Rich Shapero (6 page)

Fristeen skied on her bottom to join him.
Robbie pushed the leaves aside to make a space, and once they'd bedded in, he
covered them over.

"It's warm," Fristeen giggled,
squirming against him.

"Sh-h-h. We can't make any
noise."

She bit her lips to seal them. Robbie
caught his breath. Her red lips, and the white teeth pressed deeply— The sight
set something churning inside him. "The Hiding Hole," he whispered.

"Nobody knows," Fristeen said.

"We can do whatever we want." He
looked into her eyes.

"What should we do?"

Out of nowhere it came to him. "Count
your teeth."

"Alright," she consented.

"Lay back."

She did as he said.

"Now open your mouth."

Her jaw parted and her teeth appeared.

"Okay. Here I go."

He began to count, using his forefinger to
touch each one. They were hard and gleaming, with strange pits and points. They
were all fascinating, but when he reached the first molar, other sights
distracted him. The insides of her cheeks were silky and smooth, and led back
to a cavern that descended into darkness. You could roll a marble down there,
like the one he lost down the bathroom sink. Her tongue lay limp, like a little
pillow, but when he touched it, it twitched and curled around his finger. That
gave him a jolt.

"How many?" Fristeen wondered.

Robbie blinked. "I forget."

"Crazy boy." She poked his belly.

He laughed, pinched her nose and slid back
beside her.

"Can you really fly?" Fristeen
raised her finger and drew a trail through the clouds.

"In my dreams," Robbie said.

"Will you show me how?"

"Sure. It's easy to glide and
turn," he explained. "And if you want to come down, you coast.
Getting
up
there—that's the hard part. You have to catch the wind just
right."

"You need wings—" She made a
skeptical face.

Robbie shook his head. "Arms work
fine."

She laughed. "I'm going to kiss you
again." She raised herself, shook the leaves from her hair, and was
halfway to his cheek when his expression stopped her.

"Fristeen—"

She waited for him to speak.

"Let's sleep together," Robbie
said.

"Here?"

He nodded.

She thought for a moment. "Okay."

A coarse rasp sounded above them. The
squirrel was hunched in the willow lattice, watching, and as they spotted him, he
launched through the branches, chattering for all he was worth.

"He'll tell everyone," Fristeen
warned, then she curled next to Robbie with her cheek on his shoulder.
"That's nice."

Strands of her hair webbed his face. He
could feel her breath.

"Did you ever have a girl for a
friend?" she asked.

"No," he said. "Did
you—"

She put her hand on his chest. "You're
the first."

Robbie could feel her warmth all down his
side, and then her lips pressed against his cheek. His hands were trembling. He
had a presentiment, a feeling of anticipation unlike anything he'd experienced.
Something really important was happening, but he wasn't sure what. "When
you love someone, and you're sleeping with them—" He could barely speak.
"You put your arms around them."

"You do other things, too."

"Yep." Robbie took a breath.
"You kiss their lips."

"They're here," Fristeen said.

"Who?"

"Listen," Fristeen whispered.

Robbie listened, but he couldn't hear
anything.

"Mister Squirrel and his
friends." She lifted her shoulders and gazed around the Hole, pointing at
different places on the rim. "Mousies and weasels— And nosy Miss
Fox." She squealed, scooped some leaves up and hurled them at the lattice.

"What do they want?"

"We're the show," she fretted.
"They've come to watch."

Through the falling leaves, Robbie saw
them—snouts probing the lattice, whiskers twitching, beady eyes eager to see.

They settled on branches, crouching,
hanging, chins sunk in crutches, teeth bared and grinning. Word had traveled
fast.

"What should we do?"

"Don't let them." Fristeen shook
her head. "They'll have all kinds of bad thoughts. Don't let them see
anything."

"Get down," Robbie said. He
grabbed her and drew her back beside him. Then he used both arms to sweep the
leaves over them.

"That's good," she said, and she
swept leaves too.

"Sh-sh-sh—" Robbie stopped her
and turned his ear to listen.

The forest was suddenly quiet. Not a
creature peeped.

"I'm scared," Fristeen whispered.

Robbie rustled his arms around her middle.
She did the same, and they pressed each other close. His heart rose and he put
his lips to hers.

"Oo-oo-oo," said the wild things.
"Ah-hh-hh-hh."

Robbie glanced up. They were craning
forward, bobbing their snouts. There was clicking and grunting, then heads
turned as they conferred.

"See?" Fristeen whimpered. She
pulled him back down and continued heaping leaves, covering their heads,
burying them completely.

"It's okay."

She was clasping him desperately, chest
heaving. When he touched her cheek, he could feel her tears.

"They think I'm like Grace."

"We're hiding." He stroked her
temple. "It's okay."

"Dream boy—" She barely got the
words out. Her tears came in a flood.

They lay in each other's arms for a long
time. The animals grew bored. A couple of them spit insults at the squirrel.

Gradually, peace grew around them like a
soft cocoon.

On the rim above, branches clacked in the
wind. Or was it the sound of the beasts departing? Their fur was sleek and the
sun in the west flashed on their backs. One hitched its whistle to a flying
breeze. That was the last thing Robbie heard. Or had he already dozed off?

In a gray limbo, midway between asleep and
awake, backlit clouds rotated in the gathering darkness. Where he lay, day was
ending. It was damp and dreary, and the gloom was encroaching. But there, in
that distant place, something promised awaited him. A great exultation. A dream
like no other. The clouds were dissolving now, rays of fierce light speared
through—glints of an eye, giant, all-seeing. A fierce flowering of the energy
he felt with Fristeen. And Dad's great understanding, magnified a thousand
times. Magic of magics, secret of secrets. Fearfully strange, but familiar,
too. Like a memory rising from deep within you. Or an invisible companion,
finally spied.

