Speak to the king within the man...

Millie paused a moment, caught her breath, and stepped inside. She closed the heavy red door behind her and leaned against it, folding her arms, closing her eyes, smiling from deep within. Lost in her emotions, she failed to realize that she wasn’t alone. Mr. Snyder stood in the entry to the dining room, with his hands clasped behind his back, watching her.

Millie sighed and opened her eyes, sensing then seeing her father. He looked stern, eliciting a concern that Millie recognized right away. She bowed her head, removed her eyes from his penetrating gaze, and walked quickly over to the staircase.

“So, you don’t want to talk to your father?” he asked, stepping into the foyer.

She stopped on the fifth step, paused for a moment then turned to him. “What about? Do you want to lecture me on how the Snyder’s don’t mingle with poor folk?”

He bit back. “Millie Snyder, don’t you go putting words in my mouth.” It was a soft bite that held little if any ferocity. He was as a proud man, and never allowed anyone to speak condescendingly toward him without recourse, anyone except Millie. She was allowed to tread where few would dare, simply because she was his little girl.

“What? We just talked. He invited me to go out for a burger tomorrow. That’s it.”

“You’re not to see him again. I thought we had that clear.”

“Well, we didn’t. And it will never be clear.” Millie was on the verge of overstepping his good graces. She could see the redness rise up from under his collar, consuming his neck.

He took a hard breath and held it for a moment. “It’s not Creed I’m concerned with, Millie.” He continued, “It’s that Lombard boy, that whole Lombard family. They’re no good, and I don’t want you anywhere near them. We wouldn’t be having this conversation if Creed didn’t run with Magnet.”

Millie exhaled loudly and rolled her head back in disapproval. “Get over it. Until now, Magnet was the only friend Creed had. Besides, they’re only friends because they live by each other, and Creed is decent enough to talk to him. Money doesn’t matter to him, Daddy, and it shouldn’t matter to you.”

“It’s not the money, and don’t ever accuse me of that again!” He was livid, shaking his finger at her. His chest was noticeably rising and falling, as rage consumed his usually calm demeanor. No words were spoken for the next heavy moments, allowing Mr. Snyder to gain composure and cool the fire within.

Millie broke the silence. “Well, is that it?”

He put his hands in his pockets and spoke softly. “You can see Creed on one condition; I don’t want Magnet anywhere near you. That is fair.”

“But—“

“That is fair.”

“Fine.” Mille turned hard and stomped up the curved staircase, stormed down the hall and into her room, slamming the door behind her.

*****

It was dusk. The sun had descended below the horizon, yet had enough luster to barely illuminate the trees along Johnson Hill Road, the only way out of town and into Milltown. Creed’s spirits soared high as he hummed Skyball Paint and bopped up and down, swaying to the music in his mind. The apprehension and confusion he had felt prior to arriving at the Snyder’s had vanished. He now felt a confidence like never before, and through all of the excitement he had forgotten about the gift that had haunted him for the past three years. He felt something for the first time, a feeling that everything was right in his world. He had always considered himself blessed; having a loving family, a home, and a truck to call his own. But the only thing he felt he missed was a social life outside of Milltown. Now he had found it in Millie. Yes, everything was good in Creed Lindens world.

Creed pushed the pedal hard and accelerated. He needed all the momentum the truck could muster for the climb ahead. The first time he attempted the climb on Johnson Hill, Yeti had come to a crawl before peaking, almost failing to reach the top. The hill was steep, with a slight bend to the north at the crest. Once on top, the view was breathtakingly vast, stretching across Milltown and almost to the Tennessee border.

The engine howled as his speed increased, steady and sure, forty, forty-five, fifty, and finally fifty-five. Yeti wailed under the hood and shook something fierce, just as he reached the base of the hill. He pushed upward, feeling the whine of the motor throughout his body. Quickly, the truck slowed, as the hill started to win the battle, forty, thirty-five, thirty. “Come on Yeti, you pile of junk. Up you go.
Don’t fail me now,” he urged. “That’s it, almost there. That’s it.”

