True Julie Stories (part 2 of 5)

A few months had passed since my illicit proposal had inadvertently cheered Julie up. I can’t say how many with any certainty, I wouldn’t want to lie. The dirty water rose once again and I called her.

As before, she never really gave me the opportunity to stammer on in my shameful horniness but instead plunged me straight into her own life, not giving a moment’s thought to my nasty habit of randomly calling her every five to eight months for no apparent reason. If the voice that last greeted me was sniffling back tears, this time it was chuckling in delight. My selfish attraction to distress left me unsure about whether I enjoyed this happy Julie quite as much as I did the sad one.

“You sound happy.” I said dryly.
“My dad bought me a car!” She squealed. “A used car!”
“Well come on over and take me out for a ride.” I said.
“A ride where?” She was confused. Joy rides were not around in the Israel we grew up in.
“Just a ride.”
“Oh. Right now?”
“Why not.” I feigned confidence; secretly hoping she wouldn’t play along. The moment I’d offered the ride I felt weighted down with laziness. The urge that had propelled me to call her was fast fading away.
“Ok, sure!” She said excitedly.

Twenty minutes later she honked under my window. I stepped out in flip flops, my way of convincing my body it would not be gone from the shelter of my house for too long. I sat next to her in the dark blue used Ford her father had bought her and rolled down my window. She drove fearfully slow. I stared at the streets crawling by and fiddled with her radio. I named dozens of CDs she should have had but didn’t. She wore sunglasses and had a mean look about her.

Ten minutes into our pointless journey, as we drove down a narrow street in my hometown, cars ahead of us came to a slow stop that I could tell Julie was oblivious to. I experienced it all as if submerged in a pool of milk. I had enough time to think it through. I had the time to ask myself, should I say something? I had time to glance down at the emergency brake and contemplate yanking it up. Julie realized she was headed straight into a stopped car, and floored the brakes. We screeched down the road for a comically long stretch of time before the crash sounded, surprisingly loud. Then it was quiet.

Julie was in shock. Her eyes shimmered. The driver of the car she’d hit stepped out and stared at the damage. He looked up at her in awe, momentarily rendered beyond anger. Julie, however, was not. I mistakenly feared that she was about to burst into tears that would make me uneasy, but her reaction was the opposite. She leaped out of the car and let out a filthy stream of curses at the other driver, who didn’t take long to snap out of his state and curse back.

I stepped out of the car and stood numbly amongst the glass on the asphalt in my flip flops. I felt like walking home, but remained there surrounded by pieces of car. The crash that had failed to pierce through the milky skin enveloping me had not failed to completely destroy Julie's new used car.

Julie called her father, who arrived twenty minutes later. He was a dark man with a hilarious thick mustache. He made me feel instantly guilty for fantasizing about his daughter’s big, motherly breasts. He took care of the insurance talk with the other driver as Julie huffed and puffed about them. Then he drove me home in his big car.

I’d been gone from my house for about an hour. I had called Julie to quench my horniness, and she’d squelched it dry. I went up to my room, crawled in bed and went to sleep.