cheek, then slowly rose.
“And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with …”
He lifted her hair and ran one finger down her neck.
“Instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may
And now, like amorous birds of prey …”
His right arm slipped around her waist.
“Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapped power.”
The other arm closed the circle.
“Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball …”
He drew her closer to him.
“And tear our pleasure …”
He brought his cheek to hers, almost, not quite touching.
“With rough strife
Through the iron gates of life
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still …”
His face turned into hers, his lips sweeping her cheek
“Yet we will make him run.”
We all sat staring. Except for Sanna, who stood—but I’m guessing just barely. Me, I could feel my cheeks set to broil. I leaned in toward Jimbo. And he leaned back in toward me. But he wasn’t looking at me.
“ What, ” said Bobby Welpler, who dropped his knife and stick, “was that?”
“Dusty old books,” Emerson said, and sat down.
It happened that way every time: Farsanna asking one of us a question about ourselves, something I’d have sworn we all knew, and then out would come some revelation, some peek into some part of a soul we hadn’t known we were living beside. Sanna would nod like she understood, like whatever it was you’d said made sense, and lots of it. She had that way about her. Those hard-edged eyes of hers probed like a screwdriver blade leveraging off a paint can lid, and out would come more and more and more, before you knew you’d begun to spill your insides. And you were grateful somehow to her, like she’d given you some kind of gift that was only yourself, but pictured from the best angle and held up in a frame.
“And what,” Sanna asked Jimbo when his turn came, “will you someday pursue?”
“Money,” he announced earnestly. “Cold, hard cash.”
And we all laughed, our legs dangling down into the Hole from our favorite finger of rock.
“The day you care a flying flip about money,” I said for us all, “is the day I wear a pink satin bow on the top of my head.”
Em shook his head. “Jimbo, man, why do you think I don’t let you collect for the Big Dog Lawn business? You’d let all our customers walk away without ever paying. Poor Miss Pittman’s had a hard week. Bless little ol’ Charlie Barker’s heart, he’s on a fixed income now and his kids don’t hardly ever come to see him. The Dooleys got eight kids and one on the way—don’t reckon they ought to have to worry about one more expense here lately … Lord, we’d have gone broke in a week!”
Jimbo nodded, clearly agreeing. “All the more reason to make money—so’s to have fun getting rid of it as fast as I can.”
“You could arrange it,” L. J. suggested, “in piles untended in the back of the truck. And you could drive in your typically pell-mell fashion down the Pike. That would disperse the wealth rapidly enough.”
Jimbo looked hurt. “Now what the Helsinki’d be the point in that? Why would you want it landing on folks already too loaded to stand up straight?”
I pulled his head toward me and ruffled his hair. “It’s why we all love you, dear Bo.”
“What Turtle means,” Welp snickered, “is her. She means she loves you, Bo.”
Once again, Bobby Welpler had come far too close to echoing what I hadn’t meant to be saying. But no one except Bobby caught how I turned pale and desperate just then.
L. J. leaned out over the Hole to address Farsanna at the end of our line of dangling legs. “Excuse me, Sri Lanka. But since you’re currently garnering information about America, take heed: The particular specimen you see before you,” he motioned to Bo, “would not personify the American Way.”
Farsanna’s small feet kicked a circle of froth. “This,” she asked L. J., but
“And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with …”
He lifted her hair and ran one finger down her neck.
“Instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may
And now, like amorous birds of prey …”
His right arm slipped around her waist.
“Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapped power.”
The other arm closed the circle.
“Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball …”
He drew her closer to him.
“And tear our pleasure …”
He brought his cheek to hers, almost, not quite touching.
“With rough strife
Through the iron gates of life
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still …”
His face turned into hers, his lips sweeping her cheek
“Yet we will make him run.”
We all sat staring. Except for Sanna, who stood—but I’m guessing just barely. Me, I could feel my cheeks set to broil. I leaned in toward Jimbo. And he leaned back in toward me. But he wasn’t looking at me.
“ What, ” said Bobby Welpler, who dropped his knife and stick, “was that?”
“Dusty old books,” Emerson said, and sat down.
It happened that way every time: Farsanna asking one of us a question about ourselves, something I’d have sworn we all knew, and then out would come some revelation, some peek into some part of a soul we hadn’t known we were living beside. Sanna would nod like she understood, like whatever it was you’d said made sense, and lots of it. She had that way about her. Those hard-edged eyes of hers probed like a screwdriver blade leveraging off a paint can lid, and out would come more and more and more, before you knew you’d begun to spill your insides. And you were grateful somehow to her, like she’d given you some kind of gift that was only yourself, but pictured from the best angle and held up in a frame.
“And what,” Sanna asked Jimbo when his turn came, “will you someday pursue?”
“Money,” he announced earnestly. “Cold, hard cash.”
And we all laughed, our legs dangling down into the Hole from our favorite finger of rock.
“The day you care a flying flip about money,” I said for us all, “is the day I wear a pink satin bow on the top of my head.”
Em shook his head. “Jimbo, man, why do you think I don’t let you collect for the Big Dog Lawn business? You’d let all our customers walk away without ever paying. Poor Miss Pittman’s had a hard week. Bless little ol’ Charlie Barker’s heart, he’s on a fixed income now and his kids don’t hardly ever come to see him. The Dooleys got eight kids and one on the way—don’t reckon they ought to have to worry about one more expense here lately … Lord, we’d have gone broke in a week!”
Jimbo nodded, clearly agreeing. “All the more reason to make money—so’s to have fun getting rid of it as fast as I can.”
“You could arrange it,” L. J. suggested, “in piles untended in the back of the truck. And you could drive in your typically pell-mell fashion down the Pike. That would disperse the wealth rapidly enough.”
Jimbo looked hurt. “Now what the Helsinki’d be the point in that? Why would you want it landing on folks already too loaded to stand up straight?”
I pulled his head toward me and ruffled his hair. “It’s why we all love you, dear Bo.”
“What Turtle means,” Welp snickered, “is her. She means she loves you, Bo.”
Once again, Bobby Welpler had come far too close to echoing what I hadn’t meant to be saying. But no one except Bobby caught how I turned pale and desperate just then.
L. J. leaned out over the Hole to address Farsanna at the end of our line of dangling legs. “Excuse me, Sri Lanka. But since you’re currently garnering information about America, take heed: The particular specimen you see before you,” he motioned to Bo, “would not personify the American Way.”
Farsanna’s small feet kicked a circle of froth. “This,” she asked L. J., but
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