Hangin' round downtown by myself
And I had so much time
To sit and think about myself
And then there she was
Like double cherry pie...

Sex and Candy ~ Marcy Playground

🍒🍒🍒

The scene of my sinister tale starts in the Vine Valley of northern California. Which is really more like a hundred little terraced vales spread out through the rolling hills along the winding Green River. The Vine Valley sits just around the backside of the shadow Mt. Diablo, or the Devil's Mountain. Which is not uber ominous at all to anyone who lives in its shadow.

The Vine Valley has been growing grapes since before the Great Gold rush of 1887. All the way back to when California was still part of Old Mexico. When the first of the old European vineyard families initially immigrated to the New World, then settled in for a long stay. Where they brought their old-world ways with them to the shores of sunny California, along with all their ancient anger. So with a little hard work, soon enough both the vines and the rage took root, forever festering in the fertile California soil. Like the grapes of wrath slowly rotting away their days in the sun, just waiting to hate on someone. What I will come to know as the eternal state of hate in Vineville.

Nestled right in the middle of the Vine Valley is the small little sundown town of Vineville. With the murky waters of Green River lazily winding around the outside of the town. The idyllic Riverine runs along both sides of the grassy green banks for miasmic miles. The Riverine park is actually a pretty nice place to take a walk, with plenty of overgrown ancient oak trees for shade. Where families can patriotically picnic outdoors on the weekends, while watching their kids try to drown in the treacherous waters.

Just outside of town, an ancient stone sign proudly proclaims "Vineville ~ All-American Town!" At some point in the past century, someone added the caveat: "Voted the safest small town in California!" Not really sure who voted or even when that election was held exactly? But based on the weathered state of the stone signage, I am thinking that addition was a while ago? But then again like a lot of things in Vineville, it was probably easier just to let it stay that way.

Downtown Vineville looks a lot like someone's sick idea of what 1959 Leave-it-to-Beavis would look like in hell. But with a lot less laughter, and only slightly more sinister? The dying downtown district only has two traffic lights on both ends of the Main Street strip. The posted speed limit around downtown is 15 miles-per-hour, with stop signs and speed bumps on almost every street corner. Because absolutely nothing is allowed to go fast in Vineville ...but especially not the time.

The summer swimming season in Vineville is pretty much limited to the local high school pool. That is unless you live outside of town in one of those expensive country club communities up on the hills with its own private pool. Or you happen to have one of those nice illegal above-ground backyard pools. So for a whopping dollar a day, the Vine High pool is pretty much my only option to escape the oppressive summer sun.

The Vine High pool is enclosed all the way around by a high sandstone cinder brick wall, with one revolving gate entrance in and out. There is a very large sign attached to the main gate that says: "Absolutely No Outside Food or Drinks Allowed!" As there is perfectly placed Snack Shack, to slang out over-priced candy and colorful frozen freezes to the sugar-addicted brats, at a buck a pop. But of course, this rule is routinely ignored by all the locals, who always bring their own lunches from home anyways.

The pool itself is pretty much your typical high school Olympic swimming pool. With the standard double high and low dive boards hanging out over the miasmic aqua water. An obligatory long line of deathwish kids wraps around the backside of the pool, impatiently waiting to hurl themselves to death off the high dive. Over in the shallow end of the pool, there are a ton of screaming kids, all trying to drown each other to varying degrees of success.

A crusty old lifeguard sits high up on a solitary throne above the churning waves, where he absently watches over the water for floaters. At regular intervals, the ancient mariner routinely barks out "No Running" at all the children constantly running around the pool. Lest the little deathwish kids slip on the eternally wet cement and crack their precious little skulls wide open.

There is a shallow kiddy pool over in the far corner under an overhang, that has that sickly greenish tint of a toilet bowl. Not that I ever had any intention whatsoever of wading around with the three years olds trying to learn to swim in "floaties". Or in most cases, just sitting around in the sickly green cesspool, arrogantly pissing away the day.

Inside the sandstone fortress walls, there seems to be somewhat of an understood pecking order as to who gets the shady spots. The young mothers with infants and toddlers seem to get the priority. So they generally take all the prime shady spots under the long overhang over by the toilet bowl. Everyone else just simmers under the summer sun, wherever they can find a cool spot on the wet concrete deck.

The cheap plastic chaise-lounge chairs that litter the wet cement deck are limited to first-come-first-serve. So they are routinely "snaked" by someone as soon as your back is turned. Usually by some elder grandmother, who pretends that the beach towel draped over the chaise-lounger wasn't really there guarding the chair for its former owner. But rather an invitation to drop the perfectly dry towel on to the wet cement deck, then make off with their ill-gotten gains.

After about two o'clock in the afternoon, the sun starts to angle enough to make some shade on the concrete. Which is when the older high school kids take over the shady side of the sandstone cinder brick wall. Where the burning hot aluminum bleachers that line the shady side are routinely filled with all kinds of cliques of kids. All of who obviously know each other, with Vineville being such a small town and all.

