Everything I know about women I learned from Granny Wise. Not the plumbing details, those I learned from girl cousins and especially from the State Youth Authority detention center down south. Granny told me important things about women over the years, but most of it was outlined in a discussion we had just before I went to the above detention center. I had made a poor choice of a partner in one of my early forays. I don’t excuse myself, it was wrong, but at the time I pretty much only considered that it was a rare opportunity and she was generally willing. I had no idea cops would be called and the state would intervene and I would be taken away from Mother again. If I’d known, believe me, I would have passed. Anyway, Granny sat me down on the big rock by the creek and we had a talk. "Well, A.B.," she said, "has anybody ever had ‘the talk’ with you?" "Well, we saw a film in P.E." "What did you learn there?" "Girls carry diseases." "Well, that’s certainly part of it, all right. So, tell me what else you know about women." "They can’t keep a secret." "Well, at least you have a broad foundation to start from, they’re diseased wag-tongues. Tell you what, boy, ask me a question about women." Given the chance now, I could formulate a list, but at the time I could really only think of one thing: "Do women get… like men?" "Oh, yeah, boy, there isn’t a dime’s worth of difference between men and women, except for one thing, and, no, it isn’t the equipment, it’s the outcome. Look at your belly." I lifted my shirt and looked at my belly button. Granny laughed, "you should spend more time like that. Anyway, suppose you and a girl just did something. You know the thing I’m talking about. Look at your tummy and wonder if you have a little something growing in there." I looked, but I didn’t get the picture. "You did it with a girl, and she left a little something in there and that something could start growing without your permission or even knowing about it. Now, do you want to do something with her right away again, so she can leave something else in there?" Because we had been talking about diseases, I missed part of the point and figured she meant a leech or something, but even so I got the point. "Hell, no! Whatever she’s got, I don’t want." "Oh, it’s worse than a critter, boy, what she gave you was a new little human. You can’t just take a pill and have it go away, and even if you could, you’re ending the life of a little person. It isn’t a decision that’s easy for most boys to make." The light dawned, "oh, you mean if girls could get us pregnant." "Right, A.B., very good. That’s the only difference between boys and girls, boys go out after and tell their friends and girls look at their tummies wondering if something will grow there." I looked at my belly button again. I looked up at Granny, who was grinning from ear to ear, just short of laughing out loud. I said, "does the wantin’ to ever wear off?" "For a minute, right after, but you mean, over time, hell no, haven’t you ever seen an ugly old man with spittle on his chin, mesmerized by a sweet thing with the blush on her peach?" "No." "You should go to church more often." "What about old women," I asked, embarrassed to look up at her. "Oh, sure," she said, "look at it this way: a woman’s clam is like a car. When it’s new, the transmission’s tight, the front end is responsive, and she keeps it oiled and cleaned and won’t let anyone put anything dirty in it. As the miles go by some of the newness wears off, she’s a little easier to get a ride from. Then, one day a guy leaves his luggage, which she has to tote around for years; she’s a little more careful again. By and by she doesn’t have to worry about luggage, but then no body wants a ride anymore. Eventually, the car gets pretty old, it sits in the garage most of the time, dripping something once in awhile, the gas starts to smell kind of funny, and if you turned the key, she’d be pretty hard to start. Once you got her going, sure, she’d still take you to town. Even if her tires get flat and her rear end gets dry, she hates to think she’ll never run again." I was almost afraid to ask more questions, but who knew when I’d get the chance again? "Well, what do girls want, anyway?" I’d been kind of clumsy and made obvious blunders with the girl from down the road. "At every age, a woman wants the same thing, A.B. She wants what anyone would want, trust, caring, consideration. Look her in the eye when you talk to her, make your word your bond. If you mean the other thing, try kissing her for awhile, and work up on it like a coyote works up on a rabbit, circle around it a bit first, and don’t pounce until you’re sure she isn’t going to get scared and run. If your Greatgrandad Aaron was alive, he could tell you what a woman wants." She got quiet, and for awhile I daydreamed to the murmur of the creek, then she said, "the main thing, A.B., is to remember that bunny hoppin’ is about life and death. You wouldn’t point a shotgun at everyone and everything would you?" "‘Course not." "Well, don’t point your pistol at anyone you don’t want to start a new life with." I nodded. Three weeks later, at the detention center and later in a group home, I discovered there were several targets where you could place your shot that didn’t start a life, thank you taxpayers and law and order freaks. But as I got older, and even now when I’m snuggling with my Honey, I remember the important things Granny told me, and even now I wonder, what do kids do that don’t have a Granny Wise?