Hoe

I pop-stop on the sidewalk. Flat smack of Keds on concrete, rattle of pink plastic petals on the woven white basket. Mama’s on the front porch, long-handled hoe held high in two hands. Go through the garage she calls, so I park my bike, head into the house. Later, I hear her on the phone with a friend. Rattler. Or garter? I left the pieces for the mate to find. For a week or two, she tells me to stay on the sidewalks. Takes me to school and back. On Tuesday before Tee-ball, I walk to Charlie’s house. His dad’s the coach of our new neighborhood team. We build Lincoln Logs and LEGOs, goof around until it’s time to go. One game we play is where I stretch out, golden shirt and shorts on his comforter’s soft sky. Hair haloed on his pillow and eyes shut tight–the perfect princess. His tube socks silent as he crosses the carpet, almost to the part I like best. When I open my eyes, stretch my arms wide. Double wink blinks, my most dramatic of yawns. But now, his breath warm on my nose, chapped lips nearly to mine. The door is open, but we both don’t hear his dad before he comes in. A new ending unfolding. Charlie left alone, his dad marching me home straight to the front porch where I stand behind him, grass stains on my shoes, his finger ready to ring the bell.