Tylor Taylor’s mind was a trillion miles away. He sat in Mr. Gambrell’s algebra class admiring the girl in the desk in front of him. She had the qualities that he admired in a girl.
Her long, blonde hair fell loosely in soft ringlets to her shoulders, and her entire demeanor gave off the vibes of high class. Deep down inside, his gut feeling told him she was way out of his league.
Food wise, she could be expensive caviar whereas he could be compared to cabbage and cornbread. Her family was from old money, and Tylor’s family had no money, living paycheck to paycheck.
But, the facts of life didn’t stop him dreaming that one day he would hold Betty Sue Loudermilk in his arms and tell her he had always loved her from the first grade onward to this very moment.
Tylor sensed that he didn’t have a chance with Betty Sue. She was a Swainsboro Tiger cheerleader and a homecoming representative from the 10th grade, and he was only known as a bag boy at Harvey’s supermarket.
He wondered why he could dream so big, with a girl that he had zero chance of dating. Maybe he was like the sleek greyhound who tried to catch the mechanical rabbit that always stayed a step ahead of him in a race that couldn’t be won. He chuckled to himself, realizing in the pit of his stomach that guys love the thrill of the chase, never wanting to catch the mechanical rabbit because the chase would be on for another day.
Betty Sue Loudermilk never acknowledged that Tylor Taylor existed until he drove through Sam’s Restaurant in a cherry red ’57 Chevy with black leather seats and his radio blasting Elvis Presley songs such as Blue Suede Shoes and Don’t Be Cruelly, with Hound Dog thrown in.
His job at Harvey’s Supermarket had allowed him to save up enough money to purchase this classic Chevy car of a jewel. Every time he would hop into his souped up Chevy, his prized bulldog, Slick, would join him on the passenger side. It was an odd pairing, but the teenaged girls thought it was “Oh, so cool!”
The following Monday while standing in line at recess, Betty Sue Loudermilk made her move. “Roy, I haven’t decided as of yet who will take me to the Jr. Sr. dance, would you be interested?”
Roy didn’t answer right away because he wanted Betty Sue to sweat for a moment because he had endured her rejection right up until this very moment. There was total silence. Now, the ball was in his corner.
It had never happened in all the greyhound races in the state of Florida. The greyhound had finally caught the mechanical rabbit, and it felt good.