Finally, as the trucks speedometer fell to fifteen, the hill leveled off and he made the turn to the north. Creed breathed a sigh of relief and smiled as the valley he called home opened up before him. He never tired of the magnificent view, but something was different. He noticed it before he made the turn. A smell tickled his senses, the sweet odor of burning wood. As he gazed across the valley, his attention was immediately diverted to a billowing charcoal cloud, pluming upward into the purple sky. Looks like it’s coming from home, he thought.

In that moment, the feelings that consumed him just minutes earlier were chased away by a dark, vile impression. The warmth inside, the sense of belonging, the feeling of sure joy; it was gone, replaced by a ripe fear, a painful hole in his stomach that grew with each uncertain second.

“No!” he cried, as he mashed the gas pedal to the floor, barreling down the road. The descent was dangerously bent with blind turns and narrow stretches, but Creed took it at a reckless speed and little caution. As he closed the distance between himself and home, he became more certain of what burned in the distance. “No, please no!” he screamed. “No!” His face was a pale yellow, and his hands dampened with sweat, gripping to the wheel. Nausea filled the deep hole in his stomach and he could feel his legs become weak and achy.

He rounded the final turn, entering the gravel driveway. By now he could see the small residual flames biting at the night sky, and he knew his home, the home built by his father, had been consumed by the glowing devastation. He reached the house, screeching to a halt. He threw open the truck door leaving the engine running. He moved quickly around the fire truck, with its lights illuminating the scene. He frantically scanned the chaos, searching for his mom, Dandy, Jeter, Liz; any one of them. But his quick search came up empty. Without thought, he jogged toward the charred home, splashing through the water that had accumulated. But before he reached the smoldering porch, a big man donned in fire gear grabbed hold of him.
“Son! You need you to back away!”

He heard the voice and felt a strong arm wrap around his chest, pulling him away. Creed kicked and fought with all he had. “Where’s my family!”

The man’s grip tightened and Creed ceased his flailing.

“If I let you go, you promise to stay away?”

Creed replied instantly, “Yeah, just let me be.”
He let go and Creed stepped away, looking hard at the fireman and breathing heavily.
“You live hear?” the man asked.

“Yeah! Where is everyone?”

The man put his big arm over Creed. “Follow me,” he said softly, and led him to the back of the latter engine. He sat him down on the bumper, and then removed his coat and gloves. He knelt in front of Creed in a crouch, resting his forearms on his knees. “What’s your name son?” His voice was soft yet stern.

“Creed Linden. Please tell me everyone is alright.”

“Do you know where your father is?”

Creed looked back at his smoldering home, and then faced the man again. He was in no mind to answer questions. He only wanted answers. “Dead,” he replied. “He died a few years back.”

The man ran his hands through his sweat soaked hair, and for the first time, Creed saw a look of sympathy on the stout man’s blackened face. Creed knew what was coming.
“We haven’t…,” he stopped, gained composure, and then continued. “We haven’t found any survivors.”

“No!” he whimpered. His head fell hard into his chest, meeting his trembling hands. He sobbed, as the anguish rushed out with no barrier. Just like that, his world and all he lived for, was shattered. It was too much to believe, too much to comprehend.

Gently, the man put his hand on Creeds shoulder. “I will be with you as long as you need me.” His voice was broken with emotion.

Creed didn’t respond, too overcome to speak. His sobbing continued for a time. His surroundings slowly dissipated, starting with his peripheral view and moving inward. His gaze was hard, transfixed forward on nothing in particular. The only life that existed at that moment lived within his mind. The outside world came to an abrupt end, and though the noise of sirens and shouting men reverberated off his ears, he was completely alone in his consciousness.

He thought of his mom’s smiling face as he drove off for school that morning. She had been smashing blackberries for her jam, and had some of it smeared on her apron. The strong smell of berries lingered in his mind. She had always smelt of jam, and that scent held strong emotions that were tied directly to his mother. He had just seen her that morning. He had just talked to her on the phone a few hours before, and now she was gone. His family was gone joining his father in another realm.
His mind released the painful thoughts, and he became aware of his surroundings. The ordeal started to feel dreamlike, and Creed felt he needed tangible proof to seal the horror.

He lifted his head and spoke. “Where are they? I want to see.”

