"A kiss between friends"

I dreamed of Sharon again last night. It was 1997, and we were in that stage of a relationship where things are firming up, and one has to decide whether or not to be exclusive with their affections. At least, that was the stage she believed we were in, whereas, I apparently believed we were much further along. 

We were playing house, living in my decrepit, tiny particle board home, and we'd decided to throw a party. People were arriving while we were still cleaning the place up from the initial move-in. I was getting a little upset because there were so many things to be done, and guests were already there, entertaining themselves and making a bigger mess.

"What is all this crap?" I exploded at a case of recyclable water bottles that I found wedged inside a space between an outbuilding and the fence. 

I looked over at Sharon in some kind of accusatory fashion and saw that she was talking with a guy to whom I'd been trying to sell a guitar amp earlier. He was a portly fellow with a Brillo pad of dark frizz for hair and thick black framed glassed that made his eyes bug out just a bit. 

When I was showing him the amp, it appeared that the amp wasn't working, so I fiddled with the dials until I finally got enough sustain to satisfy me. It was my mom's cheap Crate amp, so one couldn't really expect anything marvelous. I handed him my guitar, a well worn instrument upon which much finger skin had been shed by me over the years.

"Uh, gross, dude!" he exclaimed upon seeing the flaky residue on the strings.

"It's not for sale, just the amp," I said defensively. "Those are the original strings, and that skin reflects years of shredding, so there!"

He left and rejoined the party. He was interested in the amp, but he was more interested in Sharon, it appeared. I'd gone back to cleaning up the property, while the party was in full swing, and it was at this point that I looked over and saw the two of them talking quite intimately. My "what is all this crap" comment must have registered with Sharon as an outburst of jealousy, because she grabbed the frizzy haired, bug-eyed boy and kissed him firmly on the mouth.

"A kiss between friends," she said unapologetically.

I fumed and continued the cleanup, trying to think of a good retort. Soon, I found a bunch more things wrong with the place that had apparently gone unnoticed during the home inspection. There was a trailer on the property that was damp and full of mold. I opened the door to air it out and went around looking for more things to stew about. 

The place was as full of people now as it was full of uncompleted cleanup projects. I was going around with a garbage bag full of recyclables which finally burst at the seams, leaving a giant mess in the middle of the yard and eliciting more curses from me. A young girl and her mother accosted me as I was walking up the stairs to retrieve another garbage bag.

"I'm mad at you!" the little blond teenager said, in a serious tone.

I looked at her, and then at her mother, and tried to figure out if I even knew them. I couldn't place either of them, so I asked the girl:

"What did I ever do to you? If I've done something to offend you, I apologize, but really, I don't believe we've ever met." 

She looked at me with steely blue eyes that had a hint of mischief in them. "I was waiting at the bus stop, late for school, and you passed me by on your motorcycle," she said with an air of indignant outrage. "You didn't even offer to pick me up!" 

"I'm not going to offer a ride on my motorcycle to a stranger, and especially not a girl as young as you," I replied. "How old are you anyway?" 

"I'm fifteen," she said. 

Her face said, "I'm plenty old enough, you ageist, sexist fuck."

"That settles it," I said, and I proceeded up the stairs with my armful of recyclables, my attention focused elsewhere. 

I was still mad about Sharon's newfound friend and the kiss they had shared. I noticed that they were still hanging around together in the garage, and I went in to make myself obtrusive. As if to make my point for me, a giant tractor trailer pulled into the garage, pinning Mr. Frizz Bug to the wall just as he was about to make his move, effectively separating Sharon and him for the moment.

Good, I thought to myself. I'd wished that the truck would have run him over, but this would do. Oh, well, at least I was some teenage girl's unrequited pickup fantasy, so there was that small consolation. The dream ended, leaving me with the bitter taste of jealousy in my parched, dehydrated mouth.