True Story: School Girl
[Editor's Note: Jack Grisham is an author, hypnotherapist, T.S.O.L. front man and all-around troublemaker. This column, True Story, may or may not be factual, with characters who may or may not be real.]
She was standing near the corner of Harbor and Garden Grove boulevards. A young, brown-haired girl, nondescript, student type, looked like she was waiting for a bus. It was beginning to rain, and I felt for her. I did a U-turn and pulled up to the curb, rolled down the passenger window and asked if she needed a ride. She smiled--cute, not pretty, but schoolgirl cute. She put her hands on the door and leaned in. She ran her eyes over me and the car--a quick check--and then she opened the door and slid inside.
"Yes," she said. "I'd love one."
I pulled away from the curb and immediately stopped at the red light.
"Where are you heading?" I asked.
She put her small hand on my leg and squeezed--her fingernail polish was chipped and dark, metallic green.
"That depends on you, baby," she said. "Do you wanna get a room, or are you looking for something else?"
I wasn't looking for anything. I was two months away from a divorce, still pretending to be married, and I'd never done anything like this before.
"I don't do drugs," I said. "I don't drink either."
"I'm not asking you to get high." She slid her hand between her legs. "I'm asking if you want some of this."
It took me a moment to answer. "I didn't know you were working. I just . . ."
"Randomly pick up stray girls and get hard when they squeeze your leg? Come on, dude, you're fucking cruising, and you stopped for me. Now, do you wanna pull over--I got a spot behind the market--or do you wanna get a room?"