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Outside, the crickets sounded in intricate intervals that faded into her bedroom, then back out again. There was everything that wasn't