Having only recently relocated here for the summer, I don't know a single soul in this place. Unfortunately for me, I am not one of those outgoing kinds of kids that make friends very fast. My main philosophy in life is: you treat me good, I try to treat you better. So if someone is nice to me, I try to be slightly nicer back to them. At least until I can figure out what they want? So suffice to say, I have been just keeping to myself for the last two weeks, just doing the best I can to stay cool at the pool.

Lately, I've even been pretending to read Moonlight saga. It's another one of those lame angsty teen vampire books, that all the goth girls really seem to go in for. All about some wyrd virgin vegan vampires, whose special secret power seems to be sparkling in the scintillating sunlight like sweet-smelling cocaine? Which for some reason is super addictive to Snowflake, the main character chick and her monotonous ongoing mental monologue.

Apparently, the Virgin Vegan Vamps have some ongoing ancient conflict with their cross-town rivals. The badass boys and girls of "sex, drugs and rock roll!" werewolf kids clan. Ten chapters into this masterpiece of morality, I am already rooting for the werewolves to win that war. Gather up all the waring wolf packs together, then ravage these virgin vegan vampire kids off Underworld style. If not for anything, but just to end their eternally sexually frustrated existence once and for all. Then throw a raging rock-n-roll monster mash bonfire party in Wolf Woods. Maybe with a nice virgin sacrifice or two, to celebrate their victory over the vegan vampire volk?

So speaking of sexually frustrated teen angst with nowhere good to go? In the last couple of weeks since I started hanging out at the pool on a regular basis, I've spotted a couple of cute chicks around my age. A couple of the local girls have even glanced over at me from time to time, then giggled to their friends about something? Personally, I am just hoping that this is a slightly good sign, and not that they think I am lame enough to laugh at?

There is one girl in particular that has checked me out more than once lately, from behind her rose-colored sunglasses. She is a seriously cute strawberry blonde, with barely any boobage to speak of, but with one very nice tight butt. Which she tends to show off as she struts confidently around the pool in her seriously small bright red bikini. Usually on her way over to the Snack Shack to buy a cherry slushy to match her bright red bikini. Which I am starting to think maybe might be a theme thing for her? Bright red bathing suit, rose-colored glasses, with a matching cherry-red slushie in hand?

The girl in the bright red bikini has smiled slyly in passing several times today, as she suggestively saunters by my spot. Although, I am pretty sure the "suggestively sexy sauntering by" on her part might only be in my horny fifteen-year-old head? On her last pass by me today, the blonde bombshell smiles a little less shyly and slightly more sultry. So I try to smile back as politely as possible, keeping my eyes locked right into hers. Instead of fixated on the bright red Bermuda triangle of teen lust she is trying to tempt me with.

On her way back from the Snack Shack with yet another cherry slushie in hand, I flash a polite smile up at her. Then I throw out the first words in what will become a life-changing conversation for everyone. For unbeknownst to either one of us, we are just about to tempt the dark fate that awaits us both.

"Heya, whazzup?" I nod up at her as nonchalantly as possible.

"Hey ya? Whaz...zup?" Little Miss Red-Bikini stops short and regards me suspiciously through her rose-tinted sunglasses. The sudden silence seems to stretch out into infinity, as she is clearly curious just how stupid the next thing out of my mouth will be.

"Hi-C?" I counter casually, thinking this to be a pretty clever introduction under the circumstances.

"Ah-huh? Hi-C?" She tilts her sunglasses slightly back and frowns down at me, maybe thinking I am making fun of her. "And you are who, again?"

"I go by C, short for Christian?" I attempt to reassure her of no ill intentions on my part. "But I am not exactly a Christian? Which gets really confusing when I have to clarify that I'm Christian ...but not a Christian? So I try to go by my first initial, just to make it easier on everyone."

Yeah, way to be a cool cat there stupid Hi-C. Nothing like having to explain your cool new nickname, to make it immediately not cool, right?

"Oh okay, so like some sort of semi-cool initial only thing? As opposed to say ...like a long and unnecessary explanation of your non-existent existential belief system?" She smirks sarcastically.

Sarcastic aside, I have to admit that little miss red bikini does have an incredibly cute surly smirk. The kind of smirking smile that crinkles her lightly freckled nose ever so slightly. Her hazel eyes seem to sparkle full of mischievous mirth. Like she is on the inside of a wicked joke that everyone else is too lame to get yet.

"Yeah, something like that." I am forced to agree with her analysis of my current level of lameness.

"I'm Cherrí." Which she pronounces with an ever so slight affectation accent, so it sounds like Cher-ree.

"Cherrí ...very cool." I copy back as carefully as I can. Because I have a feeling that Cherrí is not the kind of girl that would bother to correct you twice on the pronunciation, before blowing you off. Of course, I am already putting our cute new cool couple shipping name together as Cherrí-Hi-C. Not sure how she will feel about this assumption on my part, but I think it works?

"So you're not really from around here, are you Hi-C?" She regards me almost curiously with her hauntingly hazel eyes.

"No, I'm just over here from Middleton. Staying with my aunt for the summer, maybe longer? It's kind of up in the air at the moment?" I try to explain away my current craptastic circumstances convincingly.

