A Bummer Day

A Bummer Day

          Thunk! The metal-tipped arrow punctured the green ring and stuck in the cardboard box. I’d scrawled target circles on its side and colored them red, blue, green, and black. At least I’m getting closer.

          A rotting cedar stump, sprouting a red huckleberry bush, made a perfect backstop for wayward shafts. I picked up the five spent arrows and returned to the shooting area.

          Practice makes perfect. I resumed my stance, notched another projectile, and drew back the bowstring.
 
          “Hi-ya, Gary!” I flinched as the arrow flew. It struck the rocky ground a harmless three feet shy of the box. “Sorry, didn’t mean to make you miss.”

          I swiveled to see Mary, my neighbor from up the street, leaning over the metal, front gate. Her shoulder length, cinnamon-brown hair framed her even-featured, tanned face. “Hi. You kinda startled me.”

          Springing the latch to let her in the yard, her blue eyes, as pale as the morning sky, trapped me and drew me in.

          I’d known Mary since my family moved to the neighborhood about five years ago. She lived with her grandmother in a decrepit little house on the corner of Flower and Goldenrod. Two towering poplar trees stood sentry over the broken walkway that led to her front door. She had a mother who wasn’t always in the picture. My friend Donnie said Mary didn’t have a real father and her mom didn’t want her. But I didn’t ask questions. When you’re twelve, some things just are.

          “Is that new?” She pointed at the bow in my left hand.

          “Yep. Bought it last week at Sears. Wanna give it a try?”

          “Sure, but don’t laugh if I look silly.”

          “Don’t worry,” I assured her. “I found out right away it’s harder than it looks.”

          She led me back to my shooting range, and I breathed in her pleasant scent – sunshine-fresh, laundered clothes. Her body filled up her faded blue jeans and tight, gray turtleneck just right. I eyed her widening hips, and when she grabbed the bow and pivoted toward the target, her budding breasts stole my interest.

          During this summer, between sixth and seventh grade, it seemed like most girls my age were changing. Straight lines were bending into curves, and hips often swayed back and forth when they walked.

          As Mary gripped the bow, I showed her how to notch the long dart and balance it on top of the arrow rest above her hand. She drew back the string, her thumb and forefinger pinching the shaft. She pulled it back to her shoulder and let go. It’s steel tip clanged against a rock and skidded well in front of the target.

          “Huh, that was pretty lame,” she chuckled. “Let me try it again.”

          “This time," I instructed, "pull the cord back to your ear.”

          She notched another arrow and stretched the bowstring further, the bow bobbing up and down. This time the projectile flew higher, but off course, sticking in the decayed stump behind the target box. “Looks like it’s not my sport.” She shook her head, put down the bow, and glanced at the back of our half acre toward the grape arbor and apple trees.

          I motioned down the slope. “Do you wanna eat some raspberries? They’re almost perfect.”

          She nodded, and we ambled toward the two long rows of raspberry canes that bordered my father’s lush vegetable garden.

          The late afternoon sun warmed our faces and a canopy of floral and tart smells hovered over the berries. Every so often the zzzzzzzzzz of a few bees, pollinating late-blooming buds, sawed through the stillness.

          We plucked the ripe fruit, pushed them on our fingertips like thimbles, and crushed them between our teeth. The sweet juices drained down our throats.

          “Mmmmm, almost as good as ice cream,” she said, sucking the last berry off her pinky finger. Lying on her side, she settled into the mowed grass, propped up by one elbow.

          I swallowed one more berry and sized her up. The slanting rays of sun gave her hair a soft glow, and her body position highlighted her new-grown hips and breasts. When she tapped the ground with the palm of her left hand, I melted into a sitting position beside her.

          “Until now, this was a bummer day.” She paused and wrinkled her nose.

          “What do you mean?” I wanted her to keep talking; I ached for her to stay.

          She heaved a long sigh. “I was supposed to go with my mom, Alicia, and Frank to the circus in Bremerton today, but it didn’t work out.”

          I’d met her other family once at a neighborhood picnic. Alicia was her half-sister, and Frank her stepdad. Her mother smiled a lot and wore her yellow-blond, wavy hair shoulder length. “What happened?”

          “Frank said it was too much trouble to pick me up and take me back home. They’re going to spend the weekend at their cabin on Wildcat Lake.”

          Her stepfather, tall with thin lips and a blank-looking face, ran a construction company. I suspected he made plenty of money. “That’s nuts! Why didn’t they take you with ‘em, too?”

          She lowered her eyes. “You don’t know Frank. Alicia’s his daughter. He’ll do anything for her. But me? He just wants me to disappear.” She lifted her gaze to the sky and shrugged.

          Alicia, a couple years younger than Mary, was round-faced and chubby, but every time I saw her, she was decked out in fashionable, expensive clothes. Mary wore hand-me-downs and outfits her grandmother sewed. “I don’t blame you for feelin’ bummed. That’s not fair.” I picked up a wide blade of grass and chewed on it.

          “Oh, well, at least the day wasn’t a total waste." Her voice took on a cheery tone. "I got in some bow and arrow practice, ate some raspberries, and . . . a cute guy with wavy hair kept me company.” She tossed me an impish grin and looked at me out of the corner of her eye. My face flooded with heat. As she continued to talk, she extended her left arm and began caressing the tips of her fingers back and forth across my denim-covered thigh.

          Goosebumps popped up on my bare arms. At the same time, an ache radiated from the middle of my chest, and a tight fullness spread between my legs. The sensations unnerved me, but I didn’t want her to stop.

          I reached out to touch her arm.

          “Gar-ry!” We both sat up stiff as the shrill of my mother’s voice shattered the moment.

          “Over here by the raspberries,” I droned, watching my mother round the utility shed holding a small tower of berry picking boxes.

          “Hi, Mary Lou. Didn’t know you were here.” She held out a thin, wooden container bound with metal strips. “Why don’t you pick your grandma a pint of raspberries before you leave.”

          “Okay,” Mary answered, rolling her eyes at me.

          I leveled a disappointed stare at my mom and picked up a container to help, thinking Great timing, Mom.

          My mother picked like a pro, carrying on small talk the whole time – mostly with herself.

          Nothing better’n fresh raspberries.

          The first crop is the best, I think.

          I like to drop a few over my corn flakes in the morning.

          They’re great sprinkled over vanilla ice cream, don’t you think?

          Mary and I picked without enthusiasm – muttering short responses like “yes”, “no”, and “uh huh”.

          “My, you two sure are slow pickers,” commented my mom.

          She was right about that. Both Mary and me picked without energy, our boxes only half full. “We haven’t had all your practice, Mom.” I dumped the berries from my box into Mary’s. Her eyes sparkled, watching the fruit tumble into her container and fill it to the brim.

          “Thanks for the berries, Mrs. Davis. I’ve got to be getting home now. Gotta help my grandma with dinner.”

          “You’re welcome, Mary Lou. Any time.”

          I shadowed Mary to the gate, unlatched it, and held it open for her. As she passed through, she turned, cupped her hand over mine, and searched my eyes.

          “Gary, . . do you think I’m pretty?”

          She’d surprised me enough for one day already, so her question seemed to fit right in. I breathed easy and my face softened, the question easy to answer. I nodded twice.

          Checking first over my shoulder, she sucked in a quick breath and planted a brief kiss on my lips. She hit the bulls-eye this time. Then, grinning at my startled expression, she giggled and said, “See ya.”

          I started to raise a hand to wave goodbye, but stopped, hypnotized and feeling cozy inside. Instead, I watched her disappear up our driveway, shoes crunching the gravel with her full, curvy hips swinging back and forth with each step.