Page 6 of The Sky in Summer
It was kindergarten’s take on Seven Minutes in Heaven. There was excitement in his eyes, that a peek of whatever girls were hiding would be worth the wait. Believing the stunning sight of my naked body would pay off. I still can see the ray of light coming through the crack in the door, illuminating the small space. Softening the darkness enough to give us a sense of the size and shape of things.
Unzipping his pants, and lowering Superman Underoos, the treasure was revealed. It looked like a pink Vienna sausage. A weird, wrinkly, freaky thing, resting on two skin covered ping pong balls. I was immediately intrigued. As a girl without brothers, the improbable image took me by surprise. Wonder what became of it? By the look of Van at thirty-eight, I bet it has been to a two-decade long party.
All he got in return that long-ago afternoon was a close-up of my ass. I had intentions of showing more, but we were rudely interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Prick, balls, and ass got returned to their rightful places, hidden under clothing.
It seemed enough to rev him up though. From that day forward, until the school year’s end, there was always a sparkle whenever our eyes met. It was a solid bond. Almost on the daily, I would get part of whatever treasure he had. Coloring books, colored pencils, food his mother packed for him. The misbehaving children’s pact had been forged by naughtiness. Funny how different every child is. Don’t think I ever again met a kid who was so far ahead of his years. It was as if he wanted to start living right from the gate and for Van, how to begin was obvious.
In all fairness, I wouldn’t have recognized him today either, had it not been for Tyler. When asked about who the boys were with them in the lake, he said their full names. It was the second one that caught my attention. Teddy Lyon. Cousins. Schoolmates. Like-minded enough with my lovely fools, to effortlessly find trouble together. There are not a lot of Lyons around. Actually I never heard it again after kindergarten. Not as it is correctly pronounced in French. An image of Van’s father pops in my mind. He came to school one day. Who knows why. His name was so strange. Gaston. He looked kind of like a real lion. Long hair and eyes like his son. He brought Play-Doh for the class to make sculptures. He had a presence, even to a five year old girl. He must be in his late sixties by now. At least. I have no memory of the mother.
Van wears a confident look. Sexy and warm. Women must consider themselves chosen to have his attention. Not women like me, but most. At least it doesn’t seem to have made him an ass. I don’t think it odd that I never forgot the boy. He called me mon cheri. He would imitate the lovestruck cartoon character Pepe Le Pew. And I was the object of the amorous skunk’s affection. But unlike the cartoon, I didn’t mind at all. He would make me laugh, as he spoke words in another language I later realized was French. In kindergarten.
You never forget your first attraction. I may have been better at picking men back then because no other man, up to now, has ever been so romantic. I peaked at five. That is a horrible thought. Somehow through the years it all became muddy. Maybe his fresh sausage served up just for me made too much of an impression. A giggle escapes under my breath as I imagine the sight.
“What’s so funny?”
I could pinch Barbra for asking. A solid, twisting pinch under the arm. That’s how we would have handled things when we were kids. Before we realized bruises weren’t a good look. But she can’t help herself. I know my sister better than anyone in the entire world does. She’s busting a gut to tell Van who I am.
“I was just remembering something. It’s nothing.”
My eyes burn a laser into hers, and the message is received.
“You look very familiar. Is your family from here?”
Van’s question surprises me. I never expected him to get a sense of recognition.
“We did live here, but only till I was five.”
“I guess I’m mistaken.”
This is going to be fun.
“Are you?” My eyebrow lifts and my fingers flutter together, teasing the moment.
There. The toothpaste commercial smile that gave me funny feelings all those years ago remains. I had forgotten its charm. His eyes search my face.
“What? Did we know each other as children?”
Barbra looks like she wants to burst with the news. Lips are pressed together, and words struggle to be set free. Like the Saturday Night Live character Kristin Wigg played. The one who cannot hold any exciting news to herself. After Tyler said Van’s name in the car, and an abridged version of the story was told, we heard a ten-minute soliloquy from my sister on how I should get to know him. She is relentless in the pursuit to find me a man, totally ignoring the fact I don’t need or want one. More to the point, I am waiting for therightone. At the right time.
With a singsong voice, I offer a hint. “Good morning, Mrs. Rogers.”
At first there is only a blank stare, while he assembles the puzzle pieces.
“Who is this Mrs. Rogers?” he says chuckling. “And why are you singing to her?”
“What? You forgot your first?” I tease.
The boys are watching as we spar. They know there is something going on. Some kind of embarrassing annoying adult wordplay. There is a veil of disgust on the twins’ faces, like it is making them ill to think of us as human.
“I’m fairly certain I didn’t call my first Mrs.”
“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Teddy says, catching Sam’s eye. “Right? She was probably a MILF.”
Then, it dawns. Van’s eyes widen and his head tilts.
“My kindergarten teacher?”
“That is correct, sir,” I say, pointing a finger and making circles for emphasis.
