Strawberry Soup

The birthday party was elaborate. Neighborhood parties always are. Kids were invited that weren't really Jill's good friends, but when there's a birthday party, friendship or no friendship, everyone was invited. Balloons and streamers, confetti and silly string, noisemakers and even a Twister layout were part of the festivities. At twelve, some of these things still held fun, but I was more focused on Jill.

Jill's mother had delivered the homemade apple pie, much to my relief and mom's surprise. But Jill seemed much too busy entertaining her numerous guests to pay the slightest attention to me. This is what Al must feel like sometimes. She hardly glanced my way for hours. Poor Al, he'll probably croak soon.

Seating arrangements grouped us accordingly around a massive picnic table, with none other than a red gingham printed tablecloth. Boy it sure was mesmerizing. I tried to distract myself by stuffing German chocolate cake in my face.

A dopey boy with thick glasses sat next to me shoveling down his second helping of strawberry ice cream, no doubt contemplating a third. When he was done slurping the melted pink through his thin lips, he turned to me. "So, Jill's a fox, huh??" This surprised me a bit, what came out of that face. He didn't look at all like a boy who would think a thing like that. Chemistry sets and over sized books seemed more his speed. But sure, hey, let's talk about the birthday girl and what a 'fox' she is. He was reaching out. Perhaps he wanted to be my friend. Boys use the least syllables necessary to get the point across.

I shrugged. "She's alright?" I wanted to sound just interested enough, but not too much. I leaned in to catch what he might say next, if anything.

"Seen her apple tree?" He whispered. He added a disgusting wink and licked a but of dried pink ice cream off his lower lip. What the hell was that supposed to mean?! Who was this creepy little snot?? He stared straight at me, eyes bugged out and unblinking, leering larger than life through the thick lenses. I froze. What does one say to that? I wasn't going to say a word. I had sworn.

"Apple tree." I casually and carefully said. "Nope." He directed his attention to another heaping scoop of ice cream slapped in front of him by a large passing woman in neon yellow hot pants. Who assigns these duties anyway, especially to a woman of her magnitude?

"More dear??" Her chunky knee bumped my lower back.

"No thanks, I'm fine." I wasn't fine. I suddenly felt sick, and angry, and hot. Sweaty palms again. I shot up and headed straight for the back door. The screen door sprang open and out popped my mom, beaming with what looked like victory. She stood her ground with planted feet and crossed arms, blocking any attempt I might make to get through the door. Could she know something I didn't that might make for another disastrous sequence of memories? I hoped to heaven that she was just a little buzzed from the cocktails they were obviously smuggling out from the kitchen. She had an unmistakable way of positioning her head and neck that communicated so much emotion. She could've been a Meryl Streep if she'd wanted to. I veered right, almost tripping myself with my own two feet, to escape to somewhere, anywhere. Under the massive picnic table perhaps? But one look back at the crowded gingham display and I almost lost the German chocolate strawberry soup dancing in my stomach.

"Feeling alright honey?" Mom had caught me gently by the neck of my shirt. My overactive imagination played out the dialogue that might pass in the next few seconds. It wasn't pretty.

"I'm fine mom, having a great time."

"Great. The pie was delicious. Jill's mom is a doll." She left as soon as she'd come. I stood there alone. Laughter rang out from the table nearby. For years I would have nightmares about being butt naked in that backyard, surrounded by laughing voices and pointed fingers. Served me right. A guilty conscience is an ugly thing.

After the fun of unwrapping presents and the thrills of forced gasps wore off, the party began to dwindle. Only the die hards stuck around to play Twister. I left without saying a word to anyone, especially the girl of the day. I'd show her. I snuck out the back gate when I was sure no one was looking. I was easily embittered by what most people wouldn't give a second thought to. Wasn't I Jill's new friend? Wasn't I the guy she liked the best? Shouldn't I be seated next to her? Why didn't she talk to me? Why didn't we share apple pie and ice cream together? The more I thought about it, the more I hated myself for ever climbing that damn tree. And where the hell did she get the apples for the pie? I sure the heck didn't go with her. Who did? Seems to me if the pie could've talked it would have answered those questions.

After I walked for what felt like hours in the direction I thought our house was in, I sat down on the sidewalk. I blamed everyone but myself. I cursed mom for being so suggestive. She knew something was going on. Or maybe it was all in my head. I wasn't alone in pretending nothing had happened. Jill was back there on cloud nine, basking in the glory of an over the top birthday afternoon, and probably hasn't thought of me once. Where the hell was I? Nothing looked familiar. All the houses in that place looked the same.

Mom pulled up in our beat up Chevy that had no business in the area and craned her neck out. Exhaust puffed in a trail, passing the window where she tapped her fingers lightly on the car door. "Get in." No trace of anger or frustration for a mother who had spent what was easily two hours looking for her lost boy. Or had she?

I got in and we rode seven or eight blocks in the most horrible and unbearable silence. Mom talked in cars more than anywhere else, so I knew something weighty was on her mind. I'd have to confess sooner or later. The facts. Just the facts. The apple tree. The pie. The empty seat at the party. The lies. The sighs. Jill's thighs. All those things should've added up to a beautiful summer time for me. Mom's mind was churning I'm sure, faster than a locomotive. The locomotive was moving at an unstoppable pace. I was the sole passenger and the bridge was out up ahead, over a deep ravine perhaps. I was on the last train to a place I had definitely bought a ticket for.

Mom switched the radio on and thumbed around until Patsy Cline crooned out a chorus of "Lonesome, lonesome for you...." It was ironic and torturous, but sexy and escaping at the same time. Then, into the front of my mind sprang the gingham skirt and a basket of apples. Anger subsided into arousal and then back again. It was then that I crossed into manhood. I was on my way to becoming a man. I was sure of it.

I needed to go back there. I needed things to be exactly as they were the day all this craziness had began. I would do it, and Jill would be there with me. I would say all the things I was thinking and feeling and ask all those burning questions I was dying to have answers to. It would be sort of an apple tree trial.