When we were at a football game one early December night...it was announced over the air to meet immediately after the game...to gather in the driveway at aThe Milbourne's home , directly adjacent to their citrus grove of orange blossomless trees...gone athirst in a mirth for non traditional snow and ice and hail and frost not
customary for that region of a corner of our speck on the US global... And we were instructed to keep warm and bring gloves and ugly muggly boots if possible, and especially the males of super girth such as the very football and basketball prowess we were at that moment beholding in gridlock for cheer to hope an avoidance for such might we possiblurred., Yes, it was mentioned at school several times that week that the weather MIGHT get this bad and to anticipate such...EVEN if there would be a spirited game competition enhancing prior'd.The trouble was...We (SheWenchlette cheerleaders bunched for merriment) weren't prepared for THAT much merciless utilzing of our cherished male faces that cheered us so at the post contest with WIN festivities... for a local 'hang out' was drooping a pace (like J.Austen too artfully expressed it to be sewn) and we will'd not to miss out with their companionship for the evening...so all the girly squirrlies went as well...we knew we'd have to eventually say a ruthless 'GuNight!'...so we made with vehicular accomodations for our own recognizant to gettin out when they decided the GIRLS might not be too whimpy to help...and our coats were NEVER of THAT much will to keep us warm enugg (subbobbed Huffy)...PLUS we were miserable to be outside in our shortening although WOOL cheerleadn skirts and sweater knit tops -- for too longst.
The POTs they were purposing and were to be placed between certain groups of trees at angles and midst the group to encumber blusters of air -- were trapped in certain areas of the grove. It was never on the periphurrys that would come close to cars or a driveway or streets...WE were NOT to let the smudgy warmth linger on our face... for a strong smell of fuel with a harsh carbone monoxide or deisel smell would have us too sooner and we'd regret the outcome... For contact with the smudgepots was a delicious warmth for the full frontal enticement of one's cuerpo humano...while the backs of our pert twiggy teenage and stone frozen forms weren't -- but a moisture in the air from the sweating in hard wool and heavy coat would melt all the chill from off the face into one big drip at the nosetip...and [we] wouldn't enjoy it for it's typical & overt smell...it was all too very obnoxious treachery for grabbing a breath (difficult for the scenery within a grove is quite striking to behold, causing one to forget their purpose there that night)-- for the procedure with moving the pots around at timely intervals and keeping them lit to refresh them-- was to have to get too near them all too closely, and JUST for a moment...
Alas...my will to recollect these cherished moments as a crop wasn't going to fail merely for knowing everyone of his (aTheMr.M) children's friends who loved to party in those hallowed rows of trees on warmer nights in mid summer... were all too eager not to lose a friendly and non-hostile locate when the barrells of Coors came undone and unearthed from the nurturance of cold irrigation ditch meanderings. Though (seriously) I never embibed...but did often return to the tail end of these 'keggertz thangs' to usher any lad who willed not to drive his own vehicle home against an onslaught of a brain intune to life...and I was too be the only sober female withstanding their entreaties for "come on...just a sip!" BUT I simply never did linger there THAT long. Just to return and pick up a sluggish one or two males with one of my former sheFreinds... to keep them against sorrow of tragedy that DID take several lives in our town, that-- for a drunkeness postGAME was NEVER a wisdom to cheer.
When the leaves browned from smudguree and/to save a crop against the bitter frost that weekend (one of two rare ocassions embittered during this season and POSTgame) I retreated against a sorry NOT to have had a coat that I could linger with the sheFriends that DID know how to be careful when in the presence of these heady lads... but for one failure. They did not have the cheer anymore for MY presence ...for I kept well away from that Carbonesque-ish Monoxide drink they didn't know to avoid. Their brains were NEVER the same. And MR. Milbourne's will (to MY sorrow as well) not to have any with such capacity to say so, nor hope better for his own brain'd head from the evil we were persued by that evening til near 2 a.m. with some even dutifrightening utnil the next morning, or NOON! Well, it DID happen, so I'm told. But NO ONE TOLD ME THIS next matter.
