Wild Thing

If there was anything I missed about the Finger Lakes, it was the rolling hills. Hills coated with maples and pines, narrow, winding roads, and a lakes in the valleys. Looking out the diner’s dirty window I sighed. Tulsa was much flatter, immensely hot, and had been raining heavily since my family arrived a week ago.

The words ‘sun belt state’ echoed in my mind and I rolled my eyes at the breaks of sunlight through the grey mass of clouds. The rays of light were simply fueling us all with false hope. The weather man called for a week of rain and possible hail storms.

When my parents first made the decision to move south, I was absolutely thrilled. They took the time to sit me down and explained it all so gently to me, my father’s words being “Dot, honey. I know that you’re going to be a senior this year, but me and your mother think it’s best if the whole family moved to Oklahoma.” I don’t know what they were expecting my reaction to be but my excitement about the move took them by surprise. To me it was a new challenge; a new landscape; a new school; a new group of people; a new opportunity to reinvent myself. Isn’t wonderful to think that after sixteen years of being pigeon holed as one person I was suddenly able to start fresh? It was like starting a whole new life, but instead of being a baby I was entering as a teenager.

I remember sitting in our Ford Falcon as we traveled from state to state, passing through the hills of Pennsylvania and the plains of Illinois, dreaming of all the possibilities. Who could I be now? Some of my personal favorites were ‘cheerleader/Miss. Senior Dot’ and ‘Greaser Girl, Female James Dean Dot’. They were two complete opposites, I know, but I’m given a unique opportunity to be whoever I want and I’m going full out.

I was so damn hopeful too, thinking that it was going to be an easy change. In the week that we’ve been here in Tulsa, the only ‘image changing’ I’ve done is sort through my wardrobe. I had only gotten around to doing that because I was unpacking those boxes anyway.

So now I’m sitting alone in the diner booth, right after the lunch rush, playing with a pepper shaker and looking out the window. In the minutes I’ve spent awaiting the arrival of fries I ordered, I’ve come to determine that the weather outside was a great representation of how I was feeling; cloudy with a ray of hope.

I couldn’t help but think what my mother would think of me right now, sitting alone and wallowing in my self-pity. After the late morning shower stopped, she pushed me out the door and urged me to make some friends. Summer had just started so the town was crawling even more with teenagers. They hung out in large groups, piling into cars, crowding diners and drive-in restaurants, raising hell for no apparent reason. Tulsa, Oklahoma’s youth was much different than back home in Union Springs, New York. I grew up in a little farm town on Cayuga Lake. It was predominantly a white, middle class society with a few outliers. The town itself was much too small for any riffs between social classes and youth groups, everyone pretty much hung out with who they wanted to and since they all were stuck up each other’s asses it didn’t take long to figure out who didn’t like who. Small town drama, that was about all we got.

But here, in Tulsa, it’s like a whole other world. Everyone was sorted by social class, how much money you had, who your parents were, even the color of your skin played a part. In the poor neighborhoods on the eastside, Greasers stuck together in little clumps. They were a mixture of whites, Hispanics, and blacks, tough with the attitude of an alley cat. To the west, on the riverbanks, is where the socs hung out; wealthy kids with nice cars and loud mouths. They like to ride around in large groups yelling at everyone they passed. Then there were people like me and my family, the middle class who either associated with only of the sides or stayed neutral. Moving from a quiet farm town to a divided city was quiet the shock for us. I was really interested to see where everyone placed me.

Just a few nights ago my dad came home telling us about how much of a problem they’re having with the teens. All the rumbles and reckless behavior have been keeping the city’s police busy. My father is a new officer at the local police station and was given a quick rundown about the city’s crime. My family was now well aware of where the roughest spots in town were. My brother, Jay, and I were given a stern lecture about the importance of curfew and trusting the right people. I managed to take it seriously but I don’t think he did.

The waitress that took my order earlier moved away from behind the counter holding my plate of fries. She set them down in front of me, sliding the white plate across the Formica table top.
“Careful Hun, they’re hot.”

Smiling I thanked her but before she walked away I asked, “Is it usually this cloudy here?”

She glanced out the window and shook her head. “Only in the rainy season, but give it time and the sky will clear up soon enough.”

As she walked back to the counter I picked up a short fry and blew on it, then popped it into my mouth. Immediately I regretted not listening to the waitress. It was burning hot. I was stuck now, either I can spit it out or use my tongue to toss it around my mouth, awkwardly chewing it. I chose the latter. When I finally swallowed I leaned back against the booth and my eyes wandered back at the window. A nice car drove by, probably a sting ray, and the boys who were piled inside shouted at the group walking on the sidewalk. Looking at the pedestrians leather jackets and intricate hairstyles, I figured that word must have been something along the lines of ‘grease’. A few started to take off towards the car, but the others just raised their fists and shouted back.

The boys stumbled in through the door. Most were wearing blue jeans jackets but a few had on leather ones. How in the world were they able to wear that in this heat? I practically passed out on the way here and I was wearing a sleeveless blouse. It must be a requirement to stick to their image regardless of weather conditions.

