Trenton

Hot as blazes it was, mid August.  Wearing blue jean cutoffs, their frayed edge, tickling my thigh.  I kept on cutting though, didn’t miss a beat. Leaning over the sidewalk on one hand, the other steering the hand sheers, trimming the wisps of grass.  The summer I mowed lawns for extra cash, my legs and arms brown as ginger bread, from  mornings in the sun.              1

    I sensed him, rather than heard him.  Walking cross the yard toward me, Trenton Keene. I’d seen him earlier, pushing his motorcycle toward the filling station.  In jeans a tee shirt, his tee shirt more grease black , than white. The tee shirt he wore now so white it shone.  I remember thinking how only blueing would make it that white. I saw his motorcycle then, propped on it’s kickstand in the background.  I hadn’t heard it, so he must have pushed it back this way.  Down hill toward my house...easier on him.  Oh, Lord, the thought pounded in my mind, he’s going to ask me to go for a ride.  I wanted to run in the house...hide.  Mama would never say yes to that...I’d die of embarrassment.  Before I could turn, he was there.  Right in front of me, and I was certain he could hear my heart beat.  I looked down at my chest..thinking he could see it...but my shirt was still... 2

He did ask me.  I couldn’t just  say “no”.  Had to at least ask...I turned toward the house.  From where I stood, I could see into the darkness behind the screen door.  I couldn’t see Mama, for she stood back from the door.  What I could see was her white apron, hovering there like a ghost.   Knowing she had seen his approach, and disapproved. Expecting her to yell, lately our only form of communication.  Then expecting to get "the look". The one that said any thinking person wouldn't stoop to ask such a question.   She surprised me by staying silent, till I had finished.  A metal egg turner in one hand, held up to her chest, like something precious.  “You can go,” she said. “But you tell that Trenton Keene, to go slow...and no further than the hill..”  I had no thought to argue, her answer was more than I had expected.  I breathed a silent prayer of thanks...wanting to exit before she changed her mind.  “And you both stay away from that creek” she yelled that, as I was already out the door. Her instruction, punctuated by the slamming of the screen door.  3

On the motorcycle behind him, feeling anticipation like a ticking clock.  This could not happen fast enough for me.   He stood, using  his whole body, to make the monster come to life.  It roared and crackled in my ears, and I felt the uneven vibration, it’s motor perhaps a bit off tune..  A sleeping giant..waking.   Trenton sat down on the saddle, “Hold on to my waist....”  He yelled over his shoulder. ...I was not one to argue, though my palms were sweaty at the thought.  I reached around him...resisting the sudden urge to rest my cheek against his back.  He pulled the kickstand up, a smooth move, revved the motor, shifted into gear, and we were set in motion.  Slow at first, till he was sure we were out of sight, then speed. The wind in my hair, blowing it backward and sideways, into my face.  I felt his muscles, how they moved as he shifted gears, looked sideways for traffic.  They flexed at his slightest move.  Felt his ribs, and became aware, this day, I was no longer a  child, for I had my first  taste of freedom.  Trenton, turned right on to Dwight Street.  We rode down hill, legs extended...then he made a  left onto the dirt road end of Gail Street...and headed toward the creek.4