One Hundred Percent

Budgy learns how to grow into a one hundred percent person.

————

Budgy and I have been friends since we were born. He lived three doors down. My dad used to say we were thicker than flies; however, no one ever mixed us boys up. He was tall and skinny, with neatly combed black hair; I held onto my baby fat and did my best to keep my blond hair under control.

I never asked how Budgy got his nickname. I supposed it had something to do with his real name, Bertram.

Budgy had an older sister Peggy that he really liked. When we were little, she asked us to play dolls with her. Most boys would have refused. He never did; he even seemed to like it. I didn’t. I was glad when he got over this spell and we could concentrate on shooting cap guns, riding bikes, and playing catch.

He had the coolest mom. Mrs. Harris made popsicles all summer long. Even if my mother had known how to make them, I doubt she would have.

Budgy’s name didn’t have anything to do with being stubborn, cause Budgy wasn’t. Except once when we fought over something stupid I said about his sister. It happened after we’d seen a movie about hygiene in the 6th grade. Mrs. Gregory told us the girls would go to the gym first, then the boys. We snickered, and the girls smiled funny-like.

The movie used a big word, nocturnal emissions, and talked about how our voices were changing. We already knew about the embarrassing stuff: wet dreams and voices that would get

wobbly now and then. That business about a sperm meeting up with a girl’s egg to make a baby seemed pretty farfetched.

Budgy and I were hanging out on the back porch talking over the movie and wondering what the girls had seen. I mentioned I’d like to know how a girl’s titties looked. Budgy said he did, too.

“Ya think Peg would let us see hers?” I said.

Budgy jumped off the swing and swirled around, fists in front of his beet-red face. “Damn you, Henry, you can’t talk about my sister like that! Besides, she wouldn’t want to show you. You apologize right now or get the hell out of here. And, don’t come back. Ever.”

I sure wasn’t expecting that. I stopped the swing with my feet, studied them for what seemed like forever, then slunk down the steps, wishing I could disappear. When I got to the side yard, I took off lickety-split for home.

I hung out in my bedroom for about two weeks trying to figure out what had happened. I knew Budgy was mad because he called me Henry and used cuss words, but I didn’t know why. I didn’t do nuthin’ to Peggy.

By then school was out, and I really missed Budgy. We were having a hot spell, and I was dreaming of Mrs. Harris’ popsicles.

I screwed up my courage, walked down the street, and knocked on the screen door. I was relieved when I saw Mrs. Harris.

“Hi Hank. I’ve been worried about you. Have you been sick?”

“No, Mrs. Harris, just been busy.”

“Budgy’s upstairs in his room. Come on in.” When we got into the hall, she yelled up the stairs, “Hank’s here.”

I drug my feet up the stairs. Budgy was lying on his bed, reading a Dick Tracy comic. “Hi, Budgy. Whatcha doin’?”

“What’s it look like?” A smile was sneaking up on Budgy’s face, even though he sorta tried to hide it.

I yanked up my pants and words fell from my mouth. “I’m sorry, Budgy. I shoulda never said what I did. Don’t know why. . .“

Budgy cut me off. Might as well have slapped me in the face. “Then why’d ya do it, Henry?”

“Just curious, didn’t mean. . .“

“You did mean it! You meant to insult Peggy.”

“I didn’t, Budgy. Just hold on. I’d never say anything bad about your sister. You know I like her.”

“Then how’s come you said such a rotten thing?”

“I told you, I didn’t mean anything. You know I fly off the handle and say things I don’t mean.”

“You should’ve kept your big mouth shut!”

“I’m really sorry, Budgy.”

“Then swear on a stack of bibles that you’ll never talk that way again.”

“I swear, Budgy. I swear,” I said, as I put my hand on an imaginary stack of holy books. “Will you forgive me? Can we be friends again? Please, Budgy.”

“OK, Hank,” Budgy said, dragging out his words.

I knew we were just about OK when I heard him call me “Hank.”

“Geez, Budgy, I promise I’ll never do anything like that again.”

“Wanna go bike riding in the park?”

I knew we were OK all the way. “Sure thing.”

“Let’s go, Hank. Race ya to the front porch.”

In high school, Budgy and I worked at his grandfather’s hardware store, double-dated some, and shared a room at state college. When I found a girl I wanted to look at (you know the kind of looking I mean), I made sure I liked her. One weekend when Budgy was away, I asked if she wanted to come up to my room.

She said yes, and we steamed up the dorm window that night.

When women’s lib came around, my wife never questioned my allegiance. Neither did Budgy. I kept my promise. One hundred percent.

By Fay L. Loomis

From: United States

Facebook URL: https://www.facebook.com/fay.loomis