Eleven July 1968
ELEVEN
A distance had grown between me and John.
A brief letter had arrived from him apologizing for his silence.
School and working with his father took all his time and he said he was often too tired to write.
His letters were infrequent and lacked the enthusiasm they had once contained.
Our letters were limited to frustration over school on his part and encouragement on mine.
I liked school and did well; the same could not be said for John.
He wanted to quit and work with his father, make money of his own, but his mother was making him stay until at least the tenth grade.
I hadn’t seen him in months and in my young mind, it seemed like forever, and I was convinced that if I met him on the street I might not even recognize him.
I knew I had changed, so I was sure he had too.
Susan tried to convince me to forget about John and move on, but there was something that would not let me let go.
We’d known each other for longer than either of us could remember.
He knew me better than anyone. I trusted him.
We understood each other the way people who have known each other their whole lives do, and I couldn’t, wouldn’t give that up.
Our relationship was too precious. Whenever a letter arrived from him, short and not as sweet as they used to be, Kiju would remind me that even when we are young, sometimes life gets in the way of living.
But I would still pout and tuck the letter under my mattress with all the others.
Then summer arrived.
Each summer, the tiny village where Ben and Sally lived held a celebration.
There was no real reason, it was simply an opportunity to come together.
People called it Village Days and everyone from within the village, and even those living on the outskirts, came in for the festivities.
The summer I turned thirteen, I travelled down and stayed for the celebration.
There was a parade down the main street where people dressed up and performed.
Some of the girls from the Saturday dance classes, taught at the little three-room schoolhouse, wore bright-coloured outfits and danced and did backflips.
The local Legion hired a small pipe band to march, and the three churches—Catholic, Baptist and Anglican—all got together in a rare show of solidarity and marched together, with a hand-painted banner that read Together for God.
The local politician and his wife attended in their impossibly wrinkle-free clothing.
They seemed uncomfortable on the back of a truck, sitting on square bales of hay.
They waved and threw candies to the children.
An occasional hobo clown or person on stilts would wander past.
The Mi’kmaq from up the hill, dressed in headdresses and deer hide, beat their drums and the children on the sidelines could be heard giving the war whoops they’d seen on television.
Sally and Ben’s little one started to mimic them, when Big Ben took him by the arm and in a very strict voice told him, “No.” And then, to show the boy that he wasn’t in trouble, Ben slung him up onto his shoulders so he could see everything.
At the end of the parade, the village princess, a fair girl with auburn hair and pink-painted fingernails, sat on a float made of toilet paper roses and waved to everyone, her plastic tiara shining in the sun.
“Are you having fun?” Sally hollered over her shoulder. She had the baby in a sling and held another by the hand as we made our way along the parade route to the baseball field for the barbecue. The oldest walked in front of her, and Ben still had one on his shoulders.
“I am. It’s so nice to see everyone out and smiling.” I didn’t tell her that when Kenneth passed by in his regalia, he had sneered at me. I’d thought, naively, that the New Year’s Eve we’d spent by the river might have softened him toward me. Apparently, I was wrong.
While I cringed when I saw Kenneth, I had blushed when I saw John.
He walked past dressed in beaded-hide clothing and his long hair was smoothed back into a thick braid.
The sun reflected off his hair and all I could think of was a halo.
When he passed, he smiled at me. The fear that he’d forgotten me vanished, swept up into the air and out to sea.
Did he notice how tall I was now? Would he want to spend time with me?
Did he still see me as little Aliet, a childhood friend?
I felt a little sick as I joined the crowd walking down the middle of the street, separating at the honk from a car.
The trucks carrying the politician and princess moved through, leading the way to the baseball field.
The field was full of people. Families laid blankets on the ground and children ran in every direction.
Mothers and fathers let them go, assured of their safety in the familiar crowd.
Adults who hadn’t seen each other since the parade the year before hugged each other and laughed loudly.
The sense of joy only increased as more people arrived, as the sun warmed the grass and faces turned pink under the early afternoon rays.
On a spit at the edge of the baseball field, by a dilapidated dugout, a full pig rotated over charcoal.
The fat hissed and smoked. Ladies laid out salads, casseroles and sweets on long folding tables brought from the basements of the three churches.
Juice and soda pop sat in large coolers of quickly melting ice.
The adults carried canteens or flasks. I saw Ben open a Coke, drink half and then pour something from a flask into the can.
Sally eyed him sideways, and he mouthed to her, “Just one.”
The town crier from the town fifteen minutes away rang his bell and pronounced the pig ready.
A few of the men cut the meat off the pig and people started lining up, and I will admit, the smell of the pork and the sight of all those salads and sweets made my mouth water.
I followed Ben and Sally and the children.
“Hi.”
I turned to find John standing behind me. He had changed into jeans and a T-shirt, but his hair was still slick and braided down his back. I felt my cheeks flush.
“Hi.”
I turned to the line, my eyes fixed on Ben’s sweat-soaked shirt. It looked as if a wet turtle was climbing his back. I could feel my own sweat trickle down my back and in between my breasts.
“Aliet?” he said.
