Mischief in the treehouse.

One afternoon, during a summer of young adventuring and cut knees, five of us headed off toward the murky river. Passers by would see a group of eleven year olds galavanting to what they assumed was a park, unaware of our hidden place beneath the trees. We had found it mid May, visiting almost every day, even decorating the place as our own. School art drawings hung on to arms of wood balancing upon tree branches sixteen feet above the forest floor. Jagged gaps in the wood, which one of us would scrape the skin of arms or legs on, acting as our door and windows

We were careful as we climbed the makeshift ladder, Veronica and I, made from stolen rope and wooden slats from my fathers shed. With Veronica emigrating from Italy she didn't speak much English but she could DIY better than my father. Once we made it inside the dusty house, kicking aside each of our diaries and nail paints, we emptied our pockets of snacks while Fiona waved cigarettes at us. Each of us had stilled, taking time to search for signs of a joke from the oldest of our group, only to find her smirk glued tight. 

"Took them from mum while she was showering. Think it's bout time we learn to smoke." As she spoke her middle and ring finger tapped against the box almost mockingly. Creases between my brows questioning her sanity or want to live. If the cigarettes don't kill us our families surely will, with every reason.

"Fiona! My dad would kill me! We aren't supposed to smoke...like...ever." The whine was evident in Sally's voice, tugging at my nerves, as was the wonder plastered against Rebecca's face. 

Out of of curiosity I looked to my right noticing brows edging lower above Veronica's eyes, as well as a pout, deciding to send her a soft smile unsure of whether she understood the situation. Dropping my gaze to the lemon of my dress unsure if I can even comprehend what is happening. Had I stumbled out of the shower, smacking the side of my head against the sink, not waking up? Will I open my eyes to damp air tickling at my ears?

"Sal, don't worry Fi is only having a laugh." My confidence surprised even me considering I had a mother, father, multiple brothers and a sister just around the corner who would turn me black and blue if caught handling a cig. Refusing to even glance at the diseased box my concentration remained on my fingertips picking at sweet wrappers feeling the need to return home earlier than usual. However, the expectation of torment from the girls in the days to follow kept me in my place. Not wanting to be labelled a cry baby.

“How are we lighting them, then?” Of course Rebecca the daredevil would be the one to encourage Fiona, the eager uplift of her lips expressed no thought of backing down. Especially as Fiona pulled out a box of matches from her dungaree front pocket. 

Droplets of sweat seem to fall faster down my neck while ripping hair and tranquility in it’s stride. Twitches of fear intrude on the dryness of my eyelids, doubt swimming between veins, throwing a quiver to my bottom lip. An urge to gift Fiona a swift kick to the side sending her toppling to soil courses through me at the mere notion of ruined innocence. Remembering the loud bark of her mother the time I pushed her from a swing has me calming that side of me down, fast.

“D, come on, I haven’t pulled out a gun. Just take one puff. School starts up again in September…lets have some fun.” A cigarette takes stage as it dances between Fiona’s fingers right under my nose. Instead of a graceful glide, I’m so used to watching in those ballet movies, the movement is as concerning as the beat of my heart. 

“I’m not going first.” 

I’m also praying to every God there may be to let me off this once with my mischief and keep my mother unaware. Just the thought of her disspaointment twisted my stomach upside down.

“Fine, pass it over Fi. I’ll start.” 

The moment the stick clings to Rebecca’s lips my inner voice screeches only worsening once the match sets it alight. Blinking slowly at the feeling of dread attacking my limbs. The wuss in me drowning my palms in sweat. Yet my turmoil pauses as Veronica heaves out a boisterous laugh at Rebecca’s non stop coughing, even letting a soft giggle escape from my own mouth, while Sally rubs a worried hand across her back. 

Each of us pass round the singular cigarette sharing the feeling of fire dragging down our lungs. Sally takes a small puff immediately blowing out the smoke avoiding taking it in too far. Clever. Fiona takes a large intake, only causing a tiny splutter, leaving me to wonder if she’s done this before. Veronica breaks into coughs the instant it hits her throat followed by a shy smile. A tremble of my fingertips aid the cigarette to my lips only for me to immediately pass it back to Rebecca at the struggle of finding fresh air. Wrinkles indent skin around my scrunched up nose while my hand rests upon a heaving chest. I'm taken back to how often and easily my brothers would smoke deciding then and there they have a severe issues.

So, as that particular summers evening continued, we sat talking of our crushes over a cigarette we each found absolutely disgusting. Hiding from the world, keeping secrets from our parents and damaging a part of our soon to be ending infancy. Promising each other we would still speak to one another once we hit secondary school, a friends-for-life type of pact. I’ll tell you though, a week in a new school and that pact burnt brighter than the match lighting our last moment. 

I imagine several groups of children have claimed the treehouse as theirs since that summer. Possibly, wreaking more havoc than our small bunch ever could.