The morning after the wildfire, the odor of burnt grass lay on top of the little Western town the way tarpaper covers a shack. The campers were somber and subdued, and the occasional girl who giggled or boy who yelled were hushed by the smoky residue in the air. The talk around the flagpole was all about how brave the firefighters were, which of the campers were scared, and who would be going home early because their mommies wanted to pick them up. Marty reflected that his own parents probably had no idea that he and Susie had been through a fire, and somehow that suited him just fine.
At the chuck wagon, the abundance of food lifted everyone’s spirits. The scheduled camp events would continue, except for horseback rides through the burnt-out areas, obviously. The talk soon turned to the upcoming horse show, which was highly competitive. The chuck wagon had a poster listing the past winners in the major categories. There was an English and a Western part of the show, and Marty would be competing in the Western Pleasure events. Or rather, Blossom would be going through the routine she knew by heart, and his job would be to sit straight and not fall off the saddle.
For Marty, the show itself consisted of long stretches of boredom while others performed, leading up to an intense nervousness just before it was his turn to compete, followed by a breathless performance and an anxious wait for the judges’ scores. Every time he rode past Lisa and her friends, they giggled and put their hands over their mouths to keep from screaming, which would have been very poor equestrian etiquette. He was intensely aware of them watching his every move, and was surprised to find that he enjoyed it. Still, he had to keep his own eyes front, and his head straight with chin slightly lifted. It took forever to announce the winners, with so many dubious riders getting an ‘honorable mention’ for not falling off their horses. Marty won a blue ribbon in the walking event, due to his excellent saddle posture. He also took second place in cantering and trotting. As expected, Blossom did all the work, and he just sat there like a cowboy crash-test dummy.
After lunch, attention was divided between the closing dance for the older kids, and the “wild west” barbecue with rodeo clowns and rope tricks for the younger campers. The decision about which to attend was the cause of much consternation for those teetering on the edge of puberty. Kids around Susie’s age were wondering: should I go and have fun at the barbecue, or be nervous at the dance and not know what to do? Then the sad realization would set in: that society dictated the important thing was not what you want, but how you are perceived by others. It was an awkward time to go to the dance prematurely, but even more embarrassing to be ridiculed for having fun at the ‘baby party.’ That was a much easier decision for girls than for boys, and Susie chose the clowns.
Marty knew this would be his last big chance to woo Lisa. He dressed in the best clothes he’d brought… the same ones he wore at the equestrian event. Actually, he changed his jeans because they smelled like a horse, which would have been a social faux paus, even at a western-themed dance. He combed his hair three times, and borrowed some of Sam’s cologne. Sam was the son of a wealthy Italian winemaker, and never went anywhere without fragrance. All three camp buddies would be attending the dance. Charlie had lassoed a little blonde filly named Gwen. She roomed in Lisa’s cabin with her best friend Cathy, who would be Sam’s partner. They all met at the flagpole, and Lisa looked stunning beyond words. She, too, was wearing everyday clothes, but her hair was piled up in the style of a country singer. She wore bright red lipstick to excess, but with an encouraging flair.
Hand in hand, Marty and Lisa walked up the hill to the pool, where schmaltzy pop tunes were already playing on the stereo. It wasn’t dark yet, but holiday lights lined the path, and the pool was brightly lit. A few cheap decorations of twisted crepe paper and tinsel were taped here and there, and a folding table with a red and white checkered tablecloth offered snacks and drinks. Heads turned as they made their entrance, and the stereo was playing Someone Saved My Life Tonight, from Elton John’s latest album. Marty liked where the night was going, but knew he’d be missing Lisa soon, and that they’d only get to talk on the phone once in a while after tonight. He really liked her, and could sense that she liked him, too. But he had never danced before!
At first, all the couples and hopefuls lingered at the edges of the dance floor, When the beat picked up with Earth, Wind, and Fire, the dancing started. Marty felt like a fool for not knowing what to do. He had to stand up and somehow move his body in the social calisthenics known as ‘dancing,’ but all he could do was shift his weight from one foot to the other in time to the music, and swing his arms as if he was feeding chickens. He never understood the dynamics of body movement, or how people could dance with natural abandon. He was intensely self-aware of every nuance of his awkwardness, but like a puppet he couldn’t control it! He felt like Pinocchio, trying to break free of his strings.
Lisa was doing just fine, and her simple, rhythmic movements pulled Marty back from the whirlpool of mental implosion. He locked eyes with hers, and followed her lead, and started to feel more at ease. He didn’t even care that a Bee Gees song had started playing… that was girl music. He saw Sam dancing with Cathy, and his buddy winked with encouragement. They had talked a lot about the “slow dance” before they came, and Sam informed him that was going to be the time to make his move. It was getting dark now, and the lights around the pool were attracting hordes of moths. Then the opportunity came… they dimmed the lights and played the popular single, Shannon, which Marty’s cartoon brain thought was a real dumb choice for a romantic moment, with the lyrics being about a dead dog and all, and then, mercifully, his brain went quiet, and he realized: This. Is. It.
Lisa smiled her most coquettish smile, while they held hands and moved closer without touching their bodies. A force field of innocence kept them half an inch apart. She looked up at Marty tenderly, expecting a kiss. He was sinking deep into in her eyes, and didn’t know what to do. Well, of course he knew, from watching television, and the live performances in his household, but what was the proper emotional accompaniment to the physical actions? Once again, he was thinking too much. He hesitated uncertainly, as if a hasty or unfocused action would be disrespectful of who she was as a person. He wanted to engage in a meaningful intimacy; not a selfish indulgence. It was blissfully obvious that she shared his wishes, and Marty’s mind finally relaxed its play-by-play analysis so they could synchronize their emotions. She ever-so-slightly puckered her lips. He moved his head in a bit to see if she would do the same, and then their tender lips found each other at last.
The overwhelming memory of that instant was that there was no memory at all. Time stood still, and the Observer closed its eyes, until there were only lips, and hands, and the sweet, tantalizing fragrance of the present moment. They both came up for air and said, “Wow,” and looked at each other wide-eyed; then she bit her lip forlornly and looked away, as if she knew it would only break her heart more if she went any deeper. When Marty saw those disappointing thoughts play across her face, he was overcome by a sudden sadness. That stupid dog song had gotten under his skin. There he was, in the shining glory of his first real kiss, and all he wanted to do was cry about losing Freyja. He really loved that more-than-human friend…
