naked chics

when i was a kid i knew a guy named chic. chic cicchini. (sounds like "chic chic-kini".) of course he was over-the-top hot. a stripper. but i found that out after the crush settled hot in my veins. i was in fifth grade i think. he coached soccer at my school. we were on the field together pretty often. i never made a move to break the crush. the power of the crush lies in distance and anonymity. even then i knew that. fantasy remains fantasy only when it stays cloudy, muddy, luscious, off-limits. even then i knew that.

i haven't seen the guy in a long time. not his half-a-mile-wide too-heavily muscled calves. not his pompadoo hair. not his cartoon chisel face. fading-to-amber eyes. sprickley almost beard. not one whisp of his husk and rasp voice. years ago i heard he was coaching wrestling at one of the local high schools. caught between appalled and piqued, nearly imagining him in the stretch-awful-taut wrastlin suit. best not to imagine. even then i knew that.

guy had a younger brother. poor younger brother. brent. decent enough name. but a shadow just the same. must be tough for a young wanna-be-stud to get out from under. poor younger brother. didn't have ambition to help that i know of. didn't have intellect oozing out of his ears either from what i recall. poor younger brother. hope he got over it the way i did. just one day you realize the name chic...it's well...more a badge, a magnet, a spotlight than a name. and the talisman, naked or not, lost its power.