{"id":14708,"date":"2018-03-15T18:45:02","date_gmt":"2018-03-15T22:45:02","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/?p=14708"},"modified":"2018-03-15T18:45:02","modified_gmt":"2018-03-15T22:45:02","slug":"jill-the-king","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/jill-the-king\/","title":{"rendered":"Jill & The King"},"content":{"rendered":"

April 2018 | view this story as a .pdf<\/a><\/p>\n

By John Manderino<\/span><\/p>\n

\"APR18-Fiction\"It was spring, with puddles. The one in the alley behind the dry cleaners was a bottomless pit.<\/span><\/p>\n

Not really. But that\u2019s what this boy in my class, Anthony Calvano, tried to tell me. I was walking home from school and he just comes up and starts giving me this. I was thinking maybe he liked me. I wouldn\u2019t have minded. He kind of looks a little bit like Elvis. And he knows it, the way he keeps a curl of hair hanging down in front.<\/span><\/p>\n

I love Elvis Presley. Everyone else loves the Beatles, especially after they were on Ed Sullivan a couple months ago. But Elvis is better. He gets to me.<\/span><\/p>\n

I told Anthony I\u2019m sorry but there\u2019s no such thing as a bottomless pit.<\/span><\/p>\n

He said how about a bet? If he\u2019s right he gets to kiss me on the lips and if he\u2019s wrong I get to kiss him<\/em>.<\/span><\/p>\n

I wasn\u2019t sure. I had never kissed a boy.<\/span><\/p>\n

He sang to me softly, \u201c\u2018Don\u2019t be cruel\u2026\u2019\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I said, \u201cOkay.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

We walked to the corner of the block, around and into the alley. I kept wishing he would take my hand, like we were going for a stroll.<\/span><\/p>\n

Then, there it was, the puddle. He said there was only one way to prove who was right. I would have to run up to it, take a long jump out to the middle, and see what happens.<\/span><\/p>\n

I wanted to ask him how he thought he was going to kiss me if he won the bet since I\u2019d be falling down a bottomless pit, but I didn\u2019t bother. I just said, \u201cWouldn\u2019t it be better if you<\/em> jumped in? Since it was your idea?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

He said, \u201cWhy would I want to jump into a bottomless pit?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not a bottomless pit!\u201d I told him.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cProve it,\u201d he said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cLet me go home and get my rain boots.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo. We have to do it now.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHow come?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

He stuck his face up close, locked me in his eyes and sang, \u201c\u2018It\u2019s now or never\u2026\u2019\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I said, \u201cOkay.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

He went over and dragged his heel in the gravel to mark where I should start my run-up to the puddle. But all of a sudden I changed my mind. \u201cForget it, Anthony. You\u2019re just trying to make me jump into a puddle. You\u2019re just trying to make me look stupid.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

He looked really hurt, like he was almost going to cry, that\u2019s how hurt. \u201cFine,\u201d he said. \u201cIf that\u2019s the way you really feel, Jill,\u201d he said, using my name, \u201cthen fine.\u201d He started walking away, hanging his head, singing to himself, \u201c\u2018You get me so lonely I could die.\u2019\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I told him, \u201cWait, will ya?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

He looked back, so sadly. \u201cWhat,\u201d he said.<\/span><\/p>\n

I marched over to the line he drew and told him to count down from three.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t do it, Jill,\u201d he told me, using my name. He really believed it was a bottomless pit and didn\u2019t want me falling through\u2013because he likes me<\/em>, I thought. He likes me for my guts.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

I set my front foot on the line and crouched down.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t, Jill. Please?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cCount, Anthony.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOkay. Three\u2026two\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I crouched lower.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOne.<\/em>\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I took off running, staying low, and when I reached the edge of the puddle I gave a leap, and just for a tiny second I thought What if he\u2019s right?<\/em> But before I could scream I landed in the middle of the puddle, which was deep, over my shoes and socks, but not bottomless. I looked at him: \u201cWell?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

He shrugged. \u201cGuess you win,\u201d he said, and went walking away, laughing his head off.<\/span><\/p>\n

I came splashing out of the puddle after him. \u201cWhat about kissing you?\u201d I said.<\/span><\/p>\n

He stopped walking. He looked surprised.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI won the bet,\u201d I said. \u201cSo how \u2019bout it?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

He closed his eyes. \u201c\u2018Love me tender, love me true,\u2019\u201d he sang, and puckered up.<\/span><\/p>\n

I got as close as I could without touching him. Then I lifted my knee up, hard, straight into his boy-parts.<\/span><\/p>\n

He gave a holler and went walking around all doubled over, moaning and holding himself down there. I felt bad, I really did, and went over to him and apologized. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, Anthony. I shouldn\u2019t have got you there. I\u2019m sorry, okay?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

He was still doubled over but looked up at me with his lip curled, and said real slow, like he really, really meant it: \u201cGet away from me, you ugly, little, bony hound dog.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I ran all the way home. I held in my tears till I got in my room, put an Elvis record on, and dropped on the bed with my face in the pillow:<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWise men say, only fools rush in\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Then I let go. <\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

April 2018 | view this story as a .pdf By John Manderino It was spring, with puddles. The one in the alley behind the dry cleaners was a bottomless pit. Not really. But that\u2019s what this boy in my class, Anthony Calvano, tried to tell me. I was walking home from school and he just […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":14710,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[112],"tags":[220],"class_list":["post-14708","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","tag-april-2018"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14708","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=14708"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14708\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":14712,"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14708\/revisions\/14712"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/14710"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=14708"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=14708"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=14708"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}