Alex Vance lived just around the corner from my
childhood home, so it was a quick three-minute bike ride back and forth between
our two homes. By default, we were best friends. Both of our families also
attended the United Methodist Church, which just meant rules like “come home
when the street lights come on” were flexible.
More often than not, one of us would spend a Friday or
Saturday night over at the other’s house during the school year. One Friday in
early September, we returned to my house after the football game. After the
required phone call to his mother, Alex stayed at my house. My sister and her
best friend, Karen Ellis, were there babysitting and working on an article for
the high school newspaper.
“What a great game!” said Alex.
“Yeah, 13-6! Can you believe that goal line stand at the end
of the game? Everyone was lined up at the one yard line, watching the Raiders
hold the line for four straight plays!”
The Reynoldsburg Raiders had just beaten their crosstown
rival, the Whitehall Rams. To top that, it was our homecoming game and everyone
was there. We spent most of the game milling around near the Reynoldsburg
bleachers, trying our best to look cool.
The thing was, I was in 6th grade and Alex was in
7th. How cool could two pre-teens possibly be? Sure, we wore our
Izod shirts and faded denim jeans, but that was the extent of our fashion
sense. Still, we were discovering our hormones as girls’ bodies were beginning
to take shape and hair was feathered with large purple combs and locked into
place with tons of hair spray. All the girls stained their lips with frosted
bubble gum pink lipstick and their cheeks with matching blush.
“Man, Amanda Higgins and Denise Kratt looked great!”
“Aw,” said Alex, “they were nothing. They had no titties.
How can you like a little 6th grade girl with no titties when you
can have a 7th or 8th grader with big bajungas?”
Alex illustrated his comment with two hands held out in
front of his chest to resemble two large breasts. I laughed loudly.
“Not all girls need bajungas. Amanda Higgins has beautiful
eyes.”
“If a girl doesn’t have bajungas, it just doesn’t matter.”
He went out to the kitchen and quickly returned with two
oranges stuffed into his shirt.
“Bajungas!” he growled like Animal from The Muppet Show. The
oranges wobbled back and forth as he juggled them in his hands. I was laughing
hysterically, and soon, he was laughing hysterically, too.
I pulled out my collection of baseball cards and he helped
sort them by year and index number. As we did, Alex fished the oranges out of
his shirt and set them on the carpet beside us.
My sister Karen, who had been busy in the living room
tapping away at the typewriter, came out to family room to check on us as we
got louder and louder. She approached and pointed towards the oranges.
“Are you guys going to eat those oranges?” she asked.
“Those aren’t oranges,” said Alex.
“What are they, tangerines?”
“No,” I chuckled, “they’re bajungas.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry,” said Alex, “you wouldn’t know about
bajungas.” He grabbed the oranges and juggled them in front of his chest.
Neither my sister nor her friend Karen had grown tangerines of their own, so we
both began laughing hysterically. Both of them ignored us.
“Well, were hungry, so were taking them.”
Alex frowned, but soon all was forgotten as she ate the
orange and eventually left us alone.
“What do you want to do now?”
I shrugged.
We headed into the empty living room, where Alex sat down in
front of the typewriter.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to write something.”
“What?’
Alex shrugged as he sat there and thought for a moment.
Then, he began to type.
FIVE GIRLS I’D LIKE TO FUCK
5. Jeanie Fowler
“Who’s Jeanie Fowler?”
“Yeah, you probably don’t know her. She’s in the 8th
grade.”
“We should limit it to girls at the middle school.”
“Ugh! No!” exclaimed Alex, “that’s limiting it too much.”
“I don’t know Jeanie Fowler.”
“Trust me; she’s definitely someone you’d like to fuck.”
“Okay then, Number four is…”
We both paused for a second, lost in thought.
“What about Amanda Higgins?”
“Would you let it go with Amanda Higgins? She needs
bajungas.”
“Then, who’s next, Briana Cherry?”
“Nah, how about Lauren McKenna?”
“Ah, yes! Lauren McKenna should be number four.”
Lauren McKenna was another one of those early bloomers. At
age 11, it was likely she already wore a D-cup. Personally, I never considered
myself much of a breast man, but Lauren McKenna’s boobs were truly a pair of
things to behold – or things to be holding. She had not only developed earlier
than the other girls, she was a few inches taller, and had curves in all the
right places.
“Racquel Welch should be number three,” said Alex.
I shrugged.
“And Sophia Loren is number two.”
“It’s all old ladies,” I said.
“Maybe you should make your own list.”
“Maybe I should.”
I sat down with pencil and paper and began running through
those girls I liked. Amanda Higgins and Jenny Chang were obviously the first
two to come to mind – big brown eyes, brown hair, and cute smiles. Of course,
both of them had flat chests. I tapped the eraser on my mouth as I continued to
think. Karen Ellis was next, followed by Jaclyn Smith and Kate Jackson from
“Charlie’s Angels.”
I produced my list for Alex’s approval. He looked it up and
down for several moments before setting it aside.
“What?”
“Bajungas, man; where are the bajungas?”
“Jaclyn Smith has bajungas – I mean breasts.”
“Barely. Where’s Farrah Fawcett or Dolly Parton? Those are
some high quality titties.”
Even then, Alex couldn’t say ‘high quality titties’ without
using his hands to demonstrate just what he was talking about. I just rolled my
eyes.
“Okay, so let’s see your list,” I said as he showed me his
finished work, “Sophia Loren is two and Elizabeth Taylor is first?”
“I told you, man, bajungas.”
I inserted the paper back into the typewriter and finished
my list of “GIRLS I’D LIKE TO FUCK, By Balthazar Eddings”
Then, I produced my run-down list:
5. Amanda Huggins
4. Jenny Chang
3. Karen Ellis
2. Jaclyn Smith
1.
Kate Jackson
Honestly, I would’ve put Jenny Chang first, but I was
feeling a bit of pressure from Alex. After we finished, we went to the fridge
and forgot all about the F List until the next morning
The table had been cleared away of journalism things and set
with four cereal bowls and an assortment of cereals.
“Come on,” said my sister, “it’s time for breakfast.”
Alex and I poured large bowls of Rice Krispies and Froot
Loops and began eating while my sister made banana-walnut pancakes.
Meanwhile, Karen cleared her throat.
“Number three?” she said.
Alex laughed loudly and m face turned the darkest shade of
crimson red.
“I didn’t even make your list,” she said to Alex.
“No bajungas. Elizabeth Taylor has perfect bajungas.”
He illustrated it with the same regard he’s shown in front
of me. My sister strode over and jerked both oranges out of his hands. When he
reached for the bananas, Karen quickly snatched those away from his reach.
“You don’t need those, either!”
Unlike Andy Harmon’s sudden disappearance from my life, Alex
Vance was in my life to stay.
.
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