gear, her pendulous cone-shaped tits squeezed between her outstretched arms. The barbarian Barbie gripped the last slender inch of the snake’s tail as if it were a baseball bat and dug in with both heels. If Delilah were twenty years older, she probably would have read more into the image.
She touched the hand-painted woman; her dusky arms and glowing lightning-god eyes stood out from the truck-body around it, a paint-depth bas relief. The winecork nipples stood out like Braille.
“Time’s up!” said the radio.
The sudden voice gave Delilah a jolt and she almost dropped it. Her heart leapt with a shot of adrenaline and she looked around for a place to stash herself. Running around the rear of the snake truck, she noticed that the camper-top’s door was open a bit. She cupped her hands against the milky glass and peered through the parentheses of her fingers, but couldn’t see inside.
“I’m coming to find you!” Ginny called from somewhere to her distant right, shouting in a singsong voice.
Delilah lifted the sash and climbed into the back of the truck, letting it sigh back down on pneumatic hinges. It closed with a hollow click.
Inside the camper shell, it was stifling hot and the air seemed sapped of oxygen; grainy, almost, with the smell of earth and a murk of forest-smells. A dulled tang of pine. The side windows were painted over with the red of the body, coloring the faint light from the streetlamps a boudoir crimson. Crammed against the back of the cab was a fluffy black bale of pine needles. Many of the needles had slipped out and now coated the floor of the truckbed with a thin, crunchy carpet.
To Delilah’s right as she climbed in was a burlap sack with Fertilizer stenciled across the front, an enormous sack big enough to drape from one end of the bed to the other. It was full of something large, bulbous, as big as the girl herself. Next to that was a Stihl weed-trimmer with a well-gnawed line, encrusted with mulched grass and reeking of gasoline.
A gardener-man, then, Delilah thought, duck-walking over to the bale of pine needles and settling down beside it. I wonder if he plants tulips? She loved tulips, loved the light sweet smell of them.
“I’m going to find you,” said Ginny from somewhere in front of the truck. It had been parked facing the apartment building, with the rear pointing at the dark street. Delilah could hear her new shoes clopping along the pavement as she skipped from car to car. “Ah- ha! . . . no, I guess not.”
Delilah froze in place and slowed her breathing; inhaled . . . exhaled . . . inhaled . . . exhaled through her mouth. Her belly rose and fell under her My Little Pony t-shirt and she pinched the seams of her jeans, anticipating her discovery in the hot dark camper, studying the rough denim with her fingertips as she listened.
“Are you in here?” Ginny asked. She heard a car door open with a metallic crackle.
A couple of heartbeats passed. “Nope.” The door slammed shut, ker-tunk!
Silence.
Delilah sat there in the gas-smelling dark, straining at the limit of her hearing, pine needles poking her through her jeans. She could hear the other girl doing something superficial, manipulating something with her hands.
“Over over over!” barked the radio.
She gasped and turned it off. Hopefully, Ginny didn’t hear that. She slid an inch to her left as quietly as she could manage and pressed her shoulder and hip against the bristly straw bale.
Ginny sounded closer. She gave a surfer-like “Woah,” and walked right up to the snake truck. “Check that out.”
Delilah listened to her creep around the vehicle, taking in the entirety of the artwork. The girl trailed a hand down the side of the panel, starting at the gas cap and sliding down to the tail-light with susurrant hiss that sounded more snakelike than Delilah wanted to admit. She shifted to get away from a needle that was poking her in the butt and rested her feet against the burlap sack. Whatever
She touched the hand-painted woman; her dusky arms and glowing lightning-god eyes stood out from the truck-body around it, a paint-depth bas relief. The winecork nipples stood out like Braille.
“Time’s up!” said the radio.
The sudden voice gave Delilah a jolt and she almost dropped it. Her heart leapt with a shot of adrenaline and she looked around for a place to stash herself. Running around the rear of the snake truck, she noticed that the camper-top’s door was open a bit. She cupped her hands against the milky glass and peered through the parentheses of her fingers, but couldn’t see inside.
“I’m coming to find you!” Ginny called from somewhere to her distant right, shouting in a singsong voice.
Delilah lifted the sash and climbed into the back of the truck, letting it sigh back down on pneumatic hinges. It closed with a hollow click.
Inside the camper shell, it was stifling hot and the air seemed sapped of oxygen; grainy, almost, with the smell of earth and a murk of forest-smells. A dulled tang of pine. The side windows were painted over with the red of the body, coloring the faint light from the streetlamps a boudoir crimson. Crammed against the back of the cab was a fluffy black bale of pine needles. Many of the needles had slipped out and now coated the floor of the truckbed with a thin, crunchy carpet.
To Delilah’s right as she climbed in was a burlap sack with Fertilizer stenciled across the front, an enormous sack big enough to drape from one end of the bed to the other. It was full of something large, bulbous, as big as the girl herself. Next to that was a Stihl weed-trimmer with a well-gnawed line, encrusted with mulched grass and reeking of gasoline.
A gardener-man, then, Delilah thought, duck-walking over to the bale of pine needles and settling down beside it. I wonder if he plants tulips? She loved tulips, loved the light sweet smell of them.
“I’m going to find you,” said Ginny from somewhere in front of the truck. It had been parked facing the apartment building, with the rear pointing at the dark street. Delilah could hear her new shoes clopping along the pavement as she skipped from car to car. “Ah- ha! . . . no, I guess not.”
Delilah froze in place and slowed her breathing; inhaled . . . exhaled . . . inhaled . . . exhaled through her mouth. Her belly rose and fell under her My Little Pony t-shirt and she pinched the seams of her jeans, anticipating her discovery in the hot dark camper, studying the rough denim with her fingertips as she listened.
“Are you in here?” Ginny asked. She heard a car door open with a metallic crackle.
A couple of heartbeats passed. “Nope.” The door slammed shut, ker-tunk!
Silence.
Delilah sat there in the gas-smelling dark, straining at the limit of her hearing, pine needles poking her through her jeans. She could hear the other girl doing something superficial, manipulating something with her hands.
“Over over over!” barked the radio.
She gasped and turned it off. Hopefully, Ginny didn’t hear that. She slid an inch to her left as quietly as she could manage and pressed her shoulder and hip against the bristly straw bale.
Ginny sounded closer. She gave a surfer-like “Woah,” and walked right up to the snake truck. “Check that out.”
Delilah listened to her creep around the vehicle, taking in the entirety of the artwork. The girl trailed a hand down the side of the panel, starting at the gas cap and sliding down to the tail-light with susurrant hiss that sounded more snakelike than Delilah wanted to admit. She shifted to get away from a needle that was poking her in the butt and rested her feet against the burlap sack. Whatever
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