Christopher Prato - Little Boy or, Enola Gay

He was practically touching her arm, like they were dating or something. I started thinking that maybe Maria cheated on me while I was away. I was about to cry, but I held back the tears and became enraged instead. I was in such a good mood that day, and she had to ruin it.

Maria didn’t know I was coming to pick her up, and that I’d planned on surprising her. She started running toward me as I began walking down the hill toward her. The guy she was with walked in another direction. As I met Maria, we embraced wordlessly and immediately as if we hadn’t seen each other in years.

“I missed you so much!” she exclaimed, panting hard from the race up the hill. And she really meant it, too. “Did you miss me?” she asked, beaming.

“Who the hell was that guy?” I replied, quickly changing what she thought was a blissful moment.

“What? Who do you mean? Oh, you mean Kelvin?”

“Yeah, whatever,” I said. “Who the fuck is that asshole?”

“Watch your language!” she said, looking around to see if anyone was within earshot. She coldly withdrew from the hug.

“Well, who is he?”

“He’s just a friend from school. What’s your problem?”

“How many guy friends do you have? A lot?” I couldn’t stop asking about this guy. I just wanted to let Maria know that I was serious, and maybe convince her that if she talked to another guy, I’d beat him up or something. I don’t really know.

“You’ve never gone out with him, have you?” I asked.

“No! We’re just friends! School is over for the summer and I was just saying goodbye to him. What the hell is wrong with you?” Suddnely, Maria was starting to sound like a guinea.

“Well, why were you laughing, then? Who laughs when they say goodbye?”

“I don’t know…” Maria just trailed off, about to weep from my inquisition. But I just wanted to know who the guy was. She should have been flattered that I was a little jealous.

I turned away from her and faced the passenger door of my car. The car was still turned on and trembling, spewing exhaust all around us. I placed the palms of my hands right up against the roof and twirled my neck around to loosen it up. Closing my eyes tightly, I witnessed a fireworks display beneath my eyelids and, for a moment, was about to throw up and pass out.

Finally, I came to my senses and apologized to Maria.

“I was just a little jealous, okay? I’m really sorry. I drove all the way over here to surprise you with my car, and the last thing I wanted to see you do was talk to another guy.” I really was sorry, and I vowed right then and there not to let my jealousy get the best of me again. There was so much fun to be had that it wasn’t worth getting jealous—not that jealous, at least—over some asshole from her school.

Before she had a chance to respond, I placed my hands on her shoulders and tugged her toward my body, wrapping my long arms around her little back like an octopus. “I forgive you,” she said. And I was at peace.

I didn’t want to ruin such a special day. Like I said, not only was it the first time I ever picked Maria up in my car, it was also the day I planned to go to second base with her for the first time. I was so excited about the thought. I’d seen plenty of tits in my day, but I’d never felt so strongly for any girl before, and I knew it would be special with Maria because she’d never let a guy do that to her.

We got in my car and headed straight back to her house. It was just after two, but she said her parents wouldn’t be home until five. I figured she told me that to indicate that we’d be alone. As we drove, I thought about what happened with that guy in the park—the guy who grabbed her ass—and I promised myself I’d be completely different: respectful, caring, and, most of all, patient.

I’d never been inside her house before. As she opened the door I heard a dog barking. Until that point, I didn’t know she had a dog. I asked to see it, but she said that it was kind of vicious and would probably bite me. “But he’s a sweetie,” though, Maria said. I shrugged my shoulders and sat on the couch.

We each had a soda and watched TV for a while. Maria’s house was nice. There were paintings of different types of flowers all over the walls across from the sofa, except for a giant crucifix, which hung right in the middle. Across from us hung about ten slender mirrors, ceiling to the floor. They were remarkably similar to the ones in my house. Sitting on the sofa, while quietly embracing Maria, I had to keep myself from nodding off. It’s not that I was bored—far from it. I was completely relaxed,

“You like those mirrors?” Maria asked. “You keep looking behind you, staring at them.” I was surprised that she’d noticed. I wasn’t sure if I should tell her the story about the mirrors in my house.

“Looks like you have something on your mind, A.J.,” She held my hand and gazed into my eyes. “Tell me,” she said, calmly.

“Honestly, it’s really nothing,” I said. “I just remember when my mom made my dad install the same mirrors in my house. It was a few years ago, and he worked like hell to keep them against the wall, in just the right place, so that he could screw them in, perfectly juxtaposed.

“Once my dad was finished, my mother came in the living room and, as usual, second-guessed his work. The man was sitting there in a pool of sweat, on his hands and knees, panting like a dog because it was so hard to get those goddamn mirrors on the wall perfectly. And my mother did what she always does—she told him to do them over; she said that the mirrors weren’t high enough up. I was so pissed off at her. She was sitting there smoking a cigarette as he installed them, so why didn’t she say anything? As usual, my father didn’t say a word in response to her criticism. He simply reinstalled the mirrors. I would’ve killed her if I were him.” I felt so relieved, letting my demons out and telling Maria the truth.

Maria didn’t say a word. She looked concerned, but receptive. I remember feeling so relieved. I suppose, in retrospect, that I should have opened up to her more that day, and more often in general. Maybe had I done that, Maria and I would’ve stayed together. Maybe, Mom, you and I would’ve become friends…

…maybe I wouldn’t be writing this letter.

“Who installed those mirrors?” I asked sharply, still angry at my stupid mother.

“Me and my mother did, just last month.”

“Holy cow,” I said, “I didn’t think a girl could do that.” I didn’t mean to offend her, but I think it came out that way. “I mean—”

She cut me off. “Well, me and my mom fix everything that breaks around here, and we install all the stuff. Like that table over there,” she said, pointing to a handsome oak dining room set. “Me and my mother put that together. Mostly me, actually.”

I was impressed. What a louse her father was. I decided right then and there to show her what a real man was—gentle and strong, hard-working and industrious. Maria is a tough little girl , I thought. Stronger than me .

We continued to watch TV, occasionally chatting. As usual, the conversation was great. Maria was unlike most girls because she actually paid attention to what I said, and then responded intelligently, continuing the conversation. A good conversation can last a lifetime.

A recruitment commercial for the U. S. Air Force came on TV. It showed a quintet of F-14’s dashing through the sky. “That’s amazing,” Maria said. “How do those things fly?”

I wasn’t sure if she was asking rhetorically, and was too nervous to ask. “It’s very simple, really, it all has to do with Newton’s third law of motion: Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. The way a jet rocket works is simple: the engine creates a high velocity blast of air and blows it out the tail end of the plane in an appropriately sized nozzle. This is what thrusts the plane and the rocket forward.”