Coyote Shivers

Her ebony hair falls in folds across her face as we spin, our clasped hands become one, my light, Caucasian skin creased into her darker French exterior. We made quite the pair. Laughing more than breathing I asked Paul, “Can we play on the hill, alone, if we promise to come home before dark?

He smiled widely, “Alone, and what sort of mischief are you girls up to?

“Dad, we’re fine and were going, anyway if we wanted to cast spells on you we’d need Mom’s help--------”, I grabbed her mouth, finishing their talk and walking her toward the door.

“Stay for dinner, stay the night even, I’ll call your Father,” Paul graciously offered, I watched him reach for the phone as I stepped outside. We ran under the tangerine trees to catch our breath and to be out any ones sight.

“Stay the night,” Ivy mocked, “maybe you should’ve been his daughter“, then her eyes left her and she quickly lost her smile. I took her hand in mine, blew a kiss toward the house and tried standing up.

When the spinning feeling in our heads finally stopped I followed Ivy into the field that separated our homes. From where we stood I could see my horses; Jack was gnawing at his salt block and Peewee rubbed his neck along the aluminum corral whinnying with approval. Pepper Trees, some oak, small brush, grasses, wild flowers and plenty of weeds littered our field and played host to a variety of creatures. We walked up Fiona’s hill, to our swing. It wasn’t really named, but that’s what Paul called it. In the summer yellow Mims crawled up the hill, like blonde hair laying softly on shoulders, at least that’s what he told us. He probably had blonde hair once, like mine, sandy but much lighter for the summer. Ivy went first. Ivy always went first. She grabbed the old rope and ran up quite a ways, sending field mice running in all directions, to jump just a little further than the time before. With one step, by will of the rope, her body descended over Fiona‘s hill, as she called to the coyote. Answering back was only the birds, cawing blue jays, cooing doves and the barely audible vibrations of the humming kind. When it was my turn, old rope in hand I exceeded only half the distance Ivy had. I was never one for bruised knees. As I passed through soft limbs and leaves of the Pepper tree, I caught our names carved into the trunk, “don’t lose me, Ivy & Jane”. Paul had done it for us a few summers ago, early summer I remember because thousands of butterflies came to the field, but were gone as quick has they had come, we must have been eight then. Lilly always says it’s important never to lose each other and stay together for the most part. In this field, the coyote can sense those going at it alone, it’s who they prey on.

We walked slowly to her home just before the night swallowed day, and the animals found their beds. Wild mustard grass brushed our bare legs, and splinters filled our sandals. Paul, who never seemed to leave the kitchen, was watching in our direction when we opened the gate. Relief, or maybe joy washed over his face through the kitchen window. I smiled in his shadow, I didn’t think he saw. But when we came through the kitchen he let his arm brush mine, we sat at the table. Dinner was ready; curry with white rice and sliced papaya. The house was dimly lit, our candles smoked crude fat oils, the flames tickled our faces, we watched what we created slowly drip hot wax onto the wooden table. Lilly left her wheel and retired the pottery room for the night; she folded laundry she had taken from the line outside. The house smelled of olive oil now, and a Rolling Stones tune, Angie, played softly over the water running in the sink. I picked at my curry, ridding it of water chestnuts. Paul just smiled softly not knowing his mustache was painted yellow, cumin stains, he looked almost young without the gray.

After dinner Ivy and I took a bath. Lilly filled our tub sprinkling lavender salts into the warm water. The salts dispersed under my feet as I stepped in. Ivy sang French songs I could not understand. When she washed my hair, shampoo fell into my eyes and I plunged my head in. Lying on our backs at opposite ends of the tub we measured our feet against each other’s. Ivy had long slender toes, but her foot itself was very flat. My toes were shorter and wider, the sole of my foot was deeply arched. Lilly said that between us we’d make quite the ballet dancer. “You’re lucky,” she also told me, when you become a woman your feet will welcome high heels, they slender your calves you know,”. I didn’t care for high heels or the idea of becoming a woman. I washed Ivy’s back with a sea sponge.

After our bath, Lilly let us wear her French silk slips. They fit us like ball gowns. I wished in that moment, that she was my Mother with her soft spoken, lightness. Watching, Paul says, “You will make even the most beautiful women cringe with envy when grown,”. He watched Lilly’s face looking for approval, she only cringed, not at us of course but at the sound of coyote’s catching a kill outside. I didn’t want to be a woman; I felt contentment in my small world of whimsy and self amusement. Toad spit to cure the tummy ache from too many tangerines and blue belly lizard tales to ward off coyote.

Ivy and I draw for the coyote, appease them, pray on their vanity, we’ll post them along the fence. We rubbed pastels roughly over hand made paper and the sound has never left my mind. Ivy yawned deeply and Lilly put her to bed. “Since you are not as tired as Ivy would you like to watch television?”, I only nodded my head, not really sure yet. I laid alone on what seemed a stage, but was their living room. Paul and Lilly kept no couch, so they made a bed of Indian print pillows for me, I had fallen asleep there many times. The Smurfs and their little village filled the television screen and my mind as I drifted to sleep.

My dreams that night were not as beautiful as the day, I wrestled only dozing quietly in and out of sleep. Later into the night I heard Lilly leave the house, she was headed for her shed. She hid sweet smelling cigarettes in a rusted coffee tin, we weren’t supposed to know. Sadly the gentleness and radiance of the house followed Ivy, it was far more tricky sleeping in this harsh darkness. But sleep came again, followed by dreamily sounding foot steps; less light, more shadows. Awakened once more, I found myself in the company of Paul. I didn’t want to be a woman. But despite my wants, he softly asked me not to move and told me, “ If you say a word or even breathe too loudly the coyote will come,”. I was always good at following directions. So I lay there, painfully enduring but surviving this night raid. His mustache brushed my bare legs and his hot breath found itself between my thighs. I smell the sweetness of Lilly’s smoke, concentrate on her warmth, the light. Paul found himself inside me; I’m flushed with water, embarrassed I pissed myself, I can’t look up, then left he me. Inside, outside, inside, outside finding his slow rhythm and tearing me open. He left me one last time, but not until his satisfaction had come and my eyes were left overflowing with the moisture of fear. When it was over Paul lay atop me, stroking my hair and shushing my gentle sobs.

When I was alone and sure he was asleep, I ran. I ran from the smell of olive oil and the memory of pastel rubbing hand made paper, my fear overwhelming my good sense and the presence of the coyote. Don’t lose me, I begged my broken body, but I was already on the ground. I hadn’t quite reached the field when the first howl let out, then all too soon the others followed; my pain and tears were paralyzed. The night seemed to play along with the coyote’s anxious song, the wind’s soft lull and my horses’ nervous whinnying made with their melody. Then I, too, intoned a song, the quickened pace of my heart, incessant throbbing of my pain and the breath I lost beneath him, played in the blues.

I lay under a moonlit, cloudless sky somewhere between my home and the nightmarish, wood paneling separating me from Paul. The coyotes surrounded me, growling under their breath and moving unhurriedly toward me. I force my body up, splinters breaking the soft skin on the pads of my feet. The coyotes just waited. I shouted, hoping to frighten them, but he just moved in closer. Their leader, bringer of life and the first to stun the kill, watched me. I shut my eyes afraid they would meet his; and began to beseech someone, anyone to wake me. I felt the soft breath and wet nose of him on my legs.