Deer Run Trail, By David R LewisNodaway Trail, by David R LewisOn the Calico Trail, by David R LewisOn the Payback Trail, by David R LewisOn the Ogallala Trail, by David R LewisOn the Killdeer Trail, by David R LewisOn the Cutthroat Trail, by David R LewisGlory Trail, by David R LewisEndless Journey Toward an Unknown Destination, by David R LewisIncidents Among the Savages, by David R LewisFear of the Father:  Call Me Crockett, by David R Lewis

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Island Girl

Don Young was a ladies man.  He had been a ladies man for as long as I’d known him – since about third grade.  He was not a cad, not a heartbreaker, he did not kiss and tell.  He simply loved women and they loved him back.  Don was a year older than I, and had such alarming power with the opposite gender as to leave the rest of us standing in slack-jawed awe.  In fourth grade, a lifted eyebrow from Don caused the love of my life, Cindy Montero, to desert my side without a rearward glance, and then flee to his in spite of the cherry-centered tootsie roll pop I’d just presented to her.  I realized at that very moment that I would never be able to compete with him, but I couldn’t even be angry much less bitter about it.  I liked him too much.  Everybody did.

4 comments to Island Girl

  • Marylou

    I think your friend was a jerk! After all the trouble you went to, everything all those other people did, and declaring his “undying” love to that poor girl, he went home and fell asleep? What a tool!

  • Nightingale

    I agree, Marylou. He certainly wasn’t much of a man to treat her (and David, of course) like that. I don’t know how he could have had such a wonderful relationship with so many women and been that much of an ass—-.

  • Arlene

    I’m with you, ladies. That poor girl waiting for him to arrive, and he doesn’t even bother to show up? Probably too many targets of opportunity in home waters to bother to keep a promise. It’s men like him that give the few good ones out there such a bad name.

  • David

    All right, all right. Lighten up, girls. Here’s the rest of the story. Four or five years after the event described in this story, and after Don had graduated from college and was making a pile of money for a large publishing/educational company in the new and growing field of computer programming, he contacted me for the first time in over two years and invited me to come to his new place for a visit. Laura, my second, current, and last spouse and I loaded up in a VW Beetle and journeyed to the wilds of Michigan a little outside of Kalamazoo to Don’s lovely home and outstanding 160 acres of beautiful woods, ponds, and streams. Our reunion was glorious and he introduced us to his new bride of six months. She was a delightful young woman he’d met some years before when she was going to school and working as a waitress on Mackinack (sp?) Island. If I recall correctly, her name was Sally.

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