In August the wind stops. The lake sits still, barely rolling.
“How long are you staying?” she asked.
“Just a week. I found a kid to do my route, but just for a week.”
She drags her toes through the water. Her whole body is tanned, even the tops of her feet.
Most of the kids have already left, summer’s done for them. Back to the city, back to school.
“What do you wanna do?” she asks.
“We could swim, take out the boat.”
“There’s no point in fishing, you can’t catch anything, not in weather like this,” she says.
She’s right. It’s hot, there’s no wind, no clouds either, but the sky is white, hazy white. The water is warm, too, in places. My feet drag through it. I stand up, the dock creaks. She stands up too, then, and we start to walk. She’s different this year. She’s two grades older than me. Her butt shifts with her stride, and her swim top is full, full to the hilt.
I’m just following her, walking along, talking about who was up and who left, who’s coming back. It’s already quiet along the lake, most places already closed up, maybe for the year.
“Some of the public schools have already gone back,” she says.
At her place she swings left. Her Grandma is sleeping on the front porch. We walk to the back door. She opens the door slowly and holds it. She nods me to enter. I walk in and she lets the door close slowly, quietly. She slows the spring on the screen door so it doesn’t slap hard. The stairs are right there, narrow and painted blue. It’s the first time I’m in her place. I follow her up the stairs. We sit on the bed. She stares at me, waiting? I stare back at her. Not sure. She puts her hand on my shoulder and we’re kissing. With her hand behind my head I lean into her breasts, kissing the soft suntanned breasts bared above the swim top. I remember there are no clouds in the sky, but it is white, hazy white. We kiss again, this time with our mouths open. First taste of a girl’s mouth. Lovely, soft tongue turning, eyes closed. I open my eyes and touch her arms, so soft and tanned. Her eyes are still closed, her head back. I move my mouth to her breasts again. Is this right? Is this what she wants?
Her Grandma, yells up the stairs, “Who’s here?”
“Just us Grandma, we’re coming down, now.”
The last three days of my vacation pass. I see her in her shorts and swim top, but she avoids me. Her Grandma always has her eyes on me as I pass.
On Monday morning we return to the city. The city is still, quiet, just waking up. It looks new, different, after a week away. The smell of cut wet grass in the air. The morning air is cool and humid now, trending to September. The sky is clear, still waiting for the sun to rise. Today football practice starts. There is yet no wind. I do my route. I think about it, about her, sometimes. It was strange, what was forbidden was so easy, so hard to believe. Later, when I tell my brother, a year older than her, he’s angry. “You?” is all he says.
“Yeah, me.“
We run in place, then drop to the whistle, full layout and then up again, over and over. In the dust of August, full pads. Finally the end of practice. Just 440’s now, how many? 6 today. 6 440’s. 6. Effing 6.
We take an old school bus to the first game. After the game I have to remove my pads, I’m so hot. I’m soaked and I stink. We won the Sun Bowl. My pads stink, the sweet stink of rubber and old cloth soaked in sweat. I have to get out of my shirt. I’m so hot. I wring it out. She’s stares at me, one of the cheerleaders who share the bus. I don’t care. I’m so hot. We finally move, and there’s air in the bus, the windows all open. She smiles. I relax and close my eyes, my head shifts to the girl at the lake. I wonder what she’s doing now? At a game, too, cheering? Kissing some other boy? Later, after showers and laughing, I walk home and the rain starts, finally. September rain.
It rains every day for weeks. The dust is gone. It’s mud now, deep, black mud. There are long river deltas of black mud in the showers after practice, every day. We take another bus trip to the fourth game. After, I’m soaked, muddy and chilled. I sit in the mud in my seat, the windows shut. She doesn’t look at me. We lost the Mud Bowl. I’m freezing.
The mud dries out. It’s not brisk anymore, it’s cold. Some of the water in the old footprints is frozen, crystalline. I see my breath between plays. We are all breathing heavy, wet clouds. The game is over. The season is over. We win the Ice Bowl. The bus ride back is loud and fun. The cheerleader smiles at me again. I put my hand out and she moves into the seat next to mine. We talk and laugh. She’s going to miss it, the games, the cheer practices, so much fun. I will miss it too, I lie, but maybe that’s the truth. I’ll miss the bus rides and sitting next to her, like now. Maybe I’ll sit next to her one day, with her Grandma downstairs sleeping, and she’ll kiss me and hold me to her breast. Yeah, me.
I enjoyed this, the pace, matching the boy's changing and growing with the pace of the world turning.