The man’s eyes bore concern. “I don’t think that’s—

“I want to see for myself,” he said, forcing his words through the emotion.
The man paused as he contemplated Creed’s petition. After a moment, he stood from his crouch and spoke. “That is your right.”

Together, they walked across the front lawn and over to where an ambulance was parked with its passenger side tires resting on an embankment. As they approached the vehicle, Creed slowed then came to a stop, distancing himself from the fireman. He had second thoughts crowding in. However, it was too late. He had come to close to the ambulance and by accident spotted a row of four black bags lying prostrate on the ground in front. He had seen enough. The color was gone from his clammy face, and he felt as if all the strength within his being had faded. His legs refused to hold his body upright. He staggered sideways, and then fell onto the long handmade bench sitting just feet from him. He caught himself with his hands and twisted to an upright position.

Sitting there, he let his gaze fall to the ground, and felt the trembling inside grow. His intense sadness morphed into a numbness that moved throughout his body. He felt a stinging sensation run up his neck. It cascaded over his scalp, as his hair seemed to stand on end. His hands found his hair and he pulled it back, gripping clumps between his fingers. Freely, his tears trickled down his face, rolling onto his neck and dampening his shirt at the collar.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man dressed in a tie and slacks. He stepped out of the rubble carrying a burnt can of sorts. He approached another man similarly dressed and held the can upward pointing to it. Creed was too far away to hear the words exchanged between them, but he could tell they were words spoken with confusion. He also surmised that the charred container had to be a gas can.

Instantly, Creed had a horrifying thought as he watched the men communicate.

The fireman, who had also observed the men, confirmed the thought. “Arson,” he said through his clenched teeth.

“Who would do that,” Creed said softly. “Why.” He fell into a wrenching cry, and the fireman took a seat beside him on the bench. The sun had vanished from this part of the world as the dark night fell on the Linden home.

Chapter 7

His office was warm, almost hot. That was the way he liked it. He was known as a strange man by both teacher and student, and a minute in his office was always an experience.

“Why is it so hot in here,” Creed asked sitting uncomfortably in a hard plastic chair.

Principal Hanks sat behind the desk and rested his elbows on the small piles of papers. “I like it hot. Makes the kids uncomfortable, especially when they are guilty of something.” He smiled and winked at Creed. “Plus I have thin blood.”

Creed laughed.

Principal Hanks smiled and then a confused look fell on his face. “Lets see. You do know why you are in here, don’t you?”

Creed found the question odd, but decided to entertain it. “I’m in trouble for fightin’”

“Wrong answer!” He said in a loud voice followed by a soft “your not in trouble at all.” He gave Creed a deep sympathetic look. “I just wanted to tell you it’s good to have you back at school.”

Creed looked away from the principals awkward glare. “Thanks,” he replied feeling a smidgen of relief.

The principal took a loud sip from his cold coffee and smacked his lips. “Hmm. Nothing like cold coffee. Can I get you some?”

“No thanks.” Creed wanted out, now. He new what was on his agenda for the evening and couldn’t wait for it. Plus, he needed to phone his ma and get permission. “If I’m not in trouble, can I go now?” he asked carefully.

“Oh, I suppose so.” The principal stood and walked around the desk toward the exit.
Creed followed but before the reached the door, Principal Hanks spun around. “One more thing. It is a school rule that anyone caught fighting on campus will need to serve at least one day of detention. You may serve that today in room 128.”

Creed couldn’t believe it. He thought he was off the hook. “I thought you said I wasn’t in trouble?”

“I did say that. And your not. But you are obligated to serve the minimum. That would be just, and I run a just system. Now, if you need to call your mother, you may use the phone in the attendance office.”

“Gee, thanks,” Creed said. The punishment was tolerable since he expected much worse.

The principle opened the door and let Creed walk by. Creed got a few steps away from the office when Principal Hanks called to him. “Creed.”

Creed turned.

“Be careful son.”

Creed nodded and then headed for the attendance office.


*****


Mrs. Snyder leaned over the cutting board, slicing tomatoes when Mr. Snyder walked in. She could always tell when her husband had had a long day. He had his tie loosened and his top button open. His sleeves rolled twice. As he entered the kitchen, Mr. Snyder sauntered over to his wife and pecked her on the forehead.
“Smells good Fran. Let me wash up and I’ll help.”

