“Well,” I said, “let’s see.” Mentally I scanned my new experiences, looking for one that would appeal to Porky. It didn’t take long for me to spot exactly the one. “There’s a new science teacher,” I said. “In fact, most of my teachers are new. Everything’s new, come to think of it. The water fountains are new, and really nice too. They don’t work yet, but I bet they’ll work great once they work at all. And there are two gyms. Two complete gyms. Isn’t that something?”
“Sure is,” said Porky. “What do they serve you for lunch?”
“Oh, the usual stuff,” I said. “But the science teacher, let me tell you about the science teacher.”
I knew that I had, in Miss Rheingold, a topic that Porky was sure to be interested in. However, as soon as I began to frame my first remark about her, I realized that she was a topic beyond my descriptive powers. No, that’s not exactly right. I didn’t know whether she was beyond my descriptive powers or not. She was completely outside my descriptive experience. I had never had occasion to describe any woman before, and Miss Rheingold was a woman who deserved a fine and precise description from someone with practice. I had never even used the vocabulary that would be required. Those were more reticent times, when it was not unusual for a boy of eleven never to have said the word breasts, for example.
“She has blond hair,” I said.
This wasn’t the powerful beginning I had hoped for, but it was a start. It had the virtue of staying on familiar ground, and it caught Porky’s attention; he was at least interested in hearing what came next. It didn’t do her hair justice, though, so I made another attempt.
“It’s really light blond,” I said, “kind of the color of—” I looked around the room for something that might help me out. “Lemonade,” I said. “She has lemonade hair.”
“Lemonade hair,” said Porky.
“That isn’t quite right,” I said. “It’s more like—beer.”
“Beer.”
“Kind of in-between. If I mixed some beer and some lemonade, I think I could get it just right.”
“Shandy,” said Porky.
“Hm?”
“That’s what it’s called. Beer and lemonade. Shandy.”
Another good one: shandy. Shandy, ontology, epistemology, bills of lading, splines.
“I can picture it,” Porky said. “Shandy hair. Very nice. What color eyes?”
“Um, I don’t know. I didn’t notice.”
I brought her face to mind and stared at it, trying to see what color her eyes were. I couldn’t be sure.
“She has a very smooth forehead,” I said.
That had impressed me. It made her seem relaxed, even when she was dishing out science at her most frantic pace.
“It’s very smooth,” I said. “Round. Like a honeydew melon.”
I was surprised to find how apt that was. Her forehead had seemed very like the skin of a honeydew—smooth, cool, pale.
“She has honeydew skin,” I said.
I was beginning to feel a growing confidence in my descriptive talents.
“Honeydew skin,” said Porky. “I like that. But that shandy hair—that was great. Delicious.”
“And then her teeth,” I said, getting up a good head of steam. “Her teeth are like—um—sugar cubes.”
I seemed to be getting pretty good at this.
“The Captain’s Shandy!” said Porky. He slapped his hand on the table. “The Captain’s Shandy!”
“And her legs,” I said, daring, thrilled, embarrassed, “are—”
“It’s going on the menu tomorrow!” said Porky. “Peter, I’ll never regret the day I let you talk me into letting you invest in the business. You’re a fountain of ideas.”
I couldn’t think of a single suitable comparison for Miss Rheingold’s legs, and I have never succeeded since, though my mind returns to the attempt every time I take a swallow of beer or lemonade on a summer’s day or notice shandy on the menu board at a Kap’n Klam Family Restaurant.
[to be continued]
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