The Makeout Machine

"Did you boys come to see me off?" Cartwheel asked us.

Jimmy spoke up. "Yeah. So what are you going to do over the winter, man? Go out to California and find a commune somewhere?"

Cartwheel laughed at Jimmy's question. "No way. School is starting for me in a few weeks."

"School?" Jimmy and Billy said at the same time.

"Of course. I'm a college student at the University of Maryland." Chuckling at our astonished expressions, he held out his hand to Jimmy. "Take care of yourself, man."

"I will, Cartwheel. You too."

Cartwheel nodded. Next he moved in front of Billy. "You ride that bike pretty fast.

Don't ever forget that you had a part in saving Jimmy."

"I won't," Billy answered.

"Be cool," Tim said next. Cartwheel smiled. Tim held out his palms and Cartwheel gave him some skin.

Finally, Cartwheel came to stand in front of me. I knew what I wanted to say but I was afraid I wouldn't be able to finish. I cleared my throat and Cartwheel looked expectantly at me.

"Good luck, Mr. Cartwright. I'm going to miss you."

"Mr. Cartwright? So formal, David." Cartwheel gave me a funny look.

"I've come to respect you too much to call you 'Cartwheel' anymore," I said, feeling the tears I had been holding back starting to trickle down my face.

Cartwheel gave a conspiratorial look to the left and the right before saying to me, "In that case, you can call me Milton."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Billy and Tim silently mouthing "Milton?" to each other, surprised expressions on their faces. I ignored them.

"Good luck, Milton. I'm going to miss -"

That is as far as I got. The tears were flowing full force. Cartwheel bent down and hugged me. I held on to him, feeling his long curly hair on my arms. I didn't care that my friends were seeing me cry. I knew how much I was going to miss my hero and nothing else mattered just then.

When I let Cartwheel go and wiped the remaining tears from my face, I ventured a glance at my friends. They were silent, not daring to tease me. I think they understood somehow what I was feeling.

"Well, boys, I need to be going." With that, Cartwheel got into The Makeout Machine and started up the engine. I was pretty sure that was the last time I'd hear that sound. We mounted our bikes and followed him up the hill, though he was slowly pulling away. It seemed like he was going slow so we could keep up. Just before he got to the top of the hill, he held out his left arm and gave us a final wave. The van hit a bump and, for an instant, I could see his face in the big mirror. He pulled his arm in and it looked like he was wiping a tear from his eye. Then the van crested the hill and was gone from our sight.

When we got to the top of the hill, we could see The Makeout Machine in the distance. It was turning left. From there, one more turn and it would be on Highway 140.

That fleeting glimpse was the last I ever saw of Cartwheel. The next summer, Mrs. Pemberton had hired another college student to run the pool. We had other lifeguards over the summers as we grew up, but none were ever as cool as Cartwheel. Or as heroic.

I came to realize that summer afternoon when Jimmy had his fall that Cartwheel was human after all. Later, I figured out that ordinary humans can be heroes. I never forgot that lesson I learned from Cartwheel.

*

I took a sip of my coffee as I looked again at the picture in the morning paper that had captured my attention. The long curly hair was gone, the blue jean cut-offs and t-shirt replaced with more appropriate attire, but I recognized the face. Even if I hadn't, the caption below the picture left no doubt. The Trauma Department of Northwest Hospital welcomes Dr. Milton Cartwright. Dr. Cartwright, a graduate of the University of Maryland,...

Yes, ordinary humans can be heroes.

The End

*

This story is an experiment, an attempt at a mainstream story. I've heard from many of my readers that they skip over the sex scenes in my stories because they are so absorbed in the plot. Now I'll see if they really mean it.

This story is Copyright © 2005 by Strickland83. All rights reserved.