The Tree House Book 2Chapter 20
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I’d arrived home just the night before for a Memorial Day weekend visit. Morning had broken as I mindlessly gazed out the double French doors into the backyard where I grew up. No thoughts were rattling through my brain. It was just empty like the backyard.
Sipping my morning coffee I heard my Mom shuffling about and then there was her light hand on my shoulder. I leaned my head over giving a little peck to her hand and said in my usual abbreviated way, “Morning!”
“Good Morning, Michael,” she said to me.
The Sun was just beginning to peak over the bevy of fully leafed Maple, Oak and Ash surrounding the glistening lawn. Jewels of dew drops gave the impression the close cropped lawn was ripe for a diamond hunt it sparkled so brightly.
“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it” she was saying.
Totally misinterpreting her remark I too sharply said, “Easter was less than six weeks ago.”
She laughed and lightly swatted me on my rump. “No, sweetie.
“No ... That’s not what I meant.”
“What then?” I replied looking askance at her and seeing a hint of moisture in her eyes.
“I was just thinking of you playing in the back yard with Terry. Both of you boys running, throwing things, balls, footballs ... playing,” she told me.
I let my mind wander to hers and I could just about see the tableau she was imagining. Her two sons. Laughing. Fighting. Whatever little boys and finally grown boys did as they played.
Turning my head, I kissed the side of her cheek and sighed. “I miss them too,” I told her with a little sadness in my voice. “It’s been five years and I miss them too.”
I was just shy of my twenty-eighth birthday. When I was 23, my Dad and my brother Terry had been sideswiped by a Corvette, going at what must have been at least a hundred, driving them into the solid wall of an overpass and oblivion.
Yes, I missed my other half and my Father. Somehow, things were not complete for me from then on. Of course, I was sure my mother was coping with the same feelings.
Back then, my total devastation was completed by that tragedy. Just days before that terrible crash, my long term girlfriend June, had told me ‘WE’ were over. She’d latched back onto an old flame from High School, the one who had gotten her pregnant and presented her with her little daughter.
“After all,” she had told me, “He’s Katie’s real Dad.”
What June didn’t know as she continued, “I owe it to her and to him to give it a try,” was that I was fingering a diamond in my pocket and in minutes I had hoped she would be wearing it.
Diamonds ... They were bittersweet reminders to me of lost loves.
Mom, she always sensed when melancholy was wrapping around me. She shook me, dragging me back from the dungeon I tended to fall into. Thoughts of Terry, June, Dad and the ‘Might Have Beens’ faded.
I smiled at her and just said, “Sorry. It hurts sometimes.”
She put her hand on the latch for the multi-windowed edge to our sanctuary and opened it enough for her to push me outside. “Walk a little. Smell the roses and pick a few for me,” she said. “I’ve got to shower and then I’ll make breakfast for us.”
“K, Mom, I’m out,” I told her using our short speak really saying, “Sure. I’ll walk this funk off and I’ll have a smile on when I come back.”
I fully intended to use the rear gate and take a quick jog on the perimeter running track that rings our complex. Just about every home on the edges of our development had such a gate. That way, about half of the homes had instant access.
Also, it meant that a quick walk and you were in a friend’s yard, unseen when you didn’t want to be seen. We boys growing up there had many a midnight skinny-dipping swim in an unsuspecting owner’s pool.
As I crossed the spacious sparkling lawn feeling moisture creep into my airy jogging sneakers, my eye caught the old ladder. Well, it wasn’t really a ladder as much as a bunch of boards nailed to the side of the hugest maple tree I’d ever seen, growing, no defining the separation of our two yards along with a thick hedge.
My dad and the dad next door had shared in the construction of a small but sturdy Tree House for their collective kids to play in. The horizontal boards on our side were matched with ones on their side. It went up when I was about 5 and my brother 6.
Next door, Russell was my brother’s age and even though I had no choice in the matter, Belinda was my age. At first it didn’t matter that she was a girl. We all played together. After a few years, I guess when we were about ten, things changed.
She and I were buddies until then. She was like a brother ... FUN! But she got all girlie and we drifted totally apart. Instead of dirty shorts and a torn tee shirt in the summer and holey jeans in the winter, it was prim and proper, starched sun dresses and pleated skirts and gowns.
It hurt me, the change. I remember the change all to well. She started to get all bumpy ... boobs, hips, legs and arse! Almost in an instant she turned into a girl from the friend I had known. I always seemed to miss my friend.
I thought about those fun times we had together when we were just little kids as I looked up from the bottom weathered rung to the top one. I admitted to myself that I wanted to spin time and for just a few moments, be back then ... back with my friend. Back with, as I had called her so long ago, my Lindie.
Nostalgia got the better of me and I diverted from a quick glance at the rear gate to the underside of the tree sanctuary. Hands reached for the nearest rung and old senses rekindled, scooted me up. I poked my head inside and took in a deep breath. It smelled the same.
Old wood, weathered from the years, a hint of sweetness from the Maple tree combined with my memories and I smiled. I grabbed at the lifting rope, one that helped with the last jump to get into our playground and hefted myself inside.
My butt settled on the floor and I dangled my feet, swishing them back and forth as I had done hundreds, perhaps a thousand times in my youth.
