by Glory Lennon

Created on: March 23, 2009

The first time she saw the boy in the black leather jacket he had been astride an expertly restored Harley Davidson unseeingly staring off across the wildflower meadow next to George Bower's garage, a lit cigarette burning down to nothing held absently between forefinger and thumb. He didn't bother to push away the long, wind-blown hair falling into his dark, brooding eyes. So oblivious to all was he that he didn't even notice he was being watched most carefully.

When he finally looked up and saw her, their eyes locked for a second that lasted a year. There was instant attraction for both. He had the rugged good looks often seen in Calvin Klein ads but there was more there. She saw it all then. Even at a distance she could make out a deep sadness, a resonating ache and resentment almost palpable all in his eyes. He had suffered. She could tell and she inexplicably wished to erase it all. Crazy it was for she knew nothing about him and crazier still because she doubted he would allow her the privilege.

Being caught in this unguarded moment rankled him. He threw down the cigarette-turned-to-ashes and stomped on it, his eyes narrowed. The curtains had closed. He was the tough guy now, the one who feels nothing because that's the only way he knew how to survive. He raised an insolent eyebrow and swept his eyes down and up again telling her silently she was nothing to him, just something nice to look at. He would, if given the chance, treat her like crap and not feel remotely sorry for it. "You up for that, Babe?" his smirk seemed to say.

Instead of being repulsed and insulted as he undoubtedly expected her to be, his lustful gaze felt like a warm, gentle caress. She smiled at him serenely. He frowned, shook his head no doubt thinking her a naive, stupid little girl and looked away.

"Well, George, what's the verdict?" Reverend Campbell asked grimly, expecting the worst.

"Don't know what idiot told you it was the transmission, Reverend, but you probably shouldn't be going to him no more," George said jovially, hooking his thumbs in the belt loops of his faded denims just under his protruding belly. "Twas nothing more than loose and rusty battery cable connectors."

Mandy giggled and said, "Uncle Clinton isn't very bright."

"Amanda! Respect for your elders," her father said harshly.

Abashed she lowered her eyes to the ground meekly saying, "Yes, Papa."

"Are you certain, George?" Reverend Campbell asked skeptically, turning back to George.

"Yep, took Nick but ten minutes to see

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