Exerpt from Spring Fire

From Spring Fire
by Vin Packer

"Put your stuff in the top drawers," Leda told Mitch. "I don't mind bending down to get mine."

Mitch was used to new roommates and new surroundings and the strange formalities attached to this form of orientation. For six years she had attended boarding schools, and each year it was smoother and less uncomfortable. The first year she had hovered behind a closet door, too shy to undress in front of the girl with whom she shared the room. She had bolted the bathroom doors, and picked odd hours to do her grooming. Even her underclothes had been a source of embarrassment, and she had brought them to her room wet from their washing in the dorm sink, and hung them surreptitiously along the radiator near her bed. In time she had developed an unabashed nonchalance toward these matters and they no longer concerned her.

But now, in Leda's presence, the casualness fell away, and Mitch found the old inhibitions again. She found that it was hard to talk to Leda, too, because she wanted to so badly. She wanted to remember the glib, natural responses that came so readily with others, but she could not.

"Tonight the pledges are supposed to go on blind dates," Leda said. "You know that?"

"Yes."

"Want to get out of it?"

"How?"

"By going out with a friend of Jake's. He's a fraternity brother. We'd double-date. It's OK with Kitten so long as you're with a fraternity man."

Mitch said, "I'd like that, I guess."

She knew what it would be like if Leda were along. She knew that she would forget how to act and what to say and that she would laugh too loud and too often. But she did not want to go on a date alone with a stranger, either.

"Like men, Mitch?"

"Sure, they're all right."

"I mean, really like them?"

Mitch's lips were tired from the painful grins she had been streching them into all day. Leda laughed. "Never mind," she said. "You'll learn. I used to think you just had to lie there and that was it. Then I learned better."

Mitch pulled nervously at the string of pearls around her neck. Her face flushed scarlet. Leda noticed. "You'll have to get used to me, Mitch. I believe in being frank."

"I don't mind," Mitch answered. "I guess I'm kind of dumb."

"We're all dumb at first. But don't get fooled by some of them that play dumb. My God, to listen to this bunch, you'd think they were all virgins. But take it from me, most of them have had it. You ever fool around?"

"I—I don't know too many fellows."

"Ever been kissed—hard?"

"A few times, I guess." The pearls snapped then and rolled onto the floor. Mitch jumped down to chase them and Leda stopped one with her foot. "Couple of them under the desk," she said. "God! Never been kissed more than a few times. I started when I was six. Then I used to play doctor out in back of my house. God!"

Mitch did not answer. Her hands felt huge as she groped for the tiny, round pearls, and bending down there before Leda, she felt like an immense malformed giant. She was remembering how many other times she had heard references to sex, behind locked bedroom doors in boarding school, interspersed with thick laughter and raised eyebrows, and hands held at the mouth in gestures of awe and excitement. But now…

"You'll grow up in college," her father had said. "You'll be a real lady when you come home." She wondered vaguely what her mother had been like, and if she were a real lady, and how she would have told her about men and women and the things they did together. She thought of Billy Erickson—the day in the bushes when he had showed it to her. The snake, she had called it to herself. The snake that men have.

"You'll have fun tonight," Leda said. "You'll like Bud Roberts. That's Jake's friend."

Mitch put the pearls in a box and sat awkwardly on the bed beside Leda. "I hope he likes me. You see, I'm not too used to men. In the other schools, I didn't see many. You know—rules and all."

"Forget it! Look we're going to buy some beer and get out on the Creek Road and just take life easy. You'll like Bud. He's no movie star, but he gets around plenty. He's Sig Delt president. Say, what about your car? We could walk, but—"

"Sure," Mitch said. "Might as well take it. Only I don't like to drive at night very well. Not in a strange city."

"Can Jake drive? He's a peach on the roads. Careful as anything."

Mitch hesitated. Then she agreed.

Leda pulled her sweater up over her head and loosened her bra. "Scratch my back, will you, kid?" she said. "God, I'm tired." She flopped on the bed, face down.

Timidly Mitch's hands reached over and rubbed her shoulders, and with her eyes fixed half shyly on Leda's body, she recalled doing this before—a hundred times—but never so fearfully as now with Leda.

"Ummm. That's nice. Your hands are wonderful." For long minutes Leda let them run up and down her back. Susan Mitchell was an enigma. There was strength and force and power in her, queerly harnessed and checked, Leda thought. If it should be released, she would be stronger. Masterful. There had been a hint of this in her look that first day. It was the kind of look that an old acquaintance gives another, in a crowd where no one is aware that the two have known each other a long time. Leda balked at her own thoughts. This tall child was naïve and uncomplicated, she scoffed inwardly, and there was no reason to be wary. Suddenly, on an impulse, Leda rolled over and lay with her breasts pushed up toward Mitch's hands. The girl jerked her hands away quickly and stood up.

"F-f-feel better?" She forced the words out.

Leda stretched luxuriously. "Mitch, honey," she said, "look in the left closet and see if my yellow blouse is there. The one with the buttons down the back."

Mitch turned toward the door to the closet and opened it, grateful for this sanctum. She stood there moving the hangers down the rack. I used to think you just had to lie there and that was it.

"See it, honey?"

"No," Mitch answered, not looking at the color of the clothes. "I don't see anything at all."

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