Angels in the Making
“Charles Townsend Detective Agency. This is Kris speaking,” never failed to start a string of giggles going between my best friend and me. Bon Jovi played softly in the background exclaiming he was shot through the heart and we were to blame as we talked on bananas and scribbled love notes to non-existent boys as Kris Munroe and Kelly Garrett. Angels were our names, solving crimes was our game. We didn’t need Sabrina to do it either. We were the best detectives that ever lived, no man would dare to kidnap us, and the neighborhood, mostly notably the gully that ran out from my backyard to a swatch of woods where we had a secret hideout under a tree, was our playground.
Somewhere in the middle of the gully, we would cease to be Kris and Kelly, and become Kris and Lydia, no longer detectives, just regular women with regular jobs that liked to scale rocks and crags and hang from trees, imaginary broken bones never slowing us down. We were adventurers even Mother Nature herself couldn’t slow down. And it always ended with Lydia declaring herself out of her deep undercover role, and Kris and Kelly solving the crime and locking the bad guys up under the tree. Kris and Kelly would then make their way over to Kelly’s house where her mother would have plenty of freshly baked snacks to soothe our inner bears and cool liquid to calm our burning tongues.
More often than not, rewards were always forthcoming after a hard day of crime solving. The music would turn up loud, hair would start flying around the room, and butts, hips, and boobs would bounce from one wall to the next, or we would be on her bed, sifting through her mother’s nursing textbooks, giggling at the bold and brazen naked pictures of the male anatomy contained within.
As we got older, the rewards were replaced with different things. We’d still devour whatever unworldly delicious snacks her mother had made, but we’d sneak to the basement for hushed single shots of Ouzo, the strong Greek liquor her very Greek parents kept on hand instead of ogling the male anatomy. There was always something that we could do to reward ourselves at her house, even if it were something as simple as a hug from her father that was often accompanied by a compliment of some kind or another.
The sun would set leaving a blazing trail of pinks and purples behind it, remembering its place when it rose again in the morning. Giggles could again be heard emanating from behind the closed doors of Kelly/Lydia Garrett’s house in the neighborhood where I grew up.
This week’s prompt was: This week, we want you to think about tv show from your past. Maybe you watched it, maybe you didn’t and it was just something that everyone else talked about. 600 words or less.