"Go! Go! Go, Team Go!" shouted the Cheerleading team, wiggling their pom-poms in the air.
"Go, Mustangs!" we shouted in return.
There is nothing like a cool fall night and the Homecoming football game at your alma mater. The cheerleaders still look fresh faced, the players still run and tackle with the same enthusiasm of youth, but the crowd is the one who changes. We slowly get older and grayer and paunchier, and hopefully a little wiser. Every year since graduation my old buddies from high school gather as we once did for homecoming. Although we're in the stands now instead of taking the field, our spirit is still with Northville High.
Some things change and some remain the same: Don hands off a pint of peppermint schnapps now instead of the pigskin; Bailey still hits on the cheerleaders; and I still wait to get into the game. This year, having gotten to the game too late to find seats in the stands, we end up lining the fence down by the field. SRO doesn't bother us since it brings us closer to the field, the players, and the cheerleaders.
Sometime after halftime, as we call out encouragement to the team, I notice a young blonde woman further down the line a few feet away from me. With long blonde hair and terrific blue eyes, she's wearing a long brown leather coat that comes down to her butt. Despite the chilly weather, her coat is opened to show off how well she fills out her fuzzy blue sweater.
Our eyes meet a few times as we cheer on our team. She smiles for a moment and then her eyes dart away as if looking through the crowd for a more familiar face. As Don passes the schnapps, I can feel the warmth of her gaze and I slowly turn my head and catch the look of those terrific blue eyes. She smiles again and then looks away as one of her friends shouts something in her ear.
The Mustangs begin to take charge of the game, taking the ball the length of the field for a score and getting the lead for the first time. We cheer and jubilantly thrust our fists up into the air. In the crush of the crowd we get nudged and jostled along the fence. Some current seniors push sullenly through the crush of bodies. A few faces look familiar, perhaps younger brothers or sisters of kids I had known a few years before.
Suddenly I look back to see if Blondie is still there and she is, but now just an arm's length away. I chuckle to think that Fate is pushing our little collective together. She looks my way and smiles. I smile and nod toward her. Her gloved hand points toward me, and I'm puzzled. Then I feel the press of Don's hand shoving the schnapps toward me. I take a swig and in a automatic, friendly sort of way, hold it over toward Blondie. She smiles and accepts the bottle gladly, taking a healthy swig of the internal warming fluid. Her eyes pop open at the taste and then gestures in the direction of her friends. I wave agreeable and she passes it on, wiggling her thumb in my direction so her friend knows where it came from. Her friend holds it up as if to toast the team and takes a swig before passing it on to the next one of their group. There are four of them it turns out, two slender brunettes, a short redhead, and Blondie.
As the bottle comes back to me, she leans over and shouts something that I cannot make out. I lean toward her and she repeats herself.
"Thanks! That really hits the spot!"
I pass the nearly empty bottle back to Don who wonders how I could finish it off so quickly. I indicate the young ladies next to me and he nods affirmatively, quickly assessing the situation. He also pats the other side of his jacket to signal that there are reinforcements.
The opposition on the field begins a long drive that consumes our attention, until one of the Mustangs intercepts an errant pass. We jump up at the prospect. I feel a hand on my arm and look over to see Blondie clutching at me. I face her and she practically jumps into my arms with excitement. She and her friends are jumping and cheering and clapping their hands. When the third quarter is over, the crowd quiets down during the timeout and I decide to introduce myself.
"Justin Wilson, Class of '94," I say as I extend my hand out to shake hers.
"Holly Morris, Class of '97," she replies.
"This is Don and Bailey," I say pointing toward my friends, elbowing Don to get his attention. He and Bailey wave hello to the girls.
"This is Heather, Krista, and Paige," she says trying to complete the introductions.
The girls wave at us and Don extracts the fresh pint of schnapps which he generously offers to Holly. We gather in a semi circle and exchange pleasantries. So they would have been freshman during our senior year, I think to myself. Probably too young at the time, but now that we're college age it doesn't seem like much of a difference at all.
Holly gravitates to my side and I feel pulled toward her. All of the looks we exchanged earlier must have had some meaning after all. Her shoulders sort of sway as she stands beside me, her hands thrust down deep into the pockets of her jacket to keep warm. Her jacket is still open all the way, showing off not only the fuzzy blue turtleneck sweater that matches the color of her eyes, but also the lovely curve of her breasts. She is certainly the purest blonde woman I have ever seen. Her skin is clear and pale without a trace of ever having been exposed to the sun, with a creamy golden complexion that has never known a blemish.
She has full, naturally golden blonde hair that hangs well past her shoulders, a golden blonde, the color of young wheat. Even her eyebrows are the same pure blonde color. Her eyes are the clearest blue and have an innocent cast about them, wide and young and eager. Her features are Swedish or German and symmetrical, high rounded cheekbones with full pouty lips that are a delicious natural shade of pink that don't require any lipstick. She has narrow shoulders but nicely rounded breasts and a beautiful heart-shaped butt. Our shoulders rub occasionally as she rocks from side to side. With each touch she gives me a warm smile and looks at me approvingly.
The game begins again and we move back to the fence integrated into a perfect girl-boy-girl arrangement. With Holly on one side and her friend Paige on the other we get back into our cheers and catcalls. From the way Holly and Paige talk, Paige's little brother is one of the running backs. They seem to know a lot about the team. Don passes the pint again and again and by the time it is empty, the Mustangs were running off the field in joyous celebration. We hang around after the game to congratulate the winning team, our team, our beloved Mustangs.
"I really enjoyed watching the game with you," Holly says with her wonderfully warm smile.
"Yeah, it was a lot of fun," I say. "You know, it'd be a shame to let the evening end so soon. Would you and your friends like to go someplace to celebrate?"
"Paige has to hang around to give her brother a ride home," she says. "But I don't have any plans."
"Why don't you see if your friends would like to go to the Starting Gate, or Poole's to warm up?"
Paige and Krista decide to wait around and Bailey looks forlorn.
"Silly, you can ride with us," says Krista, slipping her arm inside Bailey's.
Holly quickly slips out of her jacket and snuggles up to me, her firm young breasts pressing against my arm.
We share a couple pitchers of beer at the Starting Gate. Being Saturday night, they have entertainment, a little combo playing hits. After the second pitcher, Holly and I venture out on the tiny cramped dance floor. It is a slow song and we hold each other closely in that "young lovers, new lovers" clench similar to what's seen at high schools and junior highs all over. She rests her cheek on my chest, her arms looped around my waist. I rest my hand on her shoulders, holding her close to me. Her firm breasts buried themselves against my chest.
