quickly withdrew it. “It’s cold,” she said hurrying back to where I stood on the quilt.
I shed the blouse and shorts I had worn over my bathing suit that Mama had made with a flounced skirt that nearly came down to my knees. It was long waisted, with yellow and green swirls on a white background, and I was glad there were no boys around because the suit plainly revealed that my left breast was the size of a hickory nut, and my right breast was missing altogether. I gathered up my skirt and ran into the water until it reached my waist. I shivered. Goose bumps rose up on my arms. “Come on,” I called back to Sheila. “Put on your suit and come out here.”
“Don’t have one,” she said. Then she shrugged out of her dress and tossed it backwards to the quilt. “I’m coming in the water in my birthday suit,” she yelled and, laughing, she stepped out of her panties and pulled off her brassiere. I stood frozen in the waist-deep water. I had never seen a naked adult before. As she came toward me, a knot formed in my head and I shifted from one foot to the other trying to figure out how to act. I wondered should I look away until she was underwater, or should I act like her being naked wasn’t any different than Lil’ Bit running around with his little wee wee flopping. I looked down at the green water and thought that my flabby white toes seemed indecent to me now. The water rippled around me as she came nearer. I looked up and saw that Sheila was still grinning beneath her wrinkled nose and crinkled eyes. “Ooooh,” she said. “It is cold as an icicle, ain’t it?”
When I looked at the pale pink nipples marching stiffly toward me, I saw a purple crescent-shaped bruise on her left breast. “What happened?” I asked.
Sheila frowned. “What?”
I pointed to her chest.
“Oh,” she smiled. “Just a loving mark.”
I looked down at my white fish toes burrowing in the mud. “Did Stoney do that to you?”
“Yeah, but it don’t hurt none now.” When Sheila waded out to me, she held my hands, pulling me around in a circle. “Ring around the rosie,” she sang. She kept pulling me in circles, around and around as the water swirled against our thighs. She threw her head back and looked up at the green canopy of leaves overhead. “Hey, there’s a rope tied up there. We could swing off it and fall in the water.”
I looked up. A frayed rope, looped over a high limb of the water oak, dangled down six feet or so above the dark water. Sheila’s idea appealed to me about as much as a triple dose of castor oil. “It might break,” I said. “Looks old.”
But Sheila was already wading out of the water toward the beach. I watched her go. Water cascaded off her hump and fell onto her glistening white buttocks. My mouth went dry and I licked my lips trying to summon up some spit. “Sheila,” I called. “Don’t do it. It’s too high in the tree. You’ll get hurt.” Then the piece of me that was Mama, and which I hated, caused me to scream. “You don’t know how to swim. You’ll be killed. Stop! Come back right now.”
Sheila didn’t answer me. She rounded the horseshoe beach and climbed the bank toward the tree. I squatted farther down and peed; the warm water against my leg comforting me. “Please God, don’t let her die,” I begged. “Don’t take my Best Friend away from me.” I kept on praying, bargaining with Him as I watched her awkwardly scaling the trunk of the tree. She hoisted herself to the thick branch just below where the rope was looped halfway down the overhead limb. When she crawled out hugging the rough bark, I could feel its scrape against the tender skin of her stomach and breasts. She sat up and straddled the limb, and grabbing the rope, she pulled on it, testing its strength. I held my breath, my toes digging deeper into the mud. She would be too far out for me to save her; I was a dog-paddler, not a strong swimmer. “Send someone to help me,” I begged God. Sheila
I shed the blouse and shorts I had worn over my bathing suit that Mama had made with a flounced skirt that nearly came down to my knees. It was long waisted, with yellow and green swirls on a white background, and I was glad there were no boys around because the suit plainly revealed that my left breast was the size of a hickory nut, and my right breast was missing altogether. I gathered up my skirt and ran into the water until it reached my waist. I shivered. Goose bumps rose up on my arms. “Come on,” I called back to Sheila. “Put on your suit and come out here.”
“Don’t have one,” she said. Then she shrugged out of her dress and tossed it backwards to the quilt. “I’m coming in the water in my birthday suit,” she yelled and, laughing, she stepped out of her panties and pulled off her brassiere. I stood frozen in the waist-deep water. I had never seen a naked adult before. As she came toward me, a knot formed in my head and I shifted from one foot to the other trying to figure out how to act. I wondered should I look away until she was underwater, or should I act like her being naked wasn’t any different than Lil’ Bit running around with his little wee wee flopping. I looked down at the green water and thought that my flabby white toes seemed indecent to me now. The water rippled around me as she came nearer. I looked up and saw that Sheila was still grinning beneath her wrinkled nose and crinkled eyes. “Ooooh,” she said. “It is cold as an icicle, ain’t it?”
When I looked at the pale pink nipples marching stiffly toward me, I saw a purple crescent-shaped bruise on her left breast. “What happened?” I asked.
Sheila frowned. “What?”
I pointed to her chest.
“Oh,” she smiled. “Just a loving mark.”
I looked down at my white fish toes burrowing in the mud. “Did Stoney do that to you?”
“Yeah, but it don’t hurt none now.” When Sheila waded out to me, she held my hands, pulling me around in a circle. “Ring around the rosie,” she sang. She kept pulling me in circles, around and around as the water swirled against our thighs. She threw her head back and looked up at the green canopy of leaves overhead. “Hey, there’s a rope tied up there. We could swing off it and fall in the water.”
I looked up. A frayed rope, looped over a high limb of the water oak, dangled down six feet or so above the dark water. Sheila’s idea appealed to me about as much as a triple dose of castor oil. “It might break,” I said. “Looks old.”
But Sheila was already wading out of the water toward the beach. I watched her go. Water cascaded off her hump and fell onto her glistening white buttocks. My mouth went dry and I licked my lips trying to summon up some spit. “Sheila,” I called. “Don’t do it. It’s too high in the tree. You’ll get hurt.” Then the piece of me that was Mama, and which I hated, caused me to scream. “You don’t know how to swim. You’ll be killed. Stop! Come back right now.”
Sheila didn’t answer me. She rounded the horseshoe beach and climbed the bank toward the tree. I squatted farther down and peed; the warm water against my leg comforting me. “Please God, don’t let her die,” I begged. “Don’t take my Best Friend away from me.” I kept on praying, bargaining with Him as I watched her awkwardly scaling the trunk of the tree. She hoisted herself to the thick branch just below where the rope was looped halfway down the overhead limb. When she crawled out hugging the rough bark, I could feel its scrape against the tender skin of her stomach and breasts. She sat up and straddled the limb, and grabbing the rope, she pulled on it, testing its strength. I held my breath, my toes digging deeper into the mud. She would be too far out for me to save her; I was a dog-paddler, not a strong swimmer. “Send someone to help me,” I begged God. Sheila
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