“Hope you’re in the mood for stuffed feta and salad, John.”

“My favorite,” he replied as he ran his hands under the trickling water.

“Millie is having a guest for dinner, too.”

“Oh?” It was common for Millie to have friends over so this was no surprise to Mr. Snyder.

“A boy. Creed Linden.”

Mr. Snyder turned the water off and remained motionless for a moment. In a deliberate manner, he grabbed the dishtowel draped over the oven handle and dried his hands. He looked at Fran with disapproval.

“What’s wrong with Creed? He is a nice boy.”

“Nice isn’t everything, Fran. There is something strange about the kid. Just like his dad. I don’t think I want my daughter mingling with him, that’s all.”

Just then, Millie strolled in through the swinging door. “Who don’t you want me mingling with?”

“Creed Linden,” Mr. Snyder said looking at Fran.

“Why not?”

“I have my reasons young lady.”

“Don’t be so judgmental daddy. Just ‘cause someone doesn’t have money is a shallow reason not to like them. He’s a good guy.”

“Don’t use that tone with me Millie. I think I know what’s best for my daughter.”

“If you did, you’d let me choose my own friends.”

Mrs. Snyder watched as tension grew. She knew she would have to interject eventually, yet she let Millie assert herself. Mrs. Snyder knew these tiffs were good for both father and daughter. They always managed to draw the two closer together.

“Daddy, you should have seen him sticking up for Magnet today. He was so--”

“Magnet Lombard?” Mr. Snyder tossed the dishtowel on the counter and walked over the Millie. He grabbed her by the hand and led her to the sofa. “Sit down Millie.”

Millie sat down slowly. Confused and concerned, she asked, “what’s wrong, daddy?”

“Listen to me. This is important. Are Creed and Magnet friends? Do they run together?”

“Yeah. Magnet is the only friend Creed has. Why?”

Mr. Snyder stood and moved quickly into his den, shutting the door behind him.

“What daddy?”

Mrs. Snyder walked over to Millie looking confused.

“What’s wrong with daddy?” Millie motioned to the den.

“Not sure sweetie.”

After a couple minutes, Mr. Snyder emerged from the den. “Creed can come over tonight, but from here on out, I don’t want you around him, are we clear?”

“But—“

“Clear?”

“Yes!” Millie stormed up the stairs and to her room.

*****

It was 5:50 when Creed pulled up to the Snyder house. He gazed at the white mansion through the passenger side window. It was easily the largest house in Robbinsville; ten times the size of the Linden home. The front yard sprawled behind the white picket fence in a lush green display of perfection. The brick walkway, lined with flowers and shrubs, meandered through the yard and led to the front porch.

Creed took a deep breath and flung open his door, stepping into the street. He walked around Yeti, through the front gate and up the porch. He noticed the well-kept furnishings on the porch that seemed to shout high esteem and status. He knew he was way out of his element, but he mustered his courage and rang the doorbell. The large red door swung open revealing a stunning Mrs. Snyder adorned in a green apron.

“Good evening Mr. Linden.”

“Evening m’am.”

“Please, come in.” She smiled and moved aside allowing the nervous Creed to enter.
Creed smiled back, and then surveyed the grand entrance, the oak stairway to his right, the high polished wood floors beneath him. “You sure have a lovely home Mrs. Snyder.”

“Thank you Creed. Why don’t you have a seat on the sofa over there? Millie should be down in a moment. Do you like Italian?”

“What, do you mean Italian people? Never met one, but I would assume their good folks.”

“No, Italian food,” her smile was as genuine as it could be.

Creed turned flush around his neck, and could feel the skin on his cheeks turn warm. Italian food was as foreign to him as the Italy itself. “Oh, yeah right,” he said. “I love it.”

“Good,” she said then leaned over the banister hollering, “Millie, your company is here.” She smiled at Creed and added, “wait right here, she’s just cleaning up.” Mrs. Snyder then scurried off into the kitchen to finish preparations.

