SOFT GREEN BED 1962

A BOY AND GIRL BY A POND ONE SUMMERY DAY IN 1962

I waited by the pond-or lake as Yehudit called it being a romantic- staring across the skin of the water. Dragonflies hovered over the still surface like miniature helicopters, then took off zigzagging this way and then that. Ducks swam by on the other side gliding on the surface and now and then ducking under the water like upturned boats. Yehudit said yesterday to meet at the lake. I'll be there, Baruch, she said-she Herbrewizes  my name sometimes, most call me Benny-, even if I have to sneak out of a window. Some days her mother makes it difficult for her to get out before chores, and as it was the start of the summer school holidays, she was more firmer than ever about getting chores done. I looked at the bushes across the water leading into the woods that way. Behind me were more bushes and trees of the other part of the wood. There was an area secluded from the rest behind me where Yehudit and I had made love a couple of times. Even though it was secluded we were always on the listen for sounds, for foot steps or human voices. One time a grey squirrel spied on us as we were making love, stood on a branch and watched us for a few moments like some hairy voyageur. I stood with my hands in the pockets of my blue jeans, my white shirt open at the neck and loose from my jeans trying to act the cool kid. On the way to the pond I had passed cows in a field, avoiding cow pats, unsure if one of them might be a bull. I walked past the secluded area wondering we could have been seen by anyone passing by. I couldn't see in so I guess no one would if we were silent and not going it some. I thought it was silent, but it wasn't, there were birds singing, a woodpecker was hammering away in the woods to my left. There was no breeze, the air was still, it was balmy. Then she was there, coming out of the woods by a narrow path. Been waiting long? She asked. No, not long, I said. She was dressed in a black skirt and green top. She stood there staring at the water. Had a job to get out with out too many questions, she said. Where are you going in such a hurry? Mum asked, and so on and I said, meeting Baruch and she said who? Baruch or Benedict, I said. What'd she say then? I asked. Third degree questions where and what are you doing kind of stuff. What'd you say? Yehudit sighed and sat on the grassy bank and pulled her skirt over her knees- spoilsport- I sat next to her. I said I was going with you butterfly watching, Yehudit said. Did she believe you? I doubt it. But she let me go eventually. She lay back on the grass, looking up at the blue sky. I turned and lay on my stomach studying her. So what now? I asked. Have to see, won't we. I eyed her lips. Red, pink, slightly open. She spoke. What if she comes and looks for me? The lips moved opening and closing with each word. I loved her chin, the curve of it, the redden cheeks. Why would she? I asked, lowering my eyes to her neck. I'm fourteen as are you, and I think, she thinks things about us. Such as? Her neck was creamy white, soft, kissable, but no love bites were visible, thank God. She thinks we're having sex, I think, Yehudit said. We are, I said, looking at the swell of her breasts, snuggled away like small babes. But, she shouldn't know that; she ought not to even think of that, Yehudit said angrily. Did she say as such? No, but I felt  as if she thought we were or had. Yehudit looked at me. Her bright eyes searched me. So she just might come here, she said, spy on us. I laughed. It's no laughing matter, Baruch, what if she does? We're just sitting here; no harm in that, I said. Anyway, I said, did you tell her where we'd be? She nodded. I had to or she'd not let me out. She'd walk half a mile to catch you being humped? I said. Someone may have seen us last time, Yehudit said. Who and where? She closed her eyes. I wanted to kiss her breasts, but they were wrapped away like gifts. Don't know, but someone my mother knows. So we just sit here until it all blows over, I said. How long? Baruch, I can't just sit by a pond all day waiting to see if my mother turns up. I kissed her neck. Soft, velvety. She opened her eyes. That doesn't help. I kissed her chin. Nor does that. I kissed her lips, she murmured then was silent. We kissed. Warm, sticky, tongues touching. She hugged me close to her; I touched her hair with my left hand and her thigh with my right going beneath her skirt. She pulled away. What if she come? What if she does? What then? I said. I'm for it, Yehudit said. We kissed again. My hand touched her pubes. She giggled. Stop or she'll hear me, Yehudit said. The pond was still; ducks swam on their way. Dragonflies hovered and took off. I turned away and lay back on the grass, staring at the sky, feeling dampness on my fingers. It's too risky, she said. She may come. I watched white clouds drift by. My pecker had stirred. My heart was thumping fast. Sorry, she said, want to, but I'd not relax thinking her near listening. I closed my eyes, recalled the last time. After church, before she went home, us coming to the pond and it just happened. Us in the secluded area, the sound of the Sunday hymns going round my head, the bushes our shelter, the soft grass our green bed. Not your fault, I said, musing on the last time humping on our soft green bed.