But When I plugged into the brain of one such youth with NOT managing any kind of coat for having forgotten as well, who AND, gained overly too much a circuitous circumference to the smudge pots without the wisdom to glance away from the smudging fumes and ensuing smoke... He and ONE looked too ill and spied me to plead at me the moment he viewed me coming toward his mirth to see a gettaway vehicular opportunity arriving...I grabbed him by aTHE POWER of the VOICE of GOD onto his freezing foreArms (fresh and disarmingly bare in a new plaid short-sleeved shirt put afresh after game films preview then short shower) and yelled to me amidst the dearth of voices clammoiring with a regal will not to be scened with any of their/his group be denied some high spirited "PUNCH" called BEER to get them through this night for already they were smitten with aloofness and bedraggled frames for a contest was the keeper...who won that GAME (the aforementioned) WON the title... But still and calm for NOW-- He hurried to embrace my larger than the other girls frame and plead with a voice..."Please I need to get home, I am not well...but let's hurry so they don't see me leave...or I won't be able to withstand their plee" Til, We wove through an additional row to avoid gangs and groups and festivities and smudgepots all leading to the long line of crowded empty cars at the edge of the grove lined miraculously (for the Milbourne'd will) and of hollocaustry for the need for those empty cars now OUGHTING to have been fully occupied to leave said haunts in a hurriedly spied realizement that THIS was NOT as it seemed. But, where WERE ALL the smudgepots? For it seemed that while a smell too strong turned me out of this leafy kingdom --that we sheGals treasured for picnics on Saturday afternoons when a chore finally exulted to be finished... this night...UG. No tolerance for the thick thick inhalements of gangplanks aloft muddy trenches that brought an ankle to deep into chill to want my white tennies bedrankled. The only FEW smudgepots we could see were quite smelly enugg for THIS entailment of our species to triumph 'elsewhere besettlings'.
I got him, ED we'll call him-- and back to his own home driveway in a mere 4 to 5 shorter minutes from the Grove that behooved us not to leave... Yet we huddled infront of the steering wheel at the small heating vent of the older car that now pushed out some warmth at seeming mere doses...the radio was low and Ed leared to have to leave the envelope of warmth we had temporarily fogged the closest window with-- from an overdose of mirth to smooch in sudden appeal for eachother's will to ditch the group that couldn't independently think AWAY from the danger for lungs which THAT mere slighter grove presented that night. He suddenly looked at me with apology...to confess he had not been as ill as he claimed, but was close to getting there....but to will MY forgiveness? I felt forlorned! I loved his instant will to have been compelled toward me the minute a SPIRIT of life drove me toward HIM in that grove...for I too was coatless as was HE, and we embraced as if our very lives depended upon it's need to have recognized such in an instant. WE neither knew what being "prepared" to smudge on THAT hallowed all night meant. No coat was in that list for preparation for neither we 2 knew to have THAT kind of preparation. While the smooching ceased after just 2 or 3 minutes (fairly wonderful they were!), we began to chat...That is, until aHIS father appeared and reduced my cheerfleur'd companion of that eveing to a whimper when he saw him in a fog covered window pane to wonder what light devastated the evening peace as we curled into his driveway at too steep a pitch not to glance against the windows in front for full view. While I didn't mind the smooched alert to feel completely alive for aThe very first time in my hollower life...I was relieved by his dad's appearing, though not heartened by a scold and reproof for not returning immediately to the grove.
They stood in front of the car for a moment and had a very lively conversation... then his dad turned and retraced his path from the house. Youthful Lad (still calling him Ed) regained the drivers side this time and asked me to return him to the place where his car was parked. I reproved myself for not realizing it was yet alongside the GROVE of trees for his meritorious contempt to return yet and Still w/o a coat caused me concern. But he shrugged and entered the grove of trees with a silent reserve. At that time I saw the tiny slim sweatshirt for a welter weight's worth of warmth to defy an ENEMY of cold...his paw must have kept from view in the first removing of my glance when DAD arrived at the car when our heavy fog appeared at the driver's window pane earlier... BUT I felt not the/a reproof I usually required when something hinted to be just 'wrong' for a moment... and not knowing that this was a solemn ceremonial certainty that/to his DAD and some of the game/blent parents who were commited to team regularly for all employment concerns--this night was a keeper...HE HAD to be present for that claim on his brain was where I would not will to learn such. For, I had no older brother in sports, let alone in this town...
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