Creed patiently waited, trying to calm his nerves, breathing deeply. After some effort, Creed felt a sense of calmness come over him. His heart slowed to a normal pace and the shiver in his knees vanished. He felt relaxed, but that feeling was short lived as Millie came down the stairs. Creed felt a fluttering within. His pulse quickened and his nerves returned to an alert state, working on overdrive and wreaking havoc on his desire to remain cool.

“Hey Creed,” she said bounding down the stairs, with her hair curled perfectly around her soft face.

“Hey Millie.” Creed stood, and then nervously adjusted the waste of his worn jeans. His t-shirt, tucked in tightly, added to his discomfort as it pulled on his shoulders and constricted his movement. Yet it was his best attempt at looking presentable.

“You look nervous, Creed.”

“Is it obvious?” Creed asked following her into the dining room.

She stopped and turned, moving in close. “Relax, and don’t worry about anything. You’re here because I invited you, remember?” She spun away, and then recoiled. “You do look nice, though.”

“Thanks, and sorry Millie. I just feel out of place.”

“Well don’t. Just be you. My parents will love you.”

“Hope so.”

As they rounded the large mahogany dinning table, Mr. Snyder emerged from his den. He noticed Creed and grinned mildly. “Ah Mr. Linden, how is life treating you?” He briskly walked to Creed and extended his hand.

Creed reached for the hand as confidently as possible, hoping the vision would not appear again. Not right then. He shook with a firm grip. His father had made mention of how important a strong handshake was in a man. ‘It shows you’re proud of who ya are. You’re a Linden, be proud of that.’ He would have been proud, as he shook with the zeal of a politician replying, “life’s good Mr. Snyder.”

“Well good boy. Why don’t you have a seat right here next to me? And Millie,” he motioned with his stubby finger, “why don’t you take the seat by the window across the table from Creed.” Reluctantly, she took the seat her father offered her, as far away from creed as the table would allow.

Soon Mrs. Snyder entered carrying a large crystal bowel of Salad, and sat at the table, breathing a sigh of relief. Dinner was ready. Without hesitation, Mr. Snyder said a heartfelt blessing on the food. During the lengthy prayer, Creed squinted around the table. Millie lifted one eye open and her gaze met Creeds. They smiled at each other, just as Mr. Snyder closed his prayer and amen’s were said.

As the meal progressed, the only sounds rising from the table were that of clanking silverware on dishes and an occasional compliment on the pesto and vinaigrette salad. Creed did his best to show his approval of the fine foods, but found the curdled cheese stuffed inside a pasta shell almost repulsive. He fought the urge to puke and managed to clear one helping. He thought it was a huge accomplishment, until he noticed everyone else going for another helping.

He watched as Mrs. Snyder scooped a few more shells onto her plate. I hope she don’t offer me any, he thought. As if the two were tuned into the same metaphoric brain wave, she glanced at Creed, then spoke the only words he cared not to hear at the moment.

“Have some more feta shells, Creed.” She offered the dish.

Why, He thought. What’s with the curdled buttermilk stuffed in a shell. Why do you haunt me? Then he quickly thought of the situation. How do I get out of this one? He knew if he took one more bite he would heave, just as sure as he sat. “No thanks, it…it was good, though. I’m just completely full.”

Mrs. Snyder laid the dish back on the table, keeping her disappointed eyes on Creed. A strong feeling of guilt rushed over him, erasing his selfishness. He realized she worked hard on the meal, and the courteous thing to do would be to entertain a second helping. He was about to rescind his decline, when the doorbell rang.

Mr. Snyder jumped from his chair letting his napkin fall to the floor. “I’ll get it. It’s for me.” He moved quickly to the door, opened it and casually stepped outside.

From Creeds vantage point, he could see through the dining room window. Mr. Snyder and another man stood on the walkway, talking. The man was short and skinny and appeared to be in his late twenties. He wore a long sleeved, light blue dress shirt tucked into a nice pair of tweed pants; his sleeves rolled to mid forearm. His hair was dark and slicked. Creed watched as the two conversed briefly. He watched Mr. Snyder pull an envelope from his vest pocket and hand it to the man. The man ran his fingers through the contents, and Creed could tell by the color and size, that it was cash, and a lot of it. The man quickly put it in his back pocket, shook Mr. Snyder’s hand and walked back to his car parked directly behind Yeti. Creed watched him drive away and thoughtfully filed the encounter in his memory. Creed held tightly to the thought of Mr. Snyder dying and knew he needed to be receptive to anything unusual.

