The Old Hotel, Part Three

Banty, Carol and I, giggling from sheer animal vitality and sunshine, skip from the porch. Black velvet and cobalt butterflies land on Papa Gordon's pajamas, drying on the line.

At fifteen years old, Banty is way ahead of me in sophistication. She wears a very tight dark skirt. A three inch leather belt cinches her waist, accentuating an hour glass figure. Dark brown, long wavy hair and electric blue eyes. A few pimples. She limps on feet disfigured by the mysterious illness she suffered in her fifth year. The boys are crazy about her. On a chain around her neck hangs the class ring of Bobby, the cutest boy at Weir Middle School.

Carefully, we climb between the barbed wires of the fence. We run across the field, screaming and sweating, and startling the cows just for the fun of seeing them run away. We dodge cow patties. On one pile of shit, a covey of butterflies dance. I think that they are eating cow shit. I am disillusioned, how can such elegant creatures eat shit? The field crossed, we climb through the fence, and out onto the baking red clay road. A little way down the road, we come to the forest path.

I feel a frisson, both apprehension and excitement just before we enter the forest.

It is cool in the deep shade. Virgin pine trees. Thick trunks reach straight and tall to the sky. High overhead, a canopy of blue green needles, underfoot, a carpet of red brown needles. We walk quietly, subdued by the forest grandeur. My consciousness switches to the channel of evanescent mist.

The path skirts a sandy bottomed, clear amber creek. Then, we arrive at the swimming hole. Because of the depth of the water, it is black. Blue sky, white cloud and green pine reflections flutter on the surface. I am transfixed by the liquid color play.

Faintly I hear Banty, "Jan, Jan".

Carol says, "She cant hear you. She is unconscious, nothing in her head but air". They laugh at me and I am saddened with embarrassment.

We sit on the pine needle carpet and light cigarettes with wooden kitchen matches. Banty shares her cigarette with me. "Here," she says, "smoke some of this coffin nail." She fingers the ring hanging from the chain. We swat mosquitoes.

"I saw Bobby talking to that prissy ass Sally Jo. I told him that if he does that again I will break up with him."

Carol says, "I saw him talking to Irene, the slut".

Banty says, "I am gonna kick his ass. She eats cock for breakfast."

I know that they are talking about sex, but I do not understand the mechanics. Burning curiosity gnaws at me, but I do not ask questions. Questions would expose my ignorance, and that, would be just too embarrassing.

"Why did Bernice pay you?" I ask.

"She gave us a dime and cigarettes, not to tell you, Miss Vacuum Head." says Carol in a self satisfied, mocking tone.

"Please tell!" I beg.

"She didnt want us to tell, that her boy friend came to the hotel," Banty's voice glitters with excitement. "We were suppose to watch the kids, while they 'did it' in room 116." She pokes me with her elbow, "He put his dick in her pussy and pumped up and down". She laughs with gusto. I am satisfied to put some of the sex puzzle pieces together.

"We listened outside the door and heard them moaning and grunting and banging." Carol says, "Ha ha. You missed it, Miss Cloud Head. Miss Stuck Up, nose in the air."

"Woo-hoo" Banty yells. She runs and jumps into the swimming hole, clothes, leather belt, and all. Carol does a butt busting, cannon ball into the water. I ease in the icy water slowly from a shallow edge.

Invigorated, splashing and whooping. The black silk water sparkles. We are shiny birds of youth, and the earth is new.

Walking back to the Old Hotel, on the clay road, a car passes us and kicks up dust. Red clay mud clings to our wet clothes.