College Boy Blues

Tipsy brought him home over Thanksgiving. A “friend from school”, she called him. Her brother Dood came and told me about him, but I had to see for myself.

The car parked at the end of her sidewalk was red, but was unlike any car that I knew, and I knew cars pretty well. It looked fast in a sleek, sexy kind of way. Not the heavy, muscular fast of American steel, but the lightning-quick, unreliable fast of an Italian, or French racer.

I didn’t knock. I never had. Tipsy was my girl, but she was also my friend. My family and I lived three doors down and across the street. My Mother and Father were long and fast friends with Tipsy and Dood's parents. Our folks shared a garden, took us vacationing to the lake together, and were a bridge-night foursome. We were practically one, big family. I had probably stepped through her front door almost as many times as Tipsy herself had over these past seventeen years.

The first thing I noticed once inside was the embarrassment in Mrs. Swain’s eyes. She wouldn’t even look up at me. When I turned the corner into the parlor they were sitting together on the front room sofa. In all of the years I’d known Tipsy and Dood I couldn’t recall ever having been in that front room, much less having been seated on its flowered sofa. So far as I knew there hadn’t anybody ever sat on it, least-wise not up until now.

Tipsy flashed me with challenging eyes when I walked in. Her “friend” removed his hand from hers and stood, taking away my advantage. Mr. Swain stood as well, sensing the possibility of trouble.

“Hey, Tips. I heard it, but didn’t believe it. Had to come see for myself.” My voice stayed low, and calm.

So did hers. “Well, you’ve seen, Levi Hill. Now go on home.”

“That’s plain rude, Tipsy. Are those the manners they teach you at that college? Won’t you introduce me to your new friend?”

Julie Swain was five years old when she picked up her Aunt Shelby’s “orange juice” one Saturday morning. The glass was nearly empty when “Little Jules” hit the floor. The joke is that she was “stone drunk that day, but has only been ‘Tipsy’ ever since.” They say I was there the day she acquired that new nickname. They say I ran crying to plant a kiss on her lips after she fell, trying to “wake up my Princess.” I must have been too young to remember it if I did, but I expect so. Me and Tipsy have been together forever. I just always thought we’d stay that way.

When Tipsy came home for Christmas Vacation I noticed there wasn’t any foreign car at the end of her sidewalk. I didn’t go to ask her why not. I haven’t been through her door since that last Thanksgiving Day, not even to see Dood, who I still call a friend. I don’t aim to go through it again, neither. Momma says I’m being foolish, that I should talk to Tips, but I saw her eyes that day in her parlor. I saw how they had turned, and how easy her “new friend” had turned them. Nope, my Tipsy was gone from me, same as if she’d died, or rather, same as if I had.

When she came home from her college at Spring Break “they” said she’d gained some weight, but there still wasn’t any fancy car out in front of her house. The other things “they” said about Tips burned my ears going in. I just couldn’t believe them. This time I did go over, but it felt different, so I knocked. Tipsy wouldn’t come to the door, but Mr. Swain came out and talked to me, man-to-man. Seems the rumors were true. Tipsy was in trouble and her fancy college boy had blown her off, moving on to some other young, pretty girl, no doubt. I sat on her front stoop for most of three days, but Tipsy wouldn’t come out. It was alright, though. I understood. Luckily, I already had his name from that “introduction” back at Thanksgiving.

It was a long drive and a big campus, but it wasn’t hard to find him. It ain’t never hard to find someone like that, or someone who drives a car like that one he drove. It seems a “show-off” just can’t hide. Funny, he didn’t remember who I was, at least not right away.

I’d be willing to take bets that her fancy college boy won’t forget me again. It is somewhat discouraging that despite all of my efforts he might not change his ways. Some people, no matter how convincing your argument is, just won’t ever get it. That said, however, he’ll sure enough think through his options the next time he’s in the same situation, and he’ll damned sure stay far, far away from Tipsy Swain.

Nope, that baby of Tipsy’s may never look like me, but I still see a chance that it might yet have someone to show it how to treat the good people it encounters in life... and maybe someone to show it how to treat the bad people, too.