Mr. Snyder stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

“Who was that, John?” Mrs. Snyder asked.

He joined the family at the table. “That, my dear, was Luke Sholes, a new foreman at Bemis.” He breathed in deeply and on the exhale said, “I needed to give him something for tomorrow.”

Money? He needed to give him money? Creed wasn’t sold on Mr. Snyder’s response, but apparently Mrs. Snyder hadn’t seen the exchange of cash. She smiled and returned to her plate.

Creed gathered his strength, ignored the complaining of his stomach, and spoke. “I think I’ll take some more of the shells after all.”

Mrs. Snyder smiled and scooped a few shells onto Creeds plate. Then, through sweat and tears, he forced down the second helping.

Chapter 9

The evening was cool and clear as the sun set in an auburn sky. Millie and Creed stood on the front porch, arms resting on the railing, looking at the stunning sunset. Creed’s nerves had settled and he was beginning to feel relaxed around her, like she was an old friend. There was a breeze blowing to the east, and Creed watched the cascading branches of the large weeping willow sway in the wind. Late April was beautiful in Robbinsville and evening was a prime time to be outside. It seemed surreal for him to be standing on the front porch of the Snyder mansion talking with the most perfect thing in Robbinsville. He could hardly believe that he was here by invitation, and not to mow a lawn or deliver a newspaper. He was here as a friend.

Mille drew a big breath. “So tell me a little about Creed Linden.”

Creed raised his eyebrows then looked down at his clasped hands. “Well, what do you want to know?”

“Lets see. What’s your favorite movie?”

Creed thought. “This one is easy, The Maltese Falcon. Can’t go wrong with Humphrey Bogart. Besides I’ve only seen two movies, so there’s not much to choose from.”

“Wait, you mean you only seen two movies in your entire life?”

“Yep. Never really had much time for movies until lately.”

Millie turned to Creed, and then walked over to the wicker swing. “We’re gonna change that.”

Creed joined her on the swing. “Sounds good to me.”

“What’s the other one?” Millie asked.

“Bambi. A little sappy for me, though.”

“I was just going to say that was my favorite. I cried like a baby when those hunters blasted Bambi’s mom.”

“I’ll be sure and remember that. I’ll remember you cry during sappy cartoons about talking deer that get shot at.” Creed grinned, and shook his head in a playful taunt.

Mille nudged him back. “That is kinda stupid of me, huh? So, tell me more about you. I know you don’t watch movies and don’t have very good taste in them, anyway.” As she talked, the wind blew her hair across her face prompting her to pull it back, cinching it with a band. “Tell me about your family.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I have the best family any one could ask for. I have a brother named Jeter, a little backward, but more entertaining than a cat without whiskers. My little sister Lizzie is the cutest little bug in the swamp for sure, and my mom, who is the best, most genuine person you ever did meet. Then there is Dandy who you’ve probably heard about. She’s the old lady who got in a heap of trouble for lifting silverware and salt shakers from Crazy O’s Diner.”

“That’s your grandma?”

“Yep. She may be rough on the outside, but she’s as golden as corn on the inside.”

“Creed, she’s a legend. Everyone knows about her. I knew I saw something special in you.”

Creed laughed. “Not me. Nothing special about this kid. Just a boring mountain bred boy.”

“I don’t know. I’m not convinced of that. There’s something different about you.” Millie’s face turned serious. “You’re different Creed.”

Creed looked at Millie. His eyes held hers for a moment. If there ever were a time to tell Millie about his ability, now would be it. He looked away, then back. “There is something.”

Millie smiled softly, as if amused by his up coming confession. “I know what it is.”

“You do?” Creed asked.

“Yep. I think so. You showed it today.”

“I did?” Creed was burning with curiosity.

