Chapter 39

Karen

What I want in the morning is to wake up, put on the coffee, detour to the john and do my business, brush my teeth, look at my reflection in the mirror and be able to say, “Did you really do that? Really?”

Of course, I wasn’t thinking of protecting myself and my students from knife wielding looters ... nor was I considering defending my person and my neighbor from gun toting ... and firing ... miscreants ... bent on revenge, worthy of intensive and extensive self examination ... this is the modern world... 1977 ... Wyoming ... and Montana. I haven’t done anything exciting ... just taking out the trash.

No ... I’m talking about ... maybe getting drunk and kissing a boy ... or ... even ... grabbing an appendage I’d never seen ... now THAT would be exciting. And I WANT to. And just maybe ... Angela knows what who and when such an attitude would be appropriate.

There’s cars parked ... maybe there are boys in the pool.

“Holy moley Angie ... where’s the rest of your suit?”

She preened. Two postage stamps and a cork would cover more ... and there was quite a bit NOT covered.

She struck a pose, “Like it?”

“Does your mother know?”

“Oh Hell no...” she winked, “ ... I’m hunting.”

“Wait ... your boyfriend...”

“What about him?”

“I thought you were upset because he might be doing something.”

“I am.”

“Now you’re going to do what you THINK he’s going to do,” I said.

“That’s him ... this is me.”

“I have led a sheltered life.” I moaned.

“What?”

“Unkissed and barely hugged,” I explained.

“You mean...”

“Yup ... intact.”

“No wonder you have issues.”

“Let’s get wet.”

We walked by the office ... me in my grannie suit and Angie in her nothings. Art saw us walking...

“Hey. Arm bands.” He held up a pair of colored straps.

We detoured to the office and allowed Art to band us.

“There’s no cops ... Let me get you a couple of beers.”

“We’re under age.”

“When will you be 18?”

“That’s right! Wyoming is 19!” I said.

“You didn’t know?” Angie asked.

“I grew up in Montana. In the colonies the drinking age is what ever a persons parents decide.”

“Here,” Artie handed Angie a six with Boddingtons Pub, Newcastle Brown, Harp, Smithwicks, Guiness and St. Pauli, “I’ll carry a tab for you two.”

Before I could say anything, he rushed to the back.

It was summer ... late summer. Summer doesn’t mean much when it has snowed every day of the year ... but still ... the calendar says summer so the springs were turned down ... from 106 to 105 F. You have to go through the dressing room to get to the pool and there is a shower. I soaped up. Sweaty work is setting a tipi ... and it IS women’s work.

An idea struck me.

“I’ll be right back,” I said.

“Where are you going?”

But it was too late ... I had my flip-flops on and halfway down the drive. I got what I needed from the van and flip-flopped back to the springs.

We were it ... too soon in the day for soakers. After I was well and truly relaxed I grabbed some sun and then hauled out my gear and started fitting and snipping.

“What are you doing?”

“Bathing suit,” I said, “Give me a hand. My boobs ... I can’t fit and cut at the same time.”

“This is really soft,” Angie said, “What is it?”

“Brain tanned doe skin.”

“It’s thin.”

“It was a lot of work.”

“You did this?”

“Built the rifle, cast the balls, made the powder, knapped the flint, shot the deer, tanned the skin ... sewed up a cape dress and this is the left overs. You don’t think it’s too small?” I looked at her suit. “Cancel that ... of course you don’t.”

“You don’t sag at all.”

“Clean living and study,” I said. “And living with a guy for two years who wouldn’t touch me ... no matter how hard I tried.

“That reminds me.”

I tossed down my sewing and lit off to the office.

Ding

“Artie? You sell Monster Millions?”

“Yeah, Quick Pick?”

I looked at the ceiling. “Little help here.”

<What?>

“Lottery numbers.”

Artie involuntarily looked at the ceiling.

<19-44-43-42-1-15 This Wednesday.>