"Oh yeah? So what do you'all do for kicks down in Middleton?" She slips down onto the bleacher bench just down from me. Apparently, she has decided that I am at least cool enough to continue talking to, albeit at a safe stranger-danger distance.

"Probably all the same stupid stuff as everyone does everywhere else? Just hang out, try to stay cool, and avoid being bored." I try to shrug as nonchalantly as possible. "Why, what's cool to do around here in Vineville?"

"Yeah well, I hate to kill the dream there, Hi-C guy." She smirks slyly. "But you're pretty much looking at the best V-Ville has to offer at the moment."

Truth be told, I am not exactly sure how to take this statement? Whether she means the pool or herself, being the best thing Vineville has too offer? But at the moment, I am really kind of hoping that she is not talking about the pool. Because I can already tell that Cherrí-Hi-C is going to be great together.

"Okay, so this is it, huh?" I nod along, without knowing really what else to say that won't get me in too much trouble with the first girl in two weeks that's actually spoken to me.

"Yep?" She pops her P's suggestively. "This is pretty much as good as it gets."

"Not too bad." I try to push my luck just a little more. "So any cool parties or anything else exciting at all happening around town?"

"Nope." She pops off, shaking me off seriously. "Not if you want to live."

"Ah-huh?" I blink back up slowly trying to absorb the hit. "I don't get that? What the deal?"

"No one parties in downtown V-Ville, not ever." She informs me evenly. "The cops around here are the absolute worst swine ever, all total unbelievable assholes. But as bad as they are, it's still the old lemonade ladies that you really have to watch out for."

"Ah-huh, lemonade ladies?" I nod along. "Like how so?"

"Almost every street around here seems to have at least two or three of them." She nods back at a couple of older floral looking ladies sitting on stolen chaise-loungers sipping spiked slushies. "They all sit on their little front porches in the shade, sipping spiked lemonade. Just watching and waiting for any sign of a good time, to kill that noise dead."

"Neighborhood lemonade ladies see some kids walking around town in a group larger than three or four? Sheeeet ...those kids are clearly up to no good. So time to call the swine." She starts laying out the local rules for me. "Any loud music? Call the cops. Any sign of any fun happening anywhere up in this boring bitch? The cops must be called in at all costs, to kill that shit dead."

"Oh shit?" I mug appreciatively at her awesome ability to swear up a storm.

"Try no shit, Sherlock." She assures me of the local prohibition on any fun in the sun. "And if the cops even think you smell like liquor, toke, or smoke? They will drag your dumbass down to the police station before you can say boo-f'ing-hoo. Then call your parents down to smack you around, just for being sofa-king too stupid not to know better."

"Wo, that does not sound cool at all." I completely commiserate with the fate of the sofa-king stupids. After all, the sofa king stupid is my teen tribe too.

"Ya think?" She snorts in retort.

"Oh, and almost everyone around here is forced to attend at least one of the four big churches around town for Sunday service. But during the week they all have some super groovy youth groups, with some seriously bitchin bible studies." She rolls her hazel eyes around so hard they practically make me dizzy with vertigo. "Oh, and did I mention Saturday night is teen night at the old National Guard Annex? With that awesome conservative Christian rock music that all the cool kids love so much?"

"Yeah, but before all that awesome can happen? You get to enjoy a super long lecture about keeping your virginity all to yourself. Which is almost about as much fun as it sounds?" She adds dryly, giving me a stony stare that tells me otherwise. "Well, almost anyways."

"Yeah, that sounds like a big ball of boring bullshit to me." I shake my head slowly at the not-so-good news she is sharing. "So thanks, but no thanks on all that noise."

"Ya think, Christian ...not a Christian?" She laughs liltingly.

"But that's just around town. Outside of the city limits, it's a little better, but not by much." She muses. "Like some of the little stoner boys skate down in the wash. The older guys ride dirt bikes out in the fallow fields. Or go up into the hills to the old abandoned campgrounds and firepit party with beers and weed, whenever they can score some?"

"There are some pretty cool private parties up at Clover Lake from time to time? Those are pretty alright, but only if you can get a ride up there and back." She smirks suggestively.

I think the Clover Lake she is talking about is a forty-five-minute drive outside of Vineville. Well out of my range, seeing the only thing I am driving for the next couple of years is my beat-up old mountain bike. So unless she wants to ride on the back peg bars of the Beast? Yeah, I am clearly not really a ride to anywhere anytime soon.

"But for everyone else, you're pretty much looking at it?" She nonchalantly waves back towards the water, somewhat to my disappointment.

After the initial lecture on the local rules of small-town teen subjugation is dead and done. We spend the next five minutes or so, chatting back and forth about the state of all things suck in Vineville. Then Cherrí starts asking me some rather personal questions. Things like, who did I know around town? What street did I stay on? Where else did I hang out around, other than the high school pool?

In retrospect, I probably should have known something sinister was up with this Cherrí chick from the get go. Starting with she was way too cool at the pool, to be wasting this much time talking to some new nobody like me. But at the moment, I was too blinded by her sexy scintillating smile to see straight. So I missed the malevolent shadow looming ever larger over my shoulder, looking to take my head off.

🍒🍒🍒