Chucky Heinz Chucky Heinz carried a photo of naked girl in his Carolina blue UNC Tarheels wallet that he bought at Sears. The picture was folded to isolate the soft brunette v-shape that lay in her lap.
"Let me see it", they'd say, holding out their hands.
"You see with your eyes", he'd reply, smoothing the white creases that framed the picture, pushing the wrinkles in the thin page flat. He'd cut it out of his brother's Hustler and most of the boys had seen it.
"Beautiful", they'd say, and they'd never seen her face.
Johnny Pockets, Oui, Joe Joe, the Covell's--they'd all had a private viewing; The elementary school equivalent to a peep show. A quick glimpse of a carefully removed photo from a magazine and back to building another jump out of a warped door and rail road ties.
Chucky showed her to me in the back of his dad's auto parts store. The building wasn't complete at the time, only a concrete slab foundation and a few joined cinder-block walls.
It looked like the ruins of an ancient white-trash civilization--car worshippers seeking sacred artifacts to adorn their idols, like Yosemite Sam mudflaps and Cragar mags.
We were alone, in what was to be the bathroom--someone had christened the toilet with piss and a Funions bag. Over the half-wall, there was a tire skid competition. Dan Covell wore a size twelve shoe in the fifth grade, so he walked off the distance of the mark. They all knew what was going on: It was my turn.
Chucky ripped open his wallet. Above us the sun was low and the shadows darkened the corners of the cinder-block rooms. He pulled the picture from inside and unfolded it. The thin paper fell apart, worn through from constant caressing. Chucky opened it and held it flat on the floor, laying his finger tips on the empty space, but touching the cold concrete. Left were her long thin arms, her legs crossed at the ankles, and her face.
"Beautiful", and I reached for it.
"You see with your eyes", and Chucky snatched it away.