fingers brush mine, they are ice-cold. “Are you scared of the dark?”
“No,” a little voice says. She turns the flashlight on, lighting up her face. I try not to smile too much. She’s so obviously freaking out that her eyes look like giant silvery marbles. I wonder if they’re dark blue or green or grey, resisting the urge to shine my own flashlight right into her face to find out.
“I’m going to go check around the hook ups outside. It’s actually lighter out there because of the street lights and the moon. Do you want to come with me?”
“Yes!” she says. “I mean. Sure. Let me get my coat.”
Once we’re outside, I can see that she’s actually really pretty, and under her puffy coat, she has nicely shaped legs in black tights with knee-high boots–a look that’s always done things to me. Bad things. Like I can’t get up to give my history report things. It’s not so bad now that I’m a grown man, but jeez. Black tights should require a content advisory.
Dirty little secret? I fantasized about black tights pretty much the whole time I was in Afghanistan. How sad is that? That’s what happens when the only women you see for eight months are wearing fatigues.
“Wait. Why are you following me ?” the girl asks, turning. “I don’t know where the thing is.”
“Uh, right. Let’s start around the back where the power poles are.”
Nicely done, Charles. She probably thinks I was looking at her ass. Which I was.
We creep around the side of the church, me leading with my flashlight, her clicking along behind me in those killer boots. I have a sudden vivid fantasy about her standing with one of those boots on my chest that makes me laugh and get insta-hard at the same time.
“What’s so funny?” she asks.
“Nothing. I just…thought of something.” Then I think of my grandmother’s toenails to make Mr. Boner go away.
When we get to the back of the church where the power cables come in from the mains, I find the problem straight away. The mangled branch of a giant hemlock tree has fallen right on the junction box, tearing it from the pole. There are wires hanging and sparks flying everywhere.
“Whoa.” I block the girl from getting any closer. “Stand back. I’m just going to get up the pole and disconnect a few things. Wait here.”
Luckily the pole has built-in foot holds. I pull my tool belt out of my toolbox and strap it on before climbing easily up. A quick couple of plugs and switches later and the danger of imminent electrocution to anyone passing by is considerably diminished. Before beginning the climb back to earth, I look down at the girl. She stands with her arms crossed, gazing up at me, her face lit by moonlight.
Christ. She’s really cute. And from this angle, I can see right down her top. She’s wearing a lacy bra.
“Is it the apocalypse?” she yells.
“No. Just the hemlock-alypse.”
She giggles the whole time I’m shimmying down the pole.
“What’s your name?” I ask when I reach ground level.
“Gloria.”
“Do people sing that U2 song to you?”
“ All the fucking time,” she says. “Excuse my language.”
“No fucking problem.”
We both bust out laughing.
“What’s your name?” she says, as her giggles subside.
“Charles. Charlie. And people always say, ‘Oh, like Charlie Chan?’ Like that’s funny. You know, because I’m Asian.”
“I wasn’t going to say that, I swear,” she says, becoming serious. “I was going to say like Charlie Brown? Or maybe Charlie Chaplin.”
“Charlie horse?”
“Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?”
“Charlie’s Angels?”
“Charlie Bit My Finger?”
We walk back down into the basement laughing like lunatics.
“Bad news. Your junction box is fried,” I say to the dark. “A tree fell on it.”
All I can see of the guy who answers is his rainbow t-shirt. “When can we get it fixed?”
“It’ll be a few hours at least. We only have a skeleton crew on tonight for emergencies,
“No,” a little voice says. She turns the flashlight on, lighting up her face. I try not to smile too much. She’s so obviously freaking out that her eyes look like giant silvery marbles. I wonder if they’re dark blue or green or grey, resisting the urge to shine my own flashlight right into her face to find out.
“I’m going to go check around the hook ups outside. It’s actually lighter out there because of the street lights and the moon. Do you want to come with me?”
“Yes!” she says. “I mean. Sure. Let me get my coat.”
Once we’re outside, I can see that she’s actually really pretty, and under her puffy coat, she has nicely shaped legs in black tights with knee-high boots–a look that’s always done things to me. Bad things. Like I can’t get up to give my history report things. It’s not so bad now that I’m a grown man, but jeez. Black tights should require a content advisory.
Dirty little secret? I fantasized about black tights pretty much the whole time I was in Afghanistan. How sad is that? That’s what happens when the only women you see for eight months are wearing fatigues.
“Wait. Why are you following me ?” the girl asks, turning. “I don’t know where the thing is.”
“Uh, right. Let’s start around the back where the power poles are.”
Nicely done, Charles. She probably thinks I was looking at her ass. Which I was.
We creep around the side of the church, me leading with my flashlight, her clicking along behind me in those killer boots. I have a sudden vivid fantasy about her standing with one of those boots on my chest that makes me laugh and get insta-hard at the same time.
“What’s so funny?” she asks.
“Nothing. I just…thought of something.” Then I think of my grandmother’s toenails to make Mr. Boner go away.
When we get to the back of the church where the power cables come in from the mains, I find the problem straight away. The mangled branch of a giant hemlock tree has fallen right on the junction box, tearing it from the pole. There are wires hanging and sparks flying everywhere.
“Whoa.” I block the girl from getting any closer. “Stand back. I’m just going to get up the pole and disconnect a few things. Wait here.”
Luckily the pole has built-in foot holds. I pull my tool belt out of my toolbox and strap it on before climbing easily up. A quick couple of plugs and switches later and the danger of imminent electrocution to anyone passing by is considerably diminished. Before beginning the climb back to earth, I look down at the girl. She stands with her arms crossed, gazing up at me, her face lit by moonlight.
Christ. She’s really cute. And from this angle, I can see right down her top. She’s wearing a lacy bra.
“Is it the apocalypse?” she yells.
“No. Just the hemlock-alypse.”
She giggles the whole time I’m shimmying down the pole.
“What’s your name?” I ask when I reach ground level.
“Gloria.”
“Do people sing that U2 song to you?”
“ All the fucking time,” she says. “Excuse my language.”
“No fucking problem.”
We both bust out laughing.
“What’s your name?” she says, as her giggles subside.
“Charles. Charlie. And people always say, ‘Oh, like Charlie Chan?’ Like that’s funny. You know, because I’m Asian.”
“I wasn’t going to say that, I swear,” she says, becoming serious. “I was going to say like Charlie Brown? Or maybe Charlie Chaplin.”
“Charlie horse?”
“Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?”
“Charlie’s Angels?”
“Charlie Bit My Finger?”
We walk back down into the basement laughing like lunatics.
“Bad news. Your junction box is fried,” I say to the dark. “A tree fell on it.”
All I can see of the guy who answers is his rainbow t-shirt. “When can we get it fixed?”
“It’ll be a few hours at least. We only have a skeleton crew on tonight for emergencies,