Excuse these Gentlemen

By July, summer was known to have the promise of torn dresses, damp feet, and knotted hair that stuck to the back of your neck. Dottie and Rosie lay on the grassy knoll among the magnolia trees while counting the clouds that passed slowly across the cotton candy sky. 

“Rosie?”

“Yes?”

“What do you think of that boy from the market?”

“Who? Johnny Smalls?”

“No, Scotty Cunningham,” Dottie sat up on her elbows, “who always gives my Mama extra rice.”

“Gag me with a spoon,” Rosie snorted, “He’s a dog, you know.”

Dottie stared out to the green grass before her and watched as a line of ducks climbed out of the pond and stumbled over the branches that breached through the soft surface. Squishing her toes in the dirt that rested under them, she hummed to herself. 

“There’s something you’re not telling me.” Rosie poked a polished finger at Dottie’s arm.

“We’ve been seeing each other since June. He kissed me under that tree over there.” Dottie giggled as Rosie’s mouth fell open with each passing word. “I don’t know much about anything, but I think I’m in love.”

“Think or am?” 

“You’re not making much sense,” Dottie stood to her feet and rubbed out the dents that formed in her long silk skirt. 

“You love him,” Rosie stood with her and locked their arms together, “and I thought you and I would have to grow up to reenact Taming of the Shrew for the rest of our lives. Instead, you drive this sword through my heart telling me you're in a lavender haze.”

“Rosie-”

“I’m joking,” She patted Dottie’s hand. “In truth, I’ve been hiding something from you.”

“Are you in love too, Rosie?”

“Dottie, if only it were that simple. You see,” Rosie pulled them to start walking back to the neighborhood that hugged their houses. “He’s older than us, a man.”

“How old?”

“A college man. He wears glasses, carries a briefcase, and prefers the pluck of a violin string to anything else,” Her smile filled her face and a dusting of pink topped her cheeks.

“Is he handsome?”

“The most. He’s actually planning to take me to Lover’s Lake tomorrow, at dawn.”

“Ah,” Dottie leaned her head against Rosie’s shoulder, “too romantic is this summer and it’s only July.”

“I could faint from the blush of it all.” Rosie smiled while watching the ground for stray rocks that might impale her foot. 

The pair arrived at the intersection of Hoax and Pine Forest. The green street sign marked their separation. Bursts of orange and yellow tainted their sugary afternoon. Dirt caked their hands and feet as they turned toward each other. 

“What’s his name?” Dottie raised an eyebrow, “Something sophisticated I’m sure. Like Richard or Henry.”

“Thomas. Thomas Moore.”

“You should bring him to the garden in August. I’m sure the girls would love to tear him apart and be stilled by the sight of his Adonis-like face.”

“If he’s still entertaining me. Do you ever worry that love runs out?”

“Impossible,” Dottie wrapped her arms tightly around Rosie and mumbled against her ear, “Love can’t be stopped. Once you let it go and consume another, it’s theirs and yours forever.”

“You make it all sound so wonderful.” Rosie pulled away from the hug and looked back at her dim sea foam house. 

“It just is.”

Rosie began her walk home while Dottie sat by the road shifting her gaze to see down the winding road in both directions. 

Birds sang their evening song and loose petals tripped off the trees to bounce along the cooling pavement. Dottie’s hair danced in her face while she licked her crimson lips. A loud sleek 1962 convertible roared through the trees and screeched to a stop in front of her. 

From the ground, Dottie saw a long pale hand leave the shoulders of ones that were hidden under a dense aged leather jacket. A familiar chuckle overflowed the convertible and pulled Dottie to stand on her feet. 

Long blonde hair settles against bare shoulders like sand in an hourglass, each strand relieving the horrid truth as time does to a life. Sylvia Jones was a common floozy, everyone knew her and everyone had had her. Her bright red nails held the boy’s face towards her as she smiled like the Cheshire Cat. 

