Don’t let it be Josh, I thought as I opened the door.

Another Country -8-

by Erin Halfelven

We only worked a little more in the yard; it didn’t have to be perfect. The trailer would cover it all up, anyway so however much we cleared away would just have to do.

Some of the dust we stirred up was the alkali sort so common in Cabarker; it sticks to your skin, turning your sweat into streaky gray mud. We were putting the tools away when Mom said, “Go get your shower and be quick; I’ll need one, too.”

I knew what she meant. Mom and Dad have their own shower in their bedroom, but there’s only one small water heater. A cool shower sounded better, anyway. Considering some of what I’d thought about, maybe a cold one.

I trudged into the house, and Mom followed with some advice. “Pick something nice to wear. Your father is taking us all out to dinner at Las Fuentes. And don’t wear those ragged sneakers.”

I protested. “It’s too warm for long pants or leather shoes.”

I heard her roll her eyes behind me. Well, I didn’t hear them, but I imagined the clicking sound they would make. “You’ve got those nice walking shorts your grandma gave you and your sandals. And a polo, not a t-shirt,” she continued.

“Uh-huh,” I murmured. The shorts are kind of loose. I always feel like I need a belt to hold them on. And they’re a strange shade of blue-green, almost turquoise. I had a white polo with a collar almost the same color.

“The thicker material of the polo won’t show your—what did you call them?—turkey timers so much,” she said behind me.

I hunched my shoulders, embarrassed, but I had to hope it would be true. She wasn’t done, though; she had to add. “I suppose you could wear a training bra under your shirt, but we don’t have one of those.”

“Mom!” I squeaked.

She laughed, a giggle, really. “Just teasing you, kiddo.”

I ran inside to get away from her.

*

I had gathered the clothes I meant to wear, including a sleeveless t-shirt I thought would be good under the polo even if it would be a bit warm, when I heard someone at the front door.

Don’t let it be Josh, I thought as I opened the door.

It was Josh.

He stood there staring at me and I realized that I was a mess, with dirt and sweat, and even weed seeds in my hair. Neither of us said anything for too long, just standing on either side of a screen door staring at each other.

Finally, he spoke. “I wanted you to know that Chud and I took care of Gary. I knocked him down, and Chud sat on him.” He smiled because Chud sitting on people was an old joke going back to grade school.

“Oh, well, uh—” Gary hadn’t actually done anything to me, just scared me and called me names and he kind of had a reason for that. I felt my face turning hot.

“Really, seriously, Gary promised to apologize to you at school. He thinks it was funny what happened now.”

“Oh, yeah, well it sort of was,” I said smiling at him.

“Looks like you had some yardwork to do at home, huh?”

“Yeah, well, I guess so. Um, I was just about to take a shower.” And now I knew my face was red.

He stood there a moment nodding. Our front porch has a roof about eight feet wide and ten feet long so he was completely in the shade with the front yard and street kind of glowing in the late afternoon sun behind him. And I realized that his face was turning red too.

“After…?” he began but I cut him off.

“We’re going to dinner,” I said quickly. “And tomorrow we’re going to move a trailer into the backyard for my sister-in-law to live in while John is overseas.”

“Huh,” he said. “My mom is going out with friends tonight so I’m alone. I thought maybe we could hang out?” He looked…hopeful?

“Huh,” I said. I wanted to ask about Mallory, Josh’s stuck-up sometimes-girlfriend, but if didn’t mention her, I sure wasn’t. She might be punishing him for being insufficiently adoring by refusing to be avaiable for a Saturday date. I shifted one foot then the other and I knew I was still smiling.

He smiled back.

That felt nice but confused the shit out of me.

“Watch tv, movies?” he suggested. “Saturday Night Show is at eleven. Late show on channel nine at 12:30?”

I was nodding. It sounded like fun. We’d done it before, and stayed up even later. “Late, late show?”

He shrugged. “At 2:30? If it doesn’t suck.” Seventeen was PBS which was a weird channel, either very good or so bad it was hard to believe. Thirteen was Spanish language but they sometimes had late movies in English.

We both nodded. We could check TVGuide, but there weren’t as many channel options in our part of California as there were in the coastal cities.

“Here, not my place,” he suggested. His bedroom is right next to his mom’s and there’s another apartment through his bedroom wall. My folks’ bedroom is at the other end of the house from the living room. We usually did such late-night things at my house. Sometimes, we stayed up all night.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “We ought to be back from eating by nine.”

He looked off into the distance for a moment, rubbed his neck, looked at the floor of the porch, then looked back at me and smiled. “Okay,” he said.

I smiled back.

He turned and started off the porch. “See you at nine,” he mumbled. Then added, “Go take your bath. You look like you need it.”

I glared at him, but he wasn’t looking, so I shut the door and glared at it. “Why did he have to say that last part? Did he think I needed a bath because he could smell me through the screen door?

I put a hand in my armpit and sniffed beside the hand. Did I smell bad? “Yagh!” I snarled.