Flicker of Threat

A few days passed. There was no word from Jill. Had she forgot about me? Was she ashamed of what we did? Did she like me still? As the days piled up, so did the questions. I tired to busy myself with supposed distractions. Al didn't enjoy his daily walks as he once had. He was getting old. Comic books suddenly lost their appeal. All the girls that popped up on the television screen made me think of the make shift apple tree fort, and Jill. Maybe I was thinking about it too much. I wanted to rewind and go back up there among the scent of apples and scattered photos. 

The red gingham skirt she wore would become another one of those memories that would forever turn me on. Whenever I see a piece of cloth printed with the same design, even years later, something lurches inside of me. Memories are fantastic.

A knock on the door later on only proved a disappointment. Mom was having an evening Tupperware party in the basement, which explained her absence and her frequent ins and outs all morning. Whenever she had 'an engagement' she requested that I politely 'make myself scarce.' So what was I to do? I could always go out and make a new friend. That seemed to come quite easily before. But we were somewhere new. Besides, my newest friend was the best yet, even if she was a girl.

A week would pass before Jill made an appearance. She came bearing an invitation to her fifteenth birthday. And who was I not to accept? One had to jump at opportunities like birthday parties. She thrust the sparkling envelope in my hand. "Everyone is going to be there." She was charming.

"So this must be Jill." Mom was tactful at making entrances and impressions with company. Her face passed judgement instantly. She approved. Or was that a flicker of threat in the curl of her lip?

"Yes, I'm Jill. My mom was here last week. She loves her Tupperware." Mom sure was sneaky. I wasn't aware that our mother's had met. "She makes stuff to put in it even if we aren't eating it right away. Drives dad crazy... the pink one is her favorite. She about cried when she melted the edge of her green one while she was cooking on the stove..." She giggled adorably.

She was rambling. I hadn't heard her talk like that on our outing last week. I suspect she was trying to hide the guilt and lusty thoughts creeping into her mind. Something like, "Gosh Mrs. Russell, your son is such a stud! You'll never guess the fun we had last week. Well, let me tell you..." That was only my imagination, that's what I thought would be nice for her to be thinking. Girls operate differently. I would soon learn that they could pour words out of their mouths without any thought of editing.

"Did she? Well, isn't that too bad," mom twittered back. Then she made the womanly empathetic and all too insincere 'Awww...' sound that communicated the sorrow she didn't feel over a piece of melted Tupperware. She really could have cared less. She was more interested in the new peach of a girl that graced her living room with her presence and an invitation. "So, tell me, what did you and Hayden do last week, and did you have fun?" This was a layered question. She wanted to know more about what we did than if we had fun or not.

The room froze. Icy silence and momentary glances, the ones that speak volumes of the guilt inside each of us, danced between us. Were we caught? Should we confess right now and spare the glances of disbelief we would get for anything we might say? Maybe nothing more would be said? Maybe I should leap up on the coffee table now and bolt for the door, never to return. No. I was being silly. She suspected nothing.... Her eyebrows arched wickedly.

"I told you mom, we climbed some trees." I flushed and Jill whipped her head at me, as she would many times that summer. Not the right choice of words. I edited. I went back in my mind and let myself say casually, "We walked around a bit, picked some apples, played a healthy game of hopscotch, and climbed a few trees." I always had a better idea of what I sounded like, rather than the actual words scattered to make ridiculous sentences. I'd put my foot in it alright.

Jill came to my rescue just as mom was bubbling over with edgy anticipation. "Those apples were delicious. Mom made some great pies with 'em, too. She just loves apple pie. Don't you Mrs. Russell?" She cleverly turned the tables, bolting an answer and a question right back at her.

"Call me Jane. And I'll call you Jill. And, yes, I love apple pie." Mom knew this game and had played it longer than Jill had. Had we fooled her? Did she believe the lies that grew thickly around us? Something in her eyes said otherwise. "We'll love to have a slice of that delicious pie at your birthday." Damn, she was good at this game. I knew that tone of layered disbelief and suspicion very well. Who did we think we were fooling? She would have her pie and eat it too, even if the pie weren't served. It was now our mission to see that pie would be on the table at the party. "Well, if you two will excuse me..." Her quick departure brought what felt like a breeze of new air into the room.

Jill craned her neck and pressed her freshly wetted lips against my ear. "Guess we'll have to gather some apples later, huh?" Gathering apples was the last thing on either of our minds. And as mom was brewing whatever it was in the kitchen, I'm sure apple pie was the last thing on her mind.

Jill smiled. My knees became weak. A kettle danced on the stove top. Al howled in the back yard, the poor neglected thing.