Treehouse
There was a raft in the catfish pond and one time Bryan kissed her under it. Both of them holding onto the ropes the 55 gallon drums were tied to the old deck wood with. Hanging with their legs dangling into the cold deep water. The sunlight out past the shadow of the raft made rays in the silt that seemed to go down forever, even though it was maybe 8 feet deep. You could almost feel the slimy brown bullheads squirming in the mud. They had a stinger on their side fins that felt like frozen metal going into you. The plastic barrels making noises on the wood like bongo drums.
They were whispering. The sound carried over the water. He made her laugh and she looked up nervous at his fingers on the white nylon ropes. Water spiders big as a coffee can lid lived on top of those barrels. Came down at night to stalk the elegant silver bugs that skated on the water. And he kind of wrestled his legs around her waist in her white one piece bathing suit. Wrapped his ankles around her and pulled her in while she was laughing and sucked on her bottom lip a little. And she stuck out her tongue like she and Tanya practiced on their fists. He’d eaten a grape Otter Pop and his mouth tasted like it. And when they pulled apart his tongue still had a little bit of that color. Someone did a cannonball off the raft and the corner dipped down to where it almost hit her head and they swam out separately and didn’t talk about it. Thinking about it made her arm hairs stand up after.
When school started again they started talking. He’d call her and she’d be near the phone so her mom wouldn’t get it. Take the band aid color receiver on its long curly cord into her room. Sit against the door. Talk about kids in his class. Movies. Softly so her mother couldn’t hear. He loved Aliens. She made her father rent the tape but he insisted on watching it with her. It was rated R. He’d liked it more than she had. The ecology of the creatures didn’t quite make sense.
They talked so long the phone handset would stay warm after. His voice made her feel like someone was tickling her back. Why don’t you come out to the treehouse Saturday, he said.
The boys had a treehouse. Even though they were too old for it now. Ricky McAllister had a car even, a hardship license. A Mercury Topaz in metallic teal. Somewhere past where the last tract houses sat half finished in the mud. White plastic sheets flapping off them that said Dupont Tyvek. Beer bottles everywhere and bullet holes in the old gray plywood. Cicadas screaming. We’ll pick you up, he said. We’re gonna get beer.
How? Does Ricky have a hardship license for that too-
His brother’s home.
Ricky’s brother was in the army. His fiancée was pregnant. There was a joke that no one knew what the baby would look like. She worked at the antique store. It was called The Town Pump and so was she.
OK– what will I tell my parents–
Tell em you’re getting drunk with older boys–
I’m serious.
Tell them you’re visiting Ricky’s brother, helping him with his PTSD.
She put on her lipstick two hours before. She‘d worried that riding her bike would make her sweaty. But it had rained enough to be cool. Not so much that the mud sucked in your bike tires out past where the hot top ended. God was looking out for her. She laid her bike in the tall wet weeds and waited for the Topaz to come. She was early.
In the car the boys played AC/DC so loud you couldn’t talk. Her friends still listened to the Backstreet Boys. Ricky was fifteen but his fingernails looked like he worked on cars and his voice sounded like he smoked. He had blue eyes like a movie star but the whites were red. Pupils the size of a pencil dot. She was in back with Bryan and in the passenger seat in front was Ricky’s cousin Steve, who had epilepsy and scars on his arms. He’d lit his shirt on fire burning garbage with an old can of gas.
They parked next to one of the gutted out half built houses. Rocks banged on the metal parts of the car underneath. The foundation full of brown water where mosquitos bred and on the cement someone had painted FUCK and SATAN. Past the last house the road turned into a dirt path into the woods. She heard great-tailed grackles whistling back in the pines. Their song was supposed to contain the seven notes of passion. On the path a female dipped dead grass into a mud puddle and flew off to add it to her nest. Steve carried the beer. Ropey muscles rippling under his scars.
Ricky asked Bryan: so is this your new girlfriend. She felt her ears get hot. Bryan said: a good friend.
You still got a broken heart for that Stacey?
Fuck Stacey.
Stacey was from the side of town with horses. She had one for dressage and one for barrel racing, and she let you know it. Sang in the choir. Her family went to church twice a week.
You wish, said Ricky, and Steve laughed.
The treehouse was three stories tall. It was made out of plywood covered in old walnut color deck stain. Two by fours with the ends painted red nailed into three pine trees that bled sap around the nail heads. Window holes with nothing in them. Inside, the walls had pages from porno magazines tacked up. Oui, Swank and Cheri. Women on all fours, spines bent into C shapes so their face and crotch could both regard the camera, looking surprised. Their faces looked ancient to her. The men’s intent expressions made her laugh. They sat Indian style. Is this your first beer, said Ricky.
It’s my third
I don’t mean today
I’ve had sips of my dad’s before–
But this is the first time you’re feeling it.
Yes
You like it?
She did. She said so. It made her feel like she could make anyone like her.
Bryan should have told you not to wear nice clothes, these fucking trees get pitch all over the place.
They’re beautiful– shortleaf pines.
I’ve been coming here since I was a kid. Never knew what they were.
There was a fire here, she said. A long time ago. They need it to grow. Otherwise they’re outcompeted by other conifers–
Damn, Nature Channel.
Each tree has both male and female cones. See how there are different kinds? It can take a year for the female cones to be pollinated–
Haha, so they can fuck themselves–
Plants had mechanisms to prevent self-pollination, but she didn’t say so. She said yes and laughed. He laughed too and it felt like she was floating. Hey Bryan come here, said Ricky.
What, said Bryan, and stood up.
You like these trees too, huh?
Yeah they’re nice.
You like camping in the woods?
Yeah–
You got a sleeping bag?
Ye– Bryan started to say, and Ricky punched him underhand in the crotch, and said: not anymore. Steve started laughed like it was the funniest thing that ever was.
Bryan was twisted over panting with his shoulder pulling a Swank centerfold off the wall. She rubbed his back in his black flannel and felt his little muscles moving. Are you OK. I’m fine he said, I’ll be fine. He does this. Relax, said Ricky. We do this shit all the time.
They finished the case. It felt like it took as long as a movie. She had never felt this good. Sat next to Bryan and he moved his hand to hold hers and she let him. Thought about her palm sweating. He might think it was gross but somehow she knew it was OK. They were talking about catching fish. How tourists bought fancy lures but the thing the fish liked best was just a wadded up ball of Wonder bread. Ricky, why do you hit Bryan, she said.