Carl the Wishful Thinker

Carl stared at the rock.

If life wasn't gonna help him... black magic will.

He reached.

"Carl?"

He glanced up.

"Carl, are you down there?"

Mom... what does she need right now?

Then, with a slap to the forehead, he remembered he was supposed to run down to the store today. For the little bi-monthly mothers' gathering his own would be hosting, later that evening. Serious business and all.

Carl quickly brushed the accouterments off the table; the vinegar bottle, owl feathers, arrowheads. Delicately he shoved the rock, the same one he'd propped his gaze so intently on before, into his pocket. "Coming!" he stuffed the rest into a bag and kicked it under the couch.

As the crumb of earth made contact with his skin through a small slit in the fabric, the teen barely noticed the faint emission of warmth it gave off. Briskly, he clambered up the steps to the upper part of the house. He just wanted to avoid a heated scolding. Enough chores colored his backlog.

The rock would have to wait, for now.

"Carl Antony Robinson." Whirling back caused her shapely figure to straighten. Allison Robinson, the hardy, warm, and smoothly toned mother of the year, stood skeptically before her offspring, arms folded, a vacuum behind her. "Were you down there this whole time?"

"What did you want, Mom?" dodged Carl.

With narrowed eyes, she noted, "That doesn't answer the question."

Carl mumbled something.

"What was that?"

"I was just trying to fix the old TV," was the story he chose to settle on. "You know. It was flickering a bit, and..."

"That dusty thing?" A hint of concern underlay her voice. Carl expelled an internal sigh, automatically slipping into lamentations.

I wish she would just drop it already...

Suddenly, the brunette loosened with a spurt of a laugh, skepticism never leaving her expression as she turned around. "Whatever you say. In that case, MacGyver," she continued while emptying the vacuum's dust fill, "do you think you can hop to the store really quick? I left the the shopping list in a text."

Not that better an alternative, unfortunately. But it wasn't like he had much of a choice. "Alright Mom."

After putting on his shoes, he stood up, eyes locked onto his mother's back. Her sleek, shoulder-length dark brown hair shimmered under the soft light spraying through the window of the hall as she tried to put the vacuum back together, her fit legs nicely outlined against her beige pants. Being the owner of a local flower shop and long-standing committee member of an event organizing company, it was impressive how well she managed to keep herself in shape. That was always her, though. Making the most out of the time, feet firmly planted on the ground. And very pretty.

It made him wonder how a younger her would look like in the flesh. Something akin to the sister he never had. He always felt a little insecure about his single child status. The schoolyard hipsters used to rag on his case all the way to the tetherball court.

Carl snapped out of his thoughts. No matter what could've been, one thing he was certain of not wanting to see was a mother's bad side. Pulling the door open, he grabbed the car keys and hobbled out to his mom's aging Nissan Maxima.

"Hey there, Carl!"

The source of the voice came from a familiar face, striking smile at the ready. Hailey Milton, a friend of his mom's, was walking up the path in a fetching white sundress and a sun hat, her straight blond hair elegantly framing the side of her face from below. Her feet were adorned in brown-colored sandals fit for a Florentine luncheon.

"Oh, hey Hailey." Carl his eyes upward. The teen had to admit to having a minor thing for the blonde woman. She was in her late 20's, and worked with his mom organizing for events, establishing a solid work relationship that evolved into a much less formal friendship. She'd often swing by to help with preparations, or just hang out. Carl would regularly exchange a few words in concurrence, and then watch her from afar. Even today, to her, he was probably still that same middle school kid from all those years ago.

"Is your mom in?" she adjusted the bag strapped over her shoulder.

"Yeah, she's cleaning up as we speak."

"Ah." She stopped in front of Carl. "Are you trying to make a break for it?"

Carl rose his arms. "You caught me."

The two laughed. A bird fluttered past.

"But really, yeah, I'm just gonna go get some stuff from the store. I'll be back before it starts," he assured, "or else."

"I see." Hailey looked around, and as she did so, Carl couldn't help but sneak a glance at her lithe legs below her teasing, just below knee-length dress.

Gee... I wish that sundress was just a little higher. A few inches above the knee at least...

Hailey's voice returned, voicing an inquiry about their newly installed porch lamp, when Carl realized the time, and its steady passage of ticks.

"Crap," Carl coughed, tearing his eyes from her body as her words skated by his ears. "I, uh, gotta go." He whisked past the young woman.

"Oh... alright then!" Hailey retracted and turned to watch him leave. "See you when you get back."

The car-door closed with a creak. As he started the mid-2000s sedan, Carl looked up to see Hailey being welcomed inside with a hug from his mom. His eyes, meanwhile, couldn't help but note how her sundress pulled up her upper back legs as a result, showcasing her firm flesh. He gulped slightly. Firm, lean thighs were built onto her, and surprisingly, a fair amount was being shown. Both pupils curtly studied the flowing, upper-thigh precluding hem of Hailey's dress and, curiously, he questioned just how high it actually went -- a few increments more revealing than he had established when it was right before him. Which made sense; the angle complimenting where he stood was prone to presenting the dress as appearing more covered than it actually was, likely. Maybe he had misjudged her; perhaps she wasn't shy about giving in to a lil' more skin. Who knew? No complaints were heard from row six! Which is where Carl would be, that is, in such a hypothetical situation, solely for the purposes of that metaphor!

Finally, the two women briskly slid behind the faded-green door. Carl blinked, and re-calibrated. Briefly, he mentally re-played the set of images, suddenly struck by the ever faint, coinciding notion...

Only for him to subsequently shake his head as he shifted the car to reverse and began softly coaching himself to not scrimp on the amount of stuff to carry back to the car later. Had to get his head screwed straight a good lead ahead sometimes. Because for young, easily distracted, woefully perversion-tainted fellows like, er... other... people, taming irresponsible habits may as well have warranted its own sport in the Olympics.