“When is your nephew Sidney coming up from Florida again?” called out Darin while he walked up to his two tone green four door 1957 Chevrolet Bel-Air parked along the curb by his front yard.
Darin always liked Sidney even though he was as old as his parents. Sidney had long hair and was cool to talk with since they both had a deep seeded love for history.
Betsy looked confused while she glanced over at Darin. “Sidney? Sidney who? I don’t know a Sidney,” she said with her rolled newspaper in her right hand.
“You know, Sidney. Your nephew from Tampa, Florida,” said Darin.
Betsy thought about Darin’s response for a few seconds. Her eyes lit up when it finally dawned on her. “Ah, yes, Sidney. My nephew. Yes, he lives in Tampa. That’s down in Florida somewhere,” she said then slowly moved back up her driveway heading to her front door.
Darin decided not to ask her any more questions since she’s so forgetful these days. “I don’t want to get old,” he quietly said while he opened his creaky driver’s door of his Bel-Air.
He got inside and slammed the door shut and pumped the gas pedal a few times. He stuck his key in his ignition and after two failed attempts, Darin finally started up his Bel- Air. He immediately turned on the AM radio to the WFIL station. The Spirit in The Sky song my Norman Greenbaum played.
Darin drove his Bel-Air away down Appleton Avenue humming along with the song. He couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket and sang out in keys that didn’t exist so he stuck to humming. But if truth were known his humming wasn’t that great either.
He turned left and headed west on Montvale Avenue. After driving passed by five streets, Darin turned left on Chestnut Avenue and headed south. He soon pulled into a driveway, backed his car out of it to turn around and parked along the curb of a house on Chestnut Avenue. He waited with the engine running.
The Spirit in The Sky song just ended another news report started on the radio so he turned it off. He wasn’t in the mood for news reports this morning. He glanced at the driveway and saw Sheryl’s 1966 blue with blue interior Chevrolet Malibu parked in the driveway next to her father’s 1971 white on white Chevrolet Impala.
The front door of the house opened and closed.
Out through the front door rushed seventeen-year-old Sheryl Watson with her school books and notebook in hand. She had long blonde hair down to the middle of her back and always wore hip hugger bell bottom blue jeans.
Her jeans were tight and showed off her shapely butt cheeks. And her backside always caught the nasty eyes of lots of guys in her school. She was the object of many nasty fantasies of the guys late at night under their bed sheets.
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