Betty and Me
Va-va-voom! Betty’s bathing suit is striped pink and white or is it the jaunt of her hip that blasts Archie stiff- limbed into the air, panting? No dependable ponytail and “Who’s the new girl on the beach?” The sultry mane, the knowing cleft, a hint of yes, and Jughead’s hotdog shoots from the bun. Even Reggie wheels around because Boing! Something about her gets them sprung. So weird, the allure, I had to double baggy her, sealing in a hormonal stampede, all the churn and dust, and with extra scotch tape, clouds of boy lust. But then I’d scratch open and climb past stories in my favorite tree, where I fingered the pages until an unpictured longing ravished me.