The boy's wavy hair ruffled against the breeze as a chick’s fresh feathers would. His face stayed trained on Sylvia’s. His large hand snaked on her exposed thigh and leaned closer to her after each boom of her laughter. 

“Scotty, stop,” she threw her head so far back one might think it was going to break off of her neck, “You’re making me red.”

“Then it’s working.” Scotty kissed her shoulder and traced hearts on her leg.

“Scotty, would you be a darling and grab my purse from the back seat and hand it to me?” Her eyes looked through him and challenged Dottie to speak.

Scotty turned and reached into the back seat. Before his fingers hooked onto the straps of her silver clutch, his eyes fell on Dottie. Eyes large, clouded like the moon rising early on a spring afternoon. Dottie and Scotty stared at each other until one had to break and blink away the sting of recognition. 

“Dorothea,” Sylvia sat up higher in the driver’s seat, “I didn’t even see you there. Probably because you were playing in the dirt like some school child.”

“Hi,” Dottie nodded to Scotty. Holding her fists at her side, she could surely get through this moment without cracking.

“Hi, Dottie.”

“Don’t do that,” Dottie backed slowly from the car, “Don’t say my name after you cooed to her.” She took off running towards her house. Her bare feet smacked against the pavement as her skirt cut through the cool air. 

Behind her, a car door creaked and crunched close. Followed by Chucks scrapping the ground and labored breaths suffocating the rest of the noise. 

“Dorothea!” Called Scotty.

Step for step and breath for breath, Scotty ran with Dottie. Trapped in a time loop, Dottie prayed that Scotty would chase her for the rest of summer or bleed trying to. Sweat gathered on her brow and dripped down her redding face. Arms reaching forward with each step trying to grasp something solid to save her from heartbreak ruin.

That’s the thing about love, it consumes you.

Dottie ran until she found herself at the edge of Monrovia Forest. The night had set up camp between the trunks and evicted any life to the depths of the dark wood. She crumbled to her knees and bowed her head to the heavens above, begging for mercy for her weakened heart. Could she be cold? Could she excuse the girl she was before June? May was filled with trips to the market and skinny dipping in the pond in the park, how could she find herself with a blade in her chest and not want to remove it just yet. Bloodied with love, she could die now hoping Scotty loved her at least once.

Hands grazed her shoulders. Dottie shot to her feet leaping three feet toward the forest. Her chest synced with Scotty’s, sweat beads trailing down fiery skin pushing the stillness to the woods. Hands chained to their souls and memories of June glued to their sides. 

“Dorothea, you, you don’t get it. She’s nothing,” Scotty’s face contorted into sorrow, “She’s everyone’s.” 

“And you were mine,” Dottie’s face relaxed into the pain her heart poisoned her body with. The edges of her vision blurred against the tears walking the tightrope of her eyes. 

“I still can be.”

“How long?” Dottie turned her eyes to look over his head. She could see the whole neighborhood from here. If she focused hard enough she could see Mrs. Holiday watering the plants on her porch. 

“June.” His eyes stared at her feet which had lost dirt but gained a red stain from the sticks and stones she trampled in her flee. “Two weeks after I met you.”

“Why?” Dottie yelled putting more distance between them. 

“Because she was charming, beautiful, and kissed me in the mall,” Scotty dropped to his knees as he stared at her for mercy, “Please, Dottie. Know that I’ve never known love like ours. It was just a mistake–”

“A mistake would be forgetting about the garden in May, this is, it’s, I’m not sure what it is,” Dottie walked around him as she marched back to her house. 

“Dottie!”

She left him fallen to the ground as the moon glowed her path back to her house. Her battered feet stepped through the tall swaying grass as her skirt tugged against her swift legs. Dottie’s hair lost control and curtained in front of her eyes and leave their places behind. On the porch of her house stood Rosie, still muddy from the day’s travels. 

