Personalized Stories for Adults

(Originally appeared on The Freedonian, April 27 2000)

We wish to congratulate you, ANTHONY MITCHELL, on your recent purchase of PERSONALIZED STORIES FOR ADULTS. Enclosed is Chapter 1. The rest of the chapters will be sent upon receipt of the appropriately filled-in forms (typewritten please!) and the corresponding monthly installments (checks made payable to YOUR-NAME-HERE ENTERPRISES). Thank you for your interest in our product. Now sit back, relax and enjoy! This is your personalized story!

The Personalized Story of How Anthony Mitchell,
Written with the Help of Anthony Mitchell,
Lost His Virginity on the Football Field
Of Wendel High School, Poolesville, Maryland,
On the Night of October 21, 1986,
Anthony’s Sixteenth Birthday

Chapter 1

Anthony Mitchell was fifteen years old for most of the year 1986. He attended Wendel High School in the small town of Poolesville, Maryland. He stood exactly five feet, nine inches. He weighed one hundred and forty-five pounds, average weight for such a height. He lived with his parents and his two older sisters, Leslie and Cindy. The names of his parents were Richard and Jennifer—their nicknames, Richie and Jenny.

Anthony Mitchell had two best friends, Stork and Tony “Bop”—their real names were Jimmy Russell and Tony Zoelch. Anthony would often hang out with his two friends at the Ice Cream Cup, located between Fifth and Sixth streets, next to the giant water tower with the following declaration written across it: GO BOBCATS! The water tower at this time was painted green.

Anthony Mitchell was somewhat shy, but he had many friends. Anthony had little trouble meeting and impressing girls. He liked quite a few young women, but he especially liked one young woman in particular. Her name was Marie Curtis.

“I enjoy Marie’s company very much,” Anthony said to his friend Stork one afternoon, as the two were riding their bikes back from Stu’s Pizza Place.

“Marie Curtis?” Stork asked as they passed a monument dedicated to the founder of Poolesville: Joseph Poole, Sr., born 1767, died 1821.

“Yes,” said Anthony, pedaling his silver ’81 Schwinn three-speed bicycle. “Marie Curtis, my classmate since the third grade. She is in my science and math classes.”

Stork, now waving to the town’s mayor, Christopher Ray, 54, looked over to his friend and said: “Oh, Marie Curtis. She’s a member of the marching band and the honor society. She’s also a member of the Show Stoppers. She is very pretty and has auburn hair, tied just so.”

Anthony smiled and said: “Exactly. So let me tell you what I’m going to do. She will one day be my best girl. And on the night of October 21, 1986, I will lose my virginity to Marie Curtis on the football field of Wendel High.”

Stork swerved his bike over to the side of the road and quickly braked to a halt. “I . . . I can’t believe what I just heard! You mean to tell me that you’re going to lose your virginity to Marie Curtis?”

“Yes,” answered Anthony, braking to a stop as well. “And I will lose my virginity exactly one month from tonight, on the evening of my sixteenth birthday. I think that would be a fitting way to celebrate. Don’t you agree?”

“Absolutely!” exclaimed Stork, as both he and Anthony began to pedal again. “But how will you bring this about?”

“No need to fear,” answered Anthony. “I have everything under my control. Nothing can go wrong. And nothing will go wrong.”

Stork grinned. “Here’s a hypothetical situation that I’m curious about: Let’s just say that in two decades, in the year 2006, after you become the owner of your own small, unsuccessful business, with a recently divorced third wife named Helen, and two kids, Eric and Robby, who will drop out of the University of Maryland for no particular reason, and a second mortgage that you will be forced to take out after investing in a Nigerian oil company that probably never existed to begin with, and a new girlfriend whom you will meet on the Internet and instantly regret meeting because she will have a penchant for drinking herself to sleep with a lot of small boxes of wine bought at the Wal-Mart—”

“Say no more,” interjected Anthony. “Say no more, friend. Everything will go as planned. And that I can assure you.”

Stork, now passing the Lucky Horseshoe Used Car Dealership at 368 Straw Road, looked over to his friend and asked: “Anthony, do you really think that things will go as planned?”