It was just as I remembered it. I smiled. The hands were there still. A little faded, but still all over the wall. It was a calendar of our lives.
As we neared each birthday we would all trace both of our hands and put a number above it. I wish it had been my idea, but Terry thought of it the first day we went into the newly built kid’s home our fathers had put together.
I found my first imprint with a ‘6’ above it. I placed my hand over it. How tiny my hands were then. One hand today covered both from that time so well past ... but not forgotten.
There were sets of our hand prints, scattered over the wall, for all of the years as time had progressed. Then my eyes settled on the pair I was looking for. It had set of two hands, my left and Lindie’s right, inside of a heart. A 14 was there too, with a double circle around it.
My left hand and Lindie’s right. Together. Nestled together in the heart. I smiled. We had been 14 when I found a new friend in an old one. Oh to go back to that time. Our first time.
My eyes caught the phrase I had written when I was 10. “Girls Suck!” scrawled in fifth grade letters, about a foot above the floor. The letters rested about an inch above a wooden box.
A box that back then held whatever treasure or game we wanted to play. I was sure it was empty now. Just sitting there, covering up my past, our past, our lives.
I scrunched my back up against the scratchy wall and pushed my eyes closed and pressed my head backward into the roughness. Letting my memory slide back to the day I ... we ... drew our hands together, surrounded by the heart.
Russell and Terry had their growth spurt hit about the same time and each surged to almost a foot taller than me. Their bodies had thickened too.
That fateful summer day they had started teasing me and it just wouldn’t end. No matter what the sport that we got into, it became odd man out, with me in the middle. Finally frustration overwhelmed me and I headed into the Tree House to shed my boyish tears and find solace in privacy.
I really hadn’t paid attention to anything except my misery as I climbed in and rolled over to bury my face into the space where the floor met the wall. I cried. I didn’t understand why they had been so mean to me.
Then there was a soft hand on my back and a body nestled in behind me. The hand moved up to my shoulder and stroked the side of my face. A soft kiss landed on the back of my head.
I can still feel the echo of that kiss to this day. The warmth that kiss had given me. I turned over to face Lindie and more tears fell into her and she hugged me until the frustration drained and my sobbing stopped.
A gentle, “Shush” was there and the softness of her body against mine helped soothe the savageness I’d been subjected to. Her hand brushed softly against my face and over my cheek.
My hand in reply came up to her cheek and I told her I was sorry for being such a sissy and crying. Her face was so soft. I glanced at my hand, resting inches away and slid it behind her ear. Her eyes closed and a little purr hummed from her lips.
Her lips found mine and I gulped in a lung full of air. I’d never felt anything like that. It was like a single blast of fireworks went off in my head. My lips tingled.
Lindy pulled back. I caught my breath and when I opened my eyes, there she was, smiling at me. “That was nice,” she said. Then she pulled our faces back together and another explosion went off.
“Fantastic!” I told her when I was able to breath again.
“Thanks,” she said. “I was trying to make you feel better.”
She stroked my face and gathered up some moisture from my tears and wiped it on her sun dress. Then she lifted up the hem and swiped my face with a handful of her dress.
As she lifted her dress up higher and higher, she had captured my arm under hers and ‘flap’ my hand fell on the skin of her side. She was so warm. So soft. I gasped as she jumped a little.
I moved my hand a little after she finished drying my face and was rewarded with another humming bird purr. With closed eyes, she said, “Mmmm, that feels nice.”
Getting bolder, I moved my hand down along the edge of her body and found the elastic of her panties. I jumped and scooted my hand up. Up further than I had intended.
I would have stopped when I reached the fabric of her bra, but in the summer, well, she really didn’t need one. There was nothing to stop my hands short of the nipple I brushed against.
“Oooohhhh!” her breath pulsed over my face. Embarrassed at touching her so intimately, I started to withdraw my hand. The hand holding her balled up hem quickly lowered and my hand was trapped.
“That’s nice,” Lindie said to me. “Don’t stop.”
Her hand slid up my arm and topped mine. “Like this,” she said as she guided my hand in hers. “Rub a little and squeeze it.”
Her body jumped. Her bare leg came up over mine and hooked behind my knee, bringing my knee between her legs. Warm flesh to warm flesh.
“Oh, that feels so good,” she whispered. Then again, “Don’t stop.”
Her hand moved over to my side and then around to my chest. She did to me what I was doing to her. ‘Zap!’ sparks flew through me as her hand squeezed my breast.
Tugs at my shirt tail and her hand was exploring under my shirt as I was doing to her. When she grabbed onto my nipple with a little pull and a tweak, more sparks sped through me. Following her lead, I did the same to her. In moments we were both panting.
“I want to see,” she finally said.
Totally confused, being a very clueless fourteen year old boy, I said, “What?”
Lindie laughed softly and slid her hand down to my light cloth shorts. She rubbed her flat hand over the bulge that had developed there.
“It’s been rubbing against my leg and I want to see it!” she told me.
I just looked at her through glazed eyes. Her fingers started to tenderly search out the shape hidden fractions of an inch from her touch. She traced up to the tip, around the sides and down to my balls.
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