"Not that it matters," a deep
voice murmured. "When you dream, there's no outside or in. Your mind is an
unimaginable bloom. A willow catkin as big as the moon. With billions of
anthers, shaking pollen like stars. It may seem strange, but in this boundless
place— You're not alone.

"I've been watching. I know what you
want and who you are.

"Your home is a prison. Your mother's
a drone. Those wild seeds of your father's will never get sown. Fate sent you
Fristeen, and you like to explore. 'The cosmos,' Dad says. Baby steps, Robbie. Baby
steps—nothing more.

"When your baby teeth are gone, who
will you be?

"One who waits to be eaten? Food for
despair? Or one who broke free?

"Look into my eye. I'm your dreams
reaching out. The Fristeen you yearn for, that thrill, that ache— When you're full
to the brim with her? That's just a taste. I'm here. I'm waiting. But I'll be
moving on soon.

"This time is yours—summer's ahead.
Until the trees yellow, the dreams are on me. No thoughts of leaving. Not yet.
Just feel free. Dream, Robbie. Dream. What shall it be? A pram up Raging River
to where day and night meet? A cable-ride in a basket between Venus and Mars?
A flight through the heart of an exploding star? You and Fristeen— Take every
chance, awake or asleep. Find the door, spring the hatch, pry the gap between
sill and sash.

"Dream, Robbie, dream. Right here,
right now. Anything you choose. Crack the sun open and paint your face with its
yolk. Cast the fragments from you and turn the world to smoke. Pull the tacks from
the night and roll the sky up. A new universe? Say the word—I'll make one for
you. You, just you and little Fristeen. I'm the Dream Man. Bid your curled body
goodbye, and come with me."

They woke to a gray sky. Fearful the
weather might turn, they hurried back. It was harder to see the needles, and
they got badly pricked. By the time they reached He Knows, the cloud cover was
like a finger painting, all dark knots and windings. They parted at the bottom
of the Hill. Robbie felt Fristeen's presence even after she'd disappeared down
the path.

Then he was standing there, facing the back
door, alone.

Trudy will be furious, he thought.

Sure enough. She was on the sofa, and when
he stepped across the threshold, she closed her pocket mirror with a snap.
"You brat—" She lunged and got hold of him.

He went limp, slipping through her hands
onto the floor.

"Bear, bear—" He rocked with
delirium.

"You'll wish one had," she
sneered, looming over him.

Robbie sighed and raised himself.

"First, you'll scrub out the tub. Then
you can paint my toenails. Just wait, wonderboy. You'll be locked up all
summer."

She was right, Robbie knew. Mom would be
merciless. He ground his teeth and headed for his room.

Then he felt Trudy's hand on his shoulder.

When he looked back, she was scowling.
Under the mop of red curls, he could see the white flag in her eyes.

They sat at the dining room table and
talked things over. It would be better, Trudy said, if Mom and Dad didn't find
out. Robbie agreed. He promised not to tell where he had gone, and she promised
to keep his absence a secret. Trudy called on Jesus as a witness and they shook
hands. Then she fixed him a sandwich.

He ate in silence, examining the living
room as he chewed. The stove was there, and the woodpile beside it. The reading
chair. The glass-top table. He stood and circled the room, still chewing,
wondering what had changed. On the mantle was the picture of Mom by Old
Faithful, the flower of glass beads that Grandma made, the rocks Dad found who knows
where. Robbie felt like a stranger.

He wandered down the hall, peering into his
room and Mom and Dad's. Trudy was in front of their dresser putting away
laundry. It was all familiar, but the house seemed different. It was stark and
vacant, as if the people who lived there had just moved in.
They
won't be staying long,
Robbie thought. He laughed. Where did that
idea come from?

***

The pact with Trudy opened the way. Mom was
gone three days a week, and on those days, Robbie did as he pleased. He made
Fristeen promise not to come to his house, but he didn't tell her why.
Sometimes she waited in the shrubs for him. Other times he found her at home.

It was always exciting when Grace was
around. She'd say things that surprised you, or do things you didn't think
grownups would do. She liked seeing him, even early in the morning, and she
didn't fuss if she wasn't dressed. She'd bend over and he'd see her bottom, or
her robe would fall open and he'd see her breasts. They were hard and pointy,
not round and squishy like Mom's. And what was best—she didn't have rules. She
never intruded—Fristeen made sure of that.

Often Grace was gone and they had the house
to themselves. They both liked to draw. They'd tear open a grocery bag and
spread it out on the floor.

"An eye?" Fristeen guessed.

Robbie nodded. It was all he remembered of
him. The stranger hadn't come again. "Something I dreamed."

There was a puzzle of a princess Fristeen
was working on. They pieced her face together. Then they filled in the sunrise
behind her, and the baby in the crystal ball. Sometimes Robbie brought his
marbles, or his bow and arrows. They'd play inside till the time felt right to
turn their minds to more serious things. Then eyes would meet and a daring look
would flash, and they'd be out the door, beating toward the forest.

They might forge a new path and do real
exploring. Or visit familiar places—there was always something to see. Every
day that passed, the branches reached farther and the leaves grew thicker. The
perfect weather seemed like it would never end. Shivers? There was no trace of
him—maybe he'd vanished for good. One day they rolled onto their backs beneath
the Jigglies, and Robbie gazed up and hissed through his teeth.

"What are you doing?" Fristeen
giggled.

Robbie kicked his feet. "Making them
grow."