“I’m so sorry, Dottie,” She extended her arms out to welcome Dottie to sit next to her. “He’s a dog. If we're lucky, he’ll get fleas.”

Dottie collapsed to the sunbleached wood next to Rosie. Tucking her arms into Rosie’s body and her legs into her skirt. Silence roamed the porch, interrupting the familiar song of the cricket orchestra. 

***

“Thomas?” whispered Rosie while she tried to make out the silhouette coming towards her. The sun’s cape blew across the horizon, and small cuts of orange toppled her face. 

“It’s me, Love,” Thomas grunted as carried a picnic basket with him, “We should start walking. I want as much time on the lake as possible.”

“We’ve got all day,” Rosie laughed, “I’m sure you’ll grow tired of me if not rowing before then.”

“Actually, we will have to be off the lake by ten.” Thomas held out a hand for her to take. 

“Why? Ten is when most go to the lake.”

“I just don’t want to be there when there are so many eyes. We don’t need to draw that kind of attention.”

Rosie didn’t push him any further. If a set end point was already carved in the stone, she planned to savor the time allotted with him. The two interlocked their fingers while they walked. Thomas’s mind wanders back to school. Inevitably his mind also thought of the cute blonde that sits in front of him. Whenever she tosses her hair over her shoulder, he can smell her vanilla perfume. Rosie could only think about how he had reached for her hand first, how he had called her ‘Love’ when she called him. 

After a quick walk, Thomas dropped Rosie’s hand and basket while he flipped a canoe over and shoved it into the green lake water. The canoe dropped in with a splash. Thomas helped Rosie settle herself before kicking off the shore. 

He pulled and pushed the paddles to drive them downstream. His muscles burned under his loose white dress shirt and his glasses slid lower on his nose. Thomas looked to find Rosie watching him. Cheeks brushed red and swallowed smiles retreating further down the throat. 

“Are you staring?” Thomas smiled and leaned back. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that’s unbecoming?”

“Yes, Mama says it’s rude, but I can’t help myself,” Rosie reached for his hand, wrapping her slim fingers around his, “I’m falling so swiftly in love that I can’t believe it’s you and me.”

Thomas stiffened at her mention of love. He didn’t love her. She was pretty enough to entertain him for the summer before he went back north in the fall. There he would find himself a proper wife. 

“Rosie, you know nothing of love,” Thomas chuckled looking out at the lake. Small waves jutted from the smooth rocking of the boat. “You’re a kid. A baby at that.”

“Thomas–”

“No! Please don’t ruin our morning with your talk of love and a future, again.” He rolled his eyes. 

“You truly don’t think there is ever a chance that at the end of the summer, we will have a relationship that deserves to see snow?” Tears pushed against the blurry glass of her eyes. 

“Rosie, I’m going to be a doctor. A real gentleman. With responsibility and a level of respectability, you couldn't fathom. I don’t have time to babysit you.” Thomas laughed at the thought of him coming home to a pregnant Rosie in two years. 

“But I’m old enough for you to fuck me against the barn on Old Maple?” Rosie spits the words out. 

“Rosie–” Thomas reached for her thigh.

“Stop! Don’t you dare call me by anything else than my full name. How could you use me like this?”

“Did you really think I saw you as anything more than some pretty summer fling? That I may give you anything more than three months? You’re so foolish,” Thomas pulled the paddles to start them back towards the shore. “And young girls shouldn’t use such crass language. What would your father think?”

“Why do you think I would sleep with you unless I thought we would marry?” 

“Because you’re nothing more than a whore. Just look at how you dress, you were dying for some attention and that’s what I gave you.”

“Why did you call me ‘Love’ this morning?” She rushed the question out.

“It’s a meaningless word. Throw away letters.”

The criminal thing about falling in love with an older boy is you confuse them for a man. But no man would ever look at a girl like Thomas looked at Rosie. 

“I love you, Thomas.”

“I pity you, Primrose.”