As they passed my table I casted my eyes downwards. These guys looked tough, hard as steel and unforgiving. From my old town, the few greasers we had were really only defined by their hair. They didn’t look mean.

The boys sat down in the corner booth right behind me. Hearing their chatter made my body start to become hyper-aware, super cautious. My father told me that if I ever found myself in the presence of a greaser and I felt uncomfortable that I should just blend into my surroundings as much as possible. Don’t draw attention to yourself, don’t initiate conversations, just do what you came there for and leave as soon as possible. I kept that in mind and started to resume eating my fries, which were now considerably cooler, and decided that I should finish at least half of them before I left. I couldn’t let these guys scare me too much; I had a right to be here as much as they did.

One of them went up to the jukebox and put on an Elvis song. As he walked back to his table I felt his eyes on me. I didn’t dare look up.

A few minutes later I was almost halfway done with my fries and kept eying the door debating how many steps it would take to get there. When the waitress dropped off my fries she also left the bill and all that was left for me to do is go to the register and pay.

“Hey, have any of you heard from Winston lately? What’s the bastard been up to?”

My dad would have disappointed in me, because for some reason I decided to eavesdrop into their conversation.

“Haven’t you heard man? He’s in the cooler, got sent there a month ago.”

“I heard that they have a cell reserved just for Dallas,” another voice added. The group chuckled in response.

My nose wrinkled up. Oh yes, prison, something to joke about.

One of them ordered a boy named Charlie to put another song on the juke box. I swear I held my breath as he walked by. He was the same boy from before, I could tell by the swirls in his blond hair. I attempted to be invisible as possible, trying my hardest to blend in with the teal and silver vinyl that covered the booth. The feeling of his eyes being on me still left me feeling a bit uneasy.

Another rock song started to play and I smiled realizing it was “House of the Rising Sun” by The Animals. By first glance most people would peg me as a Beatles girl, which I am, don’t get me wrong, but I like more than just them. All types of rock appeal to me as well as a lot of pop, jazz, Motown, and classical stuff. It’s just something about rock music that really got me though, made me feel dangerous and rebellious, as cheesy as it sounds.

He started to walk back and the music had distracted me to the point that I forgot to look away until I met his blue eyes. They were cold and a shark like smile appeared upon his lips showing sharp, unruly teeth. He instantly reminded me of an alley cat and no matter how much I wanted to I couldn’t look away. I’ve never seen someone who looked like him, like a hood.

Before I could even register it, he slid into the booth across from me. “Well hey little darlin’, what’s someone like you doing here all alone?”

My body tensed up once again, the same way it did when they first came in. My father had prepped me on how to avoid them but now I was wishing he told me how to get rid of them. Before I worked up to courage to answer him one of his buddies popped into the seat next to me, uninvited, while another leaned against the top of my seat, hanging his head over.

The one next to me, with dark brown hair, smiled exactly like the blond, “Who’s your new friend Charlie?”

“I don’t know, she’s been pretty quiet. You think she’s mute? Or maybe just deaf.”

His permanent smirk infuriated me and I felt an involuntary flush rush to my cheeks. “Dot. It’s Dot.”

Charlie leaned forward, resting on his elbows, “Dot, huh? That short for anything?” I shook my head. There was no way I was telling them my full name, one for safety precautions, and two to save myself from ridicule.

“Not Dorothy or Doris?” The one next to me asked, reaching for a fry.

“Demetria?” The boy above me started to play with a lock of my hair and quickly I jerked my head away.

“No, just Dot.”

The brunette smiled, “So, ‘Just Dot’, how come we haven’t seen you around? Where you’ve been hiding baby?”

My skin began to crawl. I’ve never liked the pet name baby and hearing it come out of his lips just made it sound even worse than before. These boys were getting too comfortable and I needed to get out of here quick or I’m going to end up like one of those girls in the PSA’s they show us in school. Missing for a week and dead in a ditch.

Before I could make a move a door bursted open and a loud voice grabbed my attention. “Hey! If you hoods aren’t going to buy anything leave or I’ll call the cops.” A large, tan man with a dirty white apron and spatula in hand stood in front of a door I assumed led back to the kitchen.

The boys slithered away from me, muttering curses under their breaths. Before he climbed out of the booth, Charlie winked and said, “See you around ‘Just Dot’”.

They stuffed their hands in their blue jeans pockets and strutted out the door, rest of the gang from the table behind me following.

The cook walked back into the kitchen and as I watched the boys make their way down the street I decided it was time for me to leave. Grabbing my purse I walked up to the register, ready to pay the bill. The same waitress that gave me my food from before walked over and rang up my order. My hands were shaking as I pulled the change out of my wallet and dropped it into the waitress’s hand. I turned to leave but she gave me a smile.

“I saw those boys bothering you so I told Al to scare ‘em off.”

Nodding my head I thanked her. “Thank you so much for that. Um, do you happen to know where the closest bus stop is?”

“Go to your left and it’s two blocks away.” I thanked her once again and exited the diner. Originally I had walked to the diner, but after my little run-in with the greasers I didn’t feel comfortable walking alone. The bus arrived shortly after I got to the stop and after a quick ride I was soon walking up to my front door.