After dark, in the first barefoot nights of summer, everyone under the age of eighteen, who lives on Walnut Street, hangs out in Sharp’s front yard. The older boys chase us and wrestle us. Ralph always comes after me. He sits on my stomach and holds my wrists so I can’t get away. I squirm under him and try to push him off until we are both red faced, exhausted and breathing fast. We stop. I look at him. He smiles his big dimpled smile. I giggle and look away again.
When I breathe in deep, the sweet smell of damp earth, new grass, and sweat mix so intensely that I can recall it later, like an old melody. His heaviness fells good, like he’s grounding me, pinning me down so I won’t fly up like a helium balloon. Our skin is hot and sticky where our bodies touch. Sometimes I get hurt but not enough to make me cry or go home.
I would never go home until mom called me. I didn’t understand then, why I wanted him to catch me, or why I felt so giddy and even a little afraid when I was close to him, but that unknowing was part of the magic.
Philomena Robinson
Revised excerpt from Completing the Circle © 1997
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