Thirteen July 1969 #4
I hated this moment, when the one person I hated more than anyone in the world was calling me out for the something I hated most about myself.
A truck came around the corner, and I thought for a moment Kenneth would move on.
But as the dust and exhaust fumes filled the air, he waited until the truck was out of sight.
Then he moved closer. I backed away but slipped on the loose dirt that sat on the edge of a ditch.
I caught myself before I fell into the still and murky water, mosquitoes hovering above.
“Didn’t believe my brother. No, he didn’t. But he listened to you and that little jerk, Charles Meisner. You’re such a bitch, Aliet. People don’t see it, but I do.”
“You need to go away now,” I said, but he took another step toward me and I felt my foot give way.
I fell backwards into the ditch, the bag I was carrying falling with me and potatoes and sugar going everywhere.
I rushed to stand up in the knee-high water as Kenneth stood above me and laughed.
I tried to gather the potatoes, but the sugar was lost.
“Look what you did,” I yelled at him, my fingers clenched in anger.
“I didn’t do anything. I didn’t touch you. You did it to yourself.” The sun was behind him, casting him in shadow, a black, inky silhouette above me. I couldn’t see his face, but I felt his sneer, his satisfaction.
I gathered the potatoes that hadn’t sunk to the bottom, swatted a half-dozen mosquitoes from around my head and face, and started to climb out of the ditch.
Kenneth kept laughing as he walked away. He yelled over his shoulder, “You deserved that.”
“Afraid I’ll break your nose again?” I yelled, but he didn’t turn back. By the time I had straightened my hair and squeezed as much water out of my skirt as I could, he was gone.
As much as I hated Kenneth, and I did, I hated more that he was right. And in my mind, that was another reason to hate him, even if Kiju and Sally said that hating someone only affected the hater. But I was determined to detest him.
When I got back, I lied and told Sally I wasn’t paying attention and fell in the ditch. She looked at me sideways, perhaps sensing the lie.
“Well then, get those remaining potatoes peeled for supper. I’ll get sugar tomorrow. You sure you’re okay?”
“Fine.”
“Okay, but if something is bothering you, you can tell me.”
“No, I’m okay.”
I couldn’t explain what happened without telling her about my cowardice. And the thought that Sally and Ben would be disappointed in me wasn’t something I was willing to risk. So I changed my clothes, pulled my hair back and peeled the potatoes for supper.
That evening, I met John under the bridge. The gloomy day had given way to a beautiful summer evening. John had brought a few chocolate chip cookies and a small bottle of apple juice, courtesy of his mother.
“You’re awful quiet.”
“Am I?”
“Even more so than usual.” He handed me the bottle of juice. It was sickly sweet and already warm.
“Sorry.”
“No need for sorry. Anything you want to talk about?”
I thought for a moment. Did I want to tell John about Kenneth and my cowardice?
“I ran into Kenneth this afternoon.”
“You really need to stop letting him get to you. He’s been that way since his mother left.”
“I know. Remember when we were all friends? Did I dream that?”
“No, he wasn’t always an ass. Just since puberty,” John said, and I feigned a smile.
I reached over and stole the rest of the cookie from his hand and popped it in my mouth. I didn’t want to talk about Kenneth and how I let him get under my skin. I wanted to speak of better things, of the things to come.
“Your braid is frizzy, let me take care of it.” I loved how he let me fix his hair. There was something so intimate about it. John jumped down off the large boulder where we sat, untied the twine that held the braid together, took off his shoes and shirt, and walked into the river.
My heart skipped a beat at the sight of his bare skin.
His arms were thin but muscled from working in the woods, his thin frame dark against the summer light.
I held my breath as he dunked his head, wetting his hair.
He used his hands to wring it out before leaving his shirt and shoes on the riverbank and climbing back onto the rock.
Without a word he handed me the twine and sat down, facing away from me.
My hands shook as I gathered his hair, cold and wet from the river.
I used my fingers as a comb, releasing the knots.
We said nothing as I weaved his hair in my hands, looping one batch over the other, over and over again, until I reached the thin ends.
I used the twine to secure the braid and took my hands and gently wiped the water off his shoulders.
He reached up and held my hand in his for just a moment before he jumped off the rock and put his shoes and shirt back on.
I watched intently, and blushed when he smiled at me.
He reached out and I took his hand and climbed down off the giant stone, and for a minute I forgot all about Kenneth and his brother, my own inaction.
But later, Kenneth would make sure I would never be able to forget it.