“No-no-no-no-no—body understan-an-ands——
“Me-me-me-me!
“ ’Ceptin for my chick, she like me live--
“Boy!
“She don’t dig Vietnam, nor all that jive—-
“Boy!
“She say ‘Make love, not war’; that how we strive-
“Boy!
“Better bed than dead’: how we contrive-—-
“Boy!
“So-so-so-so-so-so-—
“My baby understan-an-an-an-an-an-ands-
“Me!
“Yes-yes-yes-yes-yes-yes—
“At last somebody understan-an-ands—
“Me-ee-ee-ee-ee-—ee—eeo'w!”
It was enough to turn a “dove” like me into a “hawk.” I took my fingers out of my ears just in time to hear Patricia speak.
“Leonard, that’s the most touching melody I ever heard,” she said. “Honestly, I’m all choked up!”
So was I, but with me it was the result of a rising gorge.
“And the lyric!” Patricia continued. “It really says it. You have a real talent, Leonard.”
I shuddered for the future of show biz.
“Then you don’t think it’s too Dylan-y?” Leonard wanted to know.
“Not at all. It’s fresh. In a way, it sort of reminds me of ‘The Fugs’.”
“Then you think it has cool?”
“Has it ever!”
“Thanks, Pat. I was afraid it might be just a little Camp.”
“Camp!” She sneered the word. “You really low-rate yourself, Leonard. That song speaks for today. Camp’s strictly from day-before-yesterday.”
“Gee, Batman’s still with it, Pat. That’s Camp.”
“Yeah, but it’s also jump. That’s why it’s in. And that’s why your song’s an in-thing-sing. It’s leap!”
“You really think so? You’re not putting me on?”
“No, Leonard. It’s hop! It’s almost— Yes, it is! It’s vault!”
“I don’t know, I thought the second verse might be just a little bit on the plunge side. That bugged me.”
“That’s your inferiority complex talking, Leonard. It’s not even high-dive, let alone gainer. I tell you, it’s like really zoom!”
“Zoom?” Leonard sounded awed. “No kidding?”
“I wouldn’t skid you. It really bounces it right in the faces of the leadfoots. It pulls the springs right out from under ’em. And what really gets me is it’s so tender the pogo-sticks ’ll bound right out of their kangaroo-jeans. You’ve just got to play it at the next frog-jump.”
“Okay. I’m gambol."
These strange sounds were having a little trouble penetrating my varicose ears, but I kept listening anyway. Like they say, the world is for the young, communication is the problem, and you have to make the effort. That is, you have to make it if you don’t want to be labeled a “crawl.”
“How long did it take you to bounce it?” Patricia was asking.
“About three flips of the sand-jar. I ball-pointed it last night. I was just yodelin’ up the arrangement when my ancestors came in from some pit-party they were at. You should have heard the Papa-poke. Crawled all over the walls when he heard the jump-words. All that plaintive ooze about the fogey-neighbors an’ how I’d offend their creep-spirit.”
“I can imagine. All that ‘shape-up—or-ship-out’ grovel. My sister drips it on me all the time.”
“How can they be so trudge?” Leonard sighed.
“It’s ’cause they're tomb-age.”
“That’s no excuse. I’m never gonna pace like that. I’ll jump ’til the day I bounce off the ball.”
“Me too. That conformity squeeze isn’t for me. I’ll never dribble like that!” Patricia vowed.
“Hey,” Leonard noticed, “that a new lipstick? It’s real hurdle.”
“Isn’t it the living hop? All the girls are wearing it.”
“Yeah. You know, What you were saying about conformity—you got it up pat. It really cuts my tendons how the huffers want we should all crawl alike and think alike and do everything the same. You ever ear-hop them? They even sound exactly the same when that grovel comes out of their craws.”
“Yeah. It’s like a different language."
“I’d rather sink than sound like that,” Leonard said earnestly. “I don’t know how they ever potsy each other.”
“I guess when you’re a crawl, you talk like a crawl and you potsy the other crawls, that’s all.”
“And how about the trudgy way they dress? Isn’t that the living hop?”
“And how! All the button-down Papa-pokes and the slow-sack Mama-pokes. All looking the same. Poke-styles by General Motors, all oozing off the same assembly line. Conformity!”
“Yeah! Conformity!” Leonard agreed. “Hey, Pat, speaking of jump-suits,” he added, “you should see the leap toga-togs I raised the other day, Me and Hal and Grumble and Archie all bought the same spurt-jackets. Purple with a green check. We’re gonna all wear ’em to school on the same day an ’ watch the creep-teach hobble the ceiling. That’ll show ’em they can’t make us conform.”
“It’s the only way,” Pat agreed earnestly. “Non-conformity isn’t enough by itself. It has to be organized nonconformity. All us real jump kids getting together and being non-conformist at the same time in the same way. That’s the only way not to conform.”
“That’s right. We’ve all got to not conform the same. We’ve got to get organized! Leapers of the world, unite!”
“Exactly! You’ve got nothing to lose but your stemwinders.”
“Gee, Pat, it’s real vault how we hop the same way about everything. Makes me feel like we got a real jump rapport.”
“Flip off.” Patricia sounded coy. “I’ve ham-d that countdown before. That’s squeaky hop. You don’t mean it.”
“Sure I do. I’ve never been more high-jump in my life.”
There was silence for a long moment. “Oh, Leonard,” Patricia finally said breathlessly, “when you pucker me that way I just go all hoppity-hop inside.”
“I’m hop. You really ricochet me too, baby.” Leonard stretched. “Hey, you know, this is a real jump trampoline you got here. It’s like real vault. Romantic, too.”
“Mmm. It’s a cozy bounce. Come on, I’ll show you the inside.”
I huddled back in the shadows as they entered the enclosed area beneath me. I could see them clearly now as Leonard leered at Patricia like an octopus and enveloped her in his eight adolescent arms. She responded like maybe eight wasn’t enough.
“Pucker me again, Leonard.”
Leonard obliged.
“Oh,” she sighed when the kiss was over. “This isn’t vault. You’re getting all jumped up.”
“Throbby—bounce!” he murmured.
“One-two-three-O’Lairy!” she sighed.
“I’m jump all over!” he groaned.
“Vault-vault-vault!” she panted.
“Hop-hop, baby. Hop-hop!” he groaned.
“Oh, Leonard, do you think we should? I’m afraid I’ll get puff.”
“Don’t you take the prance-pills?”
“My sister wouldn’t get them for me. You know how trudge she is.”
“It’s okay, bunny-frog. Don’t worry. I’m a jump-scout. All prepared.”
“Leonard, this is the first time I ever -”
I leaned over for a better view. Okay, so I’m a voyeur. Nobody’s perfect. And how do you think I got to be the man from O.R.G.Y., anyway?
Patricia was stretched out on the floor of the treehouse. Leonard had pushed her sweater up over her shoulders. Her young breasts pointed up at me like two scarlet-beaked doves eager to be fed. Leonard was fumbling at her hips with the buttons of her shorts. His jeans were already down around his ankles. His adolescent lust was a murderous spear catching the moonlight. I revised my opinion as to his lack of maturity. Intellectually I might have been right, but physically he was a grown man-and-a-half.