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Four
Vignettes 1. Cats Jess is outside my window at 8 a.m. on her bike. I hear her calling me, but I don’t move. Taaaaanya! Her alto wake-up call breaks the hoo hooing of the doves, breaks my peace in morning mystery, bright sun on my sheets and white walls. The doves, my summer mornings since I learned to listen. Come ON Tanyaaaaa! She’s out there in her canvas biking shorts, her legs tan and muscular. It’s 8:00 a.m. 80 degrees in the shade. Jess says it’s good for us. She likes to move. I peel off the thin sheet and slowly get dressed. We pop glistening tar bubbles with our bike tires and stand on the peddles to make it up the hill to the lake. The road ahead is slippery. It shimmers like a reflection in water and begins to undulate. Sweat rolls into my eyes. We are the only people on the dock. Jess spreads out her towel and goes to sleep in the sun. The black empty windows of the Canoe Club dining hall stare at us accusingly. It’s 90 degrees in the shade. My shadow is long and I watch it watching me. Then I hear a lion’s growl. I look into the dry weeds around the Canoe Club. My shadow looks too. Nothing. It’s purring across the lake. Jess picks her head up from the towel and watches it—the red speedboat. We know who it is before we see her—only one family on this lake owns a red speedboat—Iris Picotti. It glides toward us like a jungle cat parting the grass, purring, self-satisfied. Excuuuuuuuse me! Are you members of the Canoe Club? No. The you can’t use this dock. This dock is for members only! No one else is using it. If you don’t leave, I’ll call the police! Iris is wearing a red bikini with a matching red baseball cap turned backwards on her head. Her short brown hair peeking out from under the bill. Are you old enough to drive that boat? Jess teases. Iris is a year younger than her, and Jess is two years younger than me. That’s not your concern! Get off the dock or I’ll call the police! Before we can answer her, she guns the engine and throws the boat into gear. It shoots off with a roar, a blue cloud of exhaust in its wake. Iris and her speedboat, purring, self-satisfied, slink back to her house across the lake, where she’ll spread out her towel on her own dock and sit facing this one, watching, waiting. We ball up our towels and leave the dock, in search of a friendly pool. |
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