Hi Subscriber,
Today I am sharing one of the stories I posted for paid members on Patreon, since I am shutting down that account and no longer need to hold back.
(Disclaimer: I no longer engage in acts of revenge as described in this story).
So as a Labor Day treat, here is...
How My First Love Lost His Marbles Part 1
Excerpt from Memoirs of a Lastling
By Jan Dale
©All Rights Reserved
Alan was my first real love. I was mesmerized by the elusive dimples on his left cheek and his thick shock of brown-black hair which disarranged itself most engagingly across his forehead.
His eyelashes were the envy of every little girl in our small rural school. I was in love with him from the moment I saw him, yet I never had the nerve to let on. Eight-year-old kids just don't voice such things, especially if they are afflicted from birth, as I was, with a lazy-eye.
So I did the next-best thing. I showed him my marbles. I knew I could win easily if we played. I was a crack shot and rarely missed an opportunity to completely wipe out an opponent's stash.
I had an impressive collection of boulders, aggies, calicoes, cat's eyes, steelies, and cloudies to prove it. I'd also left an impressive number of victims weeping in my wake.
But winning was not my objective this time as I carefully loaded a few of my favorites into my pocket.
I brought this sampling of my lovelies to school to woo and to win Alan's heart. I imagined him pressing his fingertips to his chest in admiration of my marbling prowess. In my mind's eye I saw him following after me like a lovesick pup when he saw what great treasures I possessed.
I was not prepared for his aloof dismissal of my collection and his dubious expression as I tried to explain the intricacies of the game. For Alan, I found out, had never played marbles.
Then quite suddenly it came to me what might entice him . . . and I turned adroitly to flattery.
"I bet you'd be good at it," I said slowly with a simpering voice and a flutter of lashes.
"Nawww. . . . .Think so?"
"Sure, I said, " a small harmless fib. He seemed unconvinced.
"I'm not very good at it, " I said, ..an outright lie that almost stuck in my throat.
Alan suddenly didn't know what to do with his hands and feet, or where to look. Hah! I had him now.
"Wanna try? We can use mine," I offered, as though the idea had only just then occurred to me.
"Ohhhhh. . .kay." He grinned, . . and those irresistible dimples came out to play. Alan's chest by now was so puffed out that he almost popped a shirt button. This was working even better than I'd hoped.
I thought it would be hard to fake a loss, but it was surprisingly easy.
Shoop. . There went the blue-green cat's eye. Plink. . The orange and brown calico followed it into his pocket. Shlip. Plink. Shoop. Gladly I surrendered my hard-won puries, steelies, and boulders.
I felt so powerful and clever as I let him win almost every marble I had on me that first day. I brought more with me next time. And each day, Alan spent his entire recess with me and only me . . . until the day I neglected to grab the last handful I possessed.
I don't know what made me forget, but after I'd left for school, I felt that strange flush of foreboding legendary to females of any age.
No matter. We could talk instead, I lied to myself.
(To be continued next week..)
