The Point of No Return

Jimmy stood six foot two and was handsome with long flowing sandy brown hair. He was already the star quarterback of the Greenville High football team in his junior year. The kind of kid the boys envy and the girls swoon over. Driving an old Ford that he and his father had nursed back to life. Jimmy pulled up to the curb just as I was stepping out the front door.

Me, I’m Bobbi-Jo and I was a sophomore cheerleader with above-average academic ability. My sister insists I was already the frontrunner for Homecoming Queen come senior year. I’d never make it there to find out.

First, we hit the local Sonic outlet for a romantic dashboard dinner. It was where all the boys with licenses took their girls. It may sound all Jack and Diane but no one was suckin’ on no John Cougar chili dogs. After a bite, we headed to the Greenville 3 (because it had three screens) drive-in for the Friday night double feature. I don’t remember what movies were playing but I can still picture the spot where Jimmy parked that Mustang along the back row fence.

As the sun dipped below the horizon we climbed over the center console and into the back seat. Both of us were completely oblivious to anything happening on the six-story (or at least they claimed it was) screen. Our lips pressed together, I vividly recall our tongues touching for the first time. Way more awkward than in that scene from Top Gun but Dentyne cool.

It all gets a little blurry from here. His shirt was off with my hands on his chest. My blouse was undone, fallen beneath me on the seat. He struggled to unhinge my bra but was offended when I offered assistance. I remember him pausing to stare at my chest like it was the first time he’d seen a set of tits. It was just a moment, but to a self-conscious teenager it felt like he scrutinized them for an eternity before grabbing on like he was receiving a snap from his center. At least his hands were quarterback soft.

His pants balled up on the front seat, my hands trembling, frightened to touch him. My skirt was hiked up around my waist. Hand over panties, sweat beading on his forehead and a wild look in his eyes. Windows fogged up, some sappy love song from the movie playing on the FM radio as he slipped his fingers into my panties.

I was frightened to death but I wanted him too, not knowing what that really meant. Playing a game of cat and mouse, he’d push the boundary and I’d push back. A couple of star-crossed lovers negotiating a torrent of raging hormones and teenage emotions until I ultimately acquiesced in the wake of Jimmy’s promise. A promise that was quickly forgotten when he pushed into the endzone and we fell into the throes.

He hadn’t realized that he had past the point of no return until I could feel him throbbing, his swollen member emptying itself inside me. The euphoria of the moment was electric but short-lived, quickly turning to waves of panic and anger at his betrayal.

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My son Austin is the apple of my eye. Proof that something wonderful can come from a horrible mistake. His father tried; he left school, football, and the American dream behind to work full time and raise a son. His resentment towards us for the life he gave up would prove our undoing.

He packed up and left for Alaska the Christmas after Austin’s second birthday. He is nothing more than a ghost from my past now except for the occasional cheque that shows up in the post. It’s not even close to enough but I suspect his guilty conscience thinks he’s doing his part. Austin, at ten, asks about him occasionally but even he has accepted his Dad is gone and has moved on.

This is not where I thought I’d be at 26. Life has a way of making its own path regardless of your plans. When you are young the world is all about you. It only truly comes into focus when someone else is relying on you to survive. You are no longer the future, you are its caretaker and it is a responsibility I have not taken lightly.

Sometimes I think I should have realized Jimmy’s promise was one he could never have kept. Still, it is difficult to say I’d change the mistakes of my past. There are so many threads interwoven through the tapestry of one’s life that pulling on a few bad ones threatens to unravel all the good.

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Image: Kristyn Lapp @ Unsplash.
Copyright 2022 Greg Glazebrook, All Rights Reserved.

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