Necessary Detours Part I

Necessary Detours Part I

The pretty looking soccer player looks about my age and seems as if he is having a good time in this thicker feeling air, a thickness I will need to get used to.  He is black and fine, with the kind of lean, athletic body that comes from dedicated physical exercise and from chasing a ball and attempting to control its destiny.  After a time, he notices me.  Our eyes meet and he kicks the soccer ball up into his hands in one smooth, rolling motion. 

"Good moves," I say.  This appears to work a kind of magic because he smiles then, a most brilliant smile, the kind of smile that reminds me of those times I'd done something really smart and my dad beamed at me like I was the most awesome creature on the earth.  Soccer Boy tells me he watched me unload my bags earlier (this gives me a thrill to know he'd noticed me, too).

"Visiting?"  He asks.

"We'll be staying for a little while," I say.  "Just helping my aunt move in."

I never say how long because I never know.  With Grizzly it has always been this way, this not knowing.  This strange rhythm of coming and going offers its own freedoms from being like almost every other girl.  And while saying, "Just until my mom finds a place" seems like a reasonable answer and one I want to give, it can mean anything (a month, three months, a year, never); and I began some time ago to cling to unpredictability.

"Have you had the tour yet?" Soccer Boy asks.

"Of what?"

"The neighborhood."

It is the way he says the word neighborhood, the way he beams at me again and then brushes my hair back from my shoulders that makes me sense he'll be gentle.  So I let him shepherd me around the block showing me this and that, how close we are to the drugstore and the new Publix grocery if I ever want to go.  I gather Publix is big news because he says, "We used to drive five miles for milk." 

Then we dip into the woods behind a small church with a coral rock facade.  This church marks the end of Avocado Grove.  It sits at the crossroads between the Grove and a giant, empty plot of land and the Redlands beyond.  I wonder briefly whether his family attends there or if he knows anyone that does.

I don't believe him when he says,"I won't tell a soul."  But I let him touch me anyway aware that all this is not new, probably for either of us.  When we finish, I smooth my too short skirt and exit the forest as if nothing has happened.