I turned around to face him, hoping he couldn’t notice my nervousness. “Sorry, John. It’s so good to see you.”
“Been a long time, a really long time.”
“A long time,” I said. “I love your letters, though,” I blurted out.
“Same. I mean, I love your letters, too.”
The line moved and I turned to move with it. I could see the smile on Ben’s face and I flushed all over again.
“Are you staying for the dance?”
I turned back around to face him. “I don’t know. I didn’t know there was a dance.”
“I would like it if you did stay,” he said.
“She can stay. If she wants to,” Ben interjected.
“Yeah, sure. I’d like to stay. Never been to a dance before.”
“Great. How about I come and find you when it starts?”
“Sure.”
John stepped out of the line, without food.
“John’s a good boy, Aliet. And still smitten, I see. And even better, he’s not a cousin.” Big Ben laughed and reached for his plate of food.
The afternoon passed quickly. There were games for the kids and the adults along with an impromptu baseball game.
Two of the boys won the three-legged race as I cheered from the sidelines.
A few times I caught John’s eye and he smiled at me.
Everyone picked at the leftover food, and no one left for dinner, our bellies full.
Sally and Ben took the boys home just as the sun was setting and the dancing was starting.
Sally was nervous about me staying out alone after dark, but John’s father and Big Ben assured her that I would get home safely.
Someone had put down wooden planks to cover the soft grass and strung Christmas lights and camp lanterns all around.
The band—a fiddle player and one guitar—started to play and people were getting up to dance.
I noticed more canteens and flasks being passed around.
The Indians sat on one side of the dance floor, the whites on the other.
But there was no animosity that I could sense, it was just the way it was; people were comfortable with the people they knew.
I looked around for Kenneth, afraid he was going to ruin my night, but he was nowhere to be seen.
Everyone was dancing and having a good time, drinks were being passed around, and laughter threatened to drown out the two-piece band.
“Want to dance?” John and I had been sitting together at a picnic table, a bag of popcorn with real butter between us.
“I’ve never danced before.”
“Just follow what they are doing.”
“Okay.”
John took my hand and led me to the dance floor.
It was the first time someone besides a family member had ever put their hand on the small of my back.
His other hand was in mine as we swayed and tried to move like the adults.
I felt as though everyone was watching us and my hands started to sweat.
That night I learned that coordination would never be something I possessed.
I stepped on his feet more than once, did not understand the subtle way he pressed on my back to lead me, and I moved awkwardly.
We bumped into other couples and begged to be forgiven.
They laughed and moved on, my face red and John’s feet sore.
Halfway into the second song we decided that dancing wasn’t for us.
“Let’s go for a walk.”
“Okay.”
“Not too far, John, you don’t want people talking,” his father yelled from the dance floor as he twirled his wife. John waved him away and took my hand.
We didn’t walk far, just to the edge of the field where the light met the dark. I was nervous. I could feel the food in my belly start to move around and wiped my impossibly damp hands on my skirt.
There was a nervous energy in the dark, something that wasn’t as full when we stood on the uneven dance floor under the string lights.
I could feel the heat coming off John in waves and I wondered if he could hear my heart beating.
This boy was my friend, someone I’d played with as a child, but for some reason, in this moment, it felt that he was also a stranger.
Neither of us were children anymore, not really, and we were getting to know one another all over again, in these bodies and these new understandings of one another.
We stood quietly for a few minutes, watching the others dance.
John hummed along with the song being played.
“Do you know this song?”
“I don’t. We don’t have a radio.” I had begged Kiju for one, but without electricity it didn’t make sense.
“It’s a good song.”
“It sounds like a good song.”
My mouth was starting to go dry, and my nervousness prevented me from turning to look at him, even in the dark.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked as he took one step closer to me.
“Okay.” I licked my lips and breathed in deeply.
“Okay.”
He took a deep breath too, put his hands on my waist and turned my body toward him.
I closed my eyes. I felt his left hand take my right hand in his, but I didn’t have time to worry about their sogginess when his lips finally reached mine.
He tasted like salted butter. I put my hand on his waist, and he put his other hand gently on my neck.
I didn’t know how to kiss, and it came as a surprise when he used his tongue to part my lips.
I didn’t pull away. His hand was warm on my neck, then the sensation began to fade as if his hand were somehow becoming part of me.
When someone on the dance floor gave out a yelp, we pulled apart, and my neck grew cold where his hand had been. I shivered.
“That was nice,” he said.
“That was nice,” I repeated. I was out of breath and my entire body was tingling.
We stood there for a few minutes in our awkwardness before he took my hand and led me back into the light. We didn’t try to dance, but we had a good time watching the others. When the time came for him to walk me home, the conversation was much more fluid.
We walked slowly, his hand in mine, his calloused from working in the woods with his father, and mine soft and small tucked into his palm.
We walked past Sally and Ben’s house, the front light left on for me, the rest of the house dark.
We took the time to exchange middle names and dreams of becoming adults.
For the first time, I felt my childhood was more behind me than in front.
I fell into a comfort with him, and when he kissed me at the door, there was no hesitation, no worry, and I leaned fully into it.