Joelene

The following week with Eric was like

seven minutes in Heaven.

We played,

we talked,

we laughed.

But Eric hated the boring questions,

like: what's your favourite colour?

What are your dreams?

What are your aspirations?

Eric always fanned them off:

"I don't know."

"Not sure."

"Mm. Too lazy to think about it, squirt."

But when it was my turn to speak,

I'd fish out a whole list of things.

I wanted to be a pediatrician.

I wanted to skydive some day.

I had a lot to say.

But Eric would fall asleep

whenever I talked about them.

But I couldn't say nothing.

He was tired.

Papaw took him to the farm

on Mondays and Thursdays.

Now we were in the barn,

feeding the horses,

washing away manure

with the long hose.

And I got a flash of mischief,

and started spraying Eric with the water.

He playfully tried to dodge it,

and I laughed and threw my head back.

Then he was grabbing me

and dragging me against his wet chest,

and he held my fingers

and peel them off the hose easily.

And I was being sprayed next.

Until water was dripping

from my hair

and mouth,

and my white blouse

and skirt were now

see-through.

And Eric could see

my nipples against the fabric

and the pink fabric

of my panties.

And his eyes

changed.

"What?" I asked,

using my youthful weapon again,

and Eric shook his head anxiously.

Then he swallowed

and asked: "can you ride

the horse?"

I nodded slowly,

cheeks pink,

eyes just as dilated as his.

"Should we ride

one of them then?" He asked.

"Yes," I said,

making no move to remove

my wet clothes. "I don't mind."