I'm going to go over there and grab my skateboard out of that damn windshield and blow her off! But I couldn't. I stalled until it was 9 AM, then slowly and nervously made my way over there. When I approached her driveway, I saw her SUV sitting right where it had been last night, in front of the garage of her modern contemporary house, but right away I noticed that not only was the skateboard not there, the windshield was in perfect shape. Not smashed, much less even a crack or scratch. Maybe this whole thing was just some bizarrely realistic dream?