“Yes,” Anthony replied. “But only if Marie’s mother, Rebecca Curtis, 41, does not declare the following: ‘I do not want my only daughter Marie Curtis to date a young man who has no clear direction in his life. I do not want my daughter to date a young man who in 1987 will quit high school, join the Army in 1988, serve as a cook for three years, and then work until April 1999 selling water beds. A man who will end up owning a convenience store in a half-forgotten strip-mall that mostly caters to alcoholics, drug addicts, and teenagers looking for an easy, convenient place to purchase gag condoms in bulk. No, I definitely do not want my only daughter Marie Curtis to date that young man Anthony Mitchell.'”

Anthony and Stork continued to ride their bikes through the narrow, oak-lined streets of Poolesville toward the western part of town, where they both lived. Anthony, now passing his favorite neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Henry Blum, suddenly had the most intense feeling that his life was only going to get better.

“Life is only going to get better,” Anthony said aloud.

“Yes, life is only going to get better,” Stork agreed cheerfully, “minus the fact that I’ll soon grow very sick and eventually die from what the Poolesville Journal will report to be a well-differentiated astrocytoma brain tumor.” (4.11.88, Sec. B, page 2.)

“See you when I’m a man,” declared Anthony, beaming. “When I’m a man!”

Anthony pedaled his bike up Andover Road and took a left onto Robinson Street. After one block, he turned right onto Slade Boulevard and then left onto Hidden Farms Court. He rode up the driveway of his house, 10321 Hidden Farms Court, and parked his bike next to his father’s blue or brown 1967 or 1968 Chevy Corvette. Anthony opened the front door of the house and, after dropping both of his books onto the living room’s mahogany coffee table, ran into his bedroom and picked up his telephone’s white handset. He dialed the number of Marie Curtis.

After one ring, Marie answered excitedly: “Hello?”

“This is Anthony Curtis,” Anthony said. “How are you doing?”

Marie laughed very hard. “I am doing just fine, Anthony!”

“Great!” exclaimed Anthony. “May I ask you some questions?”

“Sure,” replied Marie. “Go ahead!”

“May I become your boyfriend?” asked Anthony.

“Of course,” responded Marie.

“One more thing,” said Anthony. “Would you like to make love on the football field of Wendel High School on the evening of October 21, 1986? The night of my sixteenth birthday?”

“Yes,” responded Marie. “And I will wear the pink dress that you will have your mother sew for me.”

“The same dress that I will never give you,” said Anthony.

“Yes,” said Marie. “The same dress that you will carefully hide under your bed and only remove to fondly stroke whenever your new alcoholic girlfriend leaves you alone on the Wednesday nights that she plays canasta and talks badly about you with her lady friends.”

“Great,” declared Anthony. “We shall make a nice-looking couple!”

“Yes,” answered Marie. “Even though in twenty years I will be hard-pressed to remember your name when you call to ask for personal information regarding this project.”

“Beautiful,” said Anthony.

“You will drop out of school early and never ask me to be your best girl,” said Marie. “You will regret it for some twenty-odd years.”

“Wonderful,” said Anthony.

“And when you do eventually call me on the night of January 12, 2006, to tell me stories about how you always wanted to lose your virginity to me on the high school football field, it will be the first that I’m hearing about it,” said Marie. “And it’ll frighten me.”

“Super,” said Anthony.

“Frighten me terribly,” said Marie. “And I may just have to inform the police.”

“Excellent,” said Anthony.

“Not to mention,” said Marie, “my future husband, Ward Connor, who will drive over to your workplace on the morning of February 13, 2006, to smack you upside your head to teach you a lesson that you will hopefully never forget.”

“Great!” retorted Anthony. “See you soon!”

“Yes,” said Marie. “See you soon.”

Anthony hung up the phone and peeked out his bedroom window. He saw that the lights on the football field of Wendel High were turned on for the night game against Wooten High. And he noticed that the fans were already starting to assemble for the match that would ultimately end with a score of 17 to 14 in favor of the visiting team.

Anthony closed the curtains and undressed for sleep.

End of Chapter 1