The World, the Flesh and the Devil Part 4 ...In a Real Pickle

I made up my mind. I would finally date a beautiful girl and my sights were set on Kris.

Later that day at lunch, we were all gathered in the caf when Kris stormed in.

“I can’t believe those motorists on Queen’s Park Crescent! I was trying to cross for ten minutes and nobody would stop and let me cross.”

She slammed down her books on the table and began unbuttoning her long white coat with the fur hood. I almost fainted. Beneath the maxi coat, she was wearing a white mini dress that accentuated her long legs. How could I have been so blind to her beauty?”

She spotted the long queue at the cashier.

“I don’t feel like waiting in line for lunch—maybe I’ll just head downtown for my photo shoot.”

“Oh no, Kris,” I blurted out, “Don’t do that—you’ve been in class all morning and need to eat. I’ll buy you a coffee and a sandwich.”

Mac was sitting directly across from me and his eyes began dancing. Kris looked at me quizzically.

“Well okay, if it’s not too much trouble,” she conceded, “I’ll just get my wallet out of my purse.”

“My treat,” I smiled magnanimously.

A look of suspicion crossed her face, but I was already well out of my chair and on my way to the buffet counter.

I perused the various cellophane-wrapped offerings and settled on a roast beef on rye for the Lady and the same for myself.

I bought two coffees—black for her, and a double cream and sugar for me and made my way back to the table.

Kris was perched on her chair, long legs crossed, like a queen holding court. I set down the tray and passed over the sandwich followed by her coffee and then sat down opposite.

Mac’s eyes followed the proceedings intently.

“Thanks, Stephen—that was really sweet of you,” she smiled.

“Ah, it was nothing—you deserve it, Kris.”

Mac broke into a broad smile—a detail duly noted by Kris, though she elected to say nothing.

I opened my cellophane-wrapped repast and discovered it contained no lettuce or tomato, but only a meagre pickle skewered to the bread. It resembled one of those thin, round pickles that McDonalds puts in their hamburgers.

I regarded it with disdain.

“Argh! I can’t believe this place,” I hissed, tossing aside the offensive sandwich dressing.

The pickle, however, caught on my fingernail and instead of landing on my tray as intended, it acted like a mini Frisbee with a will of its own.

It described a tiny arc in the air, then sailed like a pebble skipping water right across the cream-colored surface of my coffee and landed on the front of Kris’ dress—the bosom, to be precise.

“Oh no!” Kris was out of her chair in an instant, dabbing with her napkin at the beige stain. Her fiery eyes turned on me. “How could you?”

Mac could contain himself no longer. He doubled over in laughter, falling off his chair and rolling on the floor.

Everyone in the room roared with laughter at his antics and Kris, humiliated, rushed out toward the washroom followed by an entourage of glaring friends.

Things have a way of turning out so badly sometimes. I waited for Kris to come back so I could offer an apology, but she didn’t return.

She sent a girl to retrieve her coat and books and she did it in silence, all the while fixing me with a frosty stare.

I know in the movies, these situations have a happy ending, but sadly in this case, it wasn’t so.

Over time, I had several opportunities to apologize to Kris, but she never allowed me to get that far. Needless to say, we never dated and the incident did nothing for my reputation.

In fact, I ended up on the couch at frat parties, solitary and occasionally soused, but fortunately I somehow managed to keep my photo out of the Varsity news and became a wiser, sadder man.

Fr. Tom McKillop didn’t give up hounding me, and Christ on the cross still to me whispered through candlelit evenings.

When I finally swallowed my pride and confessed my failings, The Lord just sighed and told me he knew.

He also told me he had in mind another girl in a white dress who would be more suitable than Kris.

Who knows? Maybe she is my soul.

And maybe I should read The Confessions and learn about the ways of the world.

Unlike me though, Augustine had a past—not a bunch of vainglorious fantasies he trotted out to console himself.

But then again, unlike him, I do have a girl in a white dress.

© 2018, John J Geddes. All rights reserved

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