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Ginger and I sat on the bus, positioning ourselves in any way we could to avoid being uncomfortable during the five hour bus ride to the Dells. We ate a bag of Cheese-Its, always the snack of choice for our yearly adventure up north. I used to count the salt crystals on one of the Cheese-Its before I would allow myself to gorge on them. She would lick her fingers, one of the few unlady like mannerisms she possessed. I would stare and admire her, the only woman I had ever shared my life with, as she licked the salt and it dissolved on her lips.
Ginger was not the average teenager; she had been raised by a "normal" family by American standards. She also attended Bible Baptist School for the first nine years of her schooling. Her naïve mind held her at a disadvantage. She was rushed into the public school system, and suffered I guess what you would call culture shock for the first semester. I was the first person she encountered and befriended. I got to know her feelings about "me" but I put them aside, she was my Ginger. My Ginger never lied to me, was always honest. She knew what to say, what not to say, and how to say it. We spent a lot of time talking about how everyone said we should get together and how we argued like husband and wife. We did everything together: joked, laughed, and played. Not a day went by without our joking of how we were going to get married and have tons of kids and live in the perfect house. "Married" and "Perfect", words that are now so far from me. I cherished her every word and utterance. We were closer friends than either of us had been with anyone of the opposite sex, and I never thought of anything more. I was content, I had my Ginger. But I was about to realize how selfish I was. In me not allowing her to know the real "me", I was hurting not only myself, but she was beginning to fall in love. At least as much of love as a sixteen year old girl can fall in.
The part I hated most about our yearly trip was the room assignments at the hotel, six guys to a room and only three beds. I prayed that I would get stuck in a room with the five ugliest guys on the trip. I could use Ginger as a cover up in public, but there would be no excuses if one of my roomies caught me staring at their ass as they came out of the shower. I somehow managed to control myself for the last couple of years, but this my last year, I failed to be successful in my attempts. The worst part came around two in the morning when we were settling down for bed. In past years three guys would sleep in each of the three beds and the others who were not so lucky found themselves a spot on the floor. Their insecurity for me was a God send, but God wasn't so giving this year. I of course got stuck with a fairly good looking bunch. One of them was pretty cute. I watched his mouth move as he talked on the phone while I lay in bed, I didn't pay much attention as to what he was saying, and I was just taking him in. Then he hung up the phone, while I pretended to be asleep. He hesitated, scanned the room, and then decided that the bed I was in appealed to him most. He climbed in and got comfortable. Meanwhile I lay there so nervous I was about ready to mess myself. I knew nothing was going to be made of this situation; it was just that it was the closest I had ever got to actually attaining one of the objects of my affection. Despite my nervousness, I had my ways of showing I was attracted to him. As he was getting into a comfortable position, he just happened to knock me in my "way of showing I am attracted to you" area. We both opened our eyes, he was half asleep, but I was wide awake. I was too scared to
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