“Anyone else would have stood and watched Magnet get beat up. Actually, everyone else did. You didn’t. You have a big heart, Creed. You didn’t care that Steve was bigger than you. You risked yourself for Magnet, of all people. Magnet doesn’t like anyone.”

“He likes me,” Creed added.

“I don’t blame him. I see you sitting under that tree all by yourself at lunch, and something inside of my wants to be there with you. I would rather be sitting with you than with anyone else, but I don’t have what you have.”

“What do I have?”

“The courage to do it. That’s just it. You don’t care about being popular or being liked. That, Creed, is different.” Millie continued. “When we first moved here, I wanted so badly to be liked. I wanted to be in with the crowd. It was all I thought about, so much so that I let that need for acceptance dictate how I treated people that were not a part of the crowd. I was mean to people like you.”

Creed frowned with his eyes. “People like me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what I mean, Creed.”

Creed nodded. He knew she meant no harm.

“Well, something changed. I guess I grew up, I don’t know, but I realized that being popular is just plain worthless if you treat others like dirt. But see, you didn’t need to hurt anyone to learn that.” Millie paused and let time pass for her own thoughts.

“Those are kind words and all, but that’s not what I meant.”

Mille studied Creed for a moment, staring curiously.

“There is something else that makes me far different than you realize.”

Millie looked confused. “Don’t tell me you’re a German spy.”

“What?”

“Nothing, never mind. Dumb joke.”

“Whatever. Anyway,” Creed paused, and fought with his thoughts. This was going to be harder than he anticipated. “My granddaddy had this weird thing about him.”

“How nice of him.”

“So did my dad.” Creed paused.

Just then, Mr. Snyder stepped out of the house and onto the porch. He had the paper tucked under his arm and a freshly lit cigar between his teeth. “Millie, about time to have your company leave for the night. You’ve got homework.”

“Yes daddy.” She waited for him to enter the house. He pulled the cigar free and puffed out a cloud, content to stand by the door until Creed was gone.

“Can we have a little privacy?” Mille said in a surprisingly brazen tone. He entered, but didn’t look too happy about it. “We better talk about this later. Daddy can be temperamental. Let me walk you to your truck.”

Creed felt a sense of relief, yet at the same time disappointment. It was a perfect opportunity lost to the very man he was trying to help.

The two of them walked slowly down the walkway. Creed admired the lights along the brick path, and mentioned he had a great time. Millie smiled then rubbed her hand in his hair, roughing it up a bit. “Thanks for coming. Next time we wont have Feta shells.”

Creed stopped. “What? I liked them.”

“You don’t have to pretend, Creed. I saw you about to gag.”

“They were pretty nasty.”

“Guess it’s an acquired taste. Truth be told, I prefer a burger and fries.”
There it was. Mille left a perfect opening for him to make a move. Creed recognized the moment and spoke. “Can I buy you that sometime? At Crazy O’s?”

“Tomorrow night sounds good,” she said without hesitation. “But I’ll need to pick you up.”

“Why? You embarrassed folks might see you in that beauty,” he said motioning to his truck.

“Of course not, I just think it would be best.”

“Fine by me, if you don’t mind driving to Milltown.”

“Don’t mind one bit. Besides, I want to meet Dandy.”
They reached the truck and Creed grabbed hold of the door handle with his right hand and stood for a moment before opening it. Should I shake her hand or something, he thought.

“Be safe going home,” Millie said.

It was then that Creed acted on impulse, an impulse he didn’t know he had. He reached out and grabbed her hand. He quickly gave her a peck on her backhand then let it go. Of all the things he could have done in that moment, he chose to kiss her hand. How dumb was that, he thought. The all too familiar embarrassed feeling came over him again as he climbed into his truck. He looked at Millie through the window. She was grinning from ear to ear. “Thanks Creed. I won’t wash my hand for as long as I live.”

“Better not. Someday my spit will be famous,” Creed said with a wink.

Millie giggled obnoxiously and ran up the walkway toward the house. He sat for a moment savoring the feeling inside. He had never felt this way in his seventeen years of existence. He wondered how long it would last. She was perfect, flawless. She was real. He was painfully imperfect, but for some reason, it didn’t matter. He fired up the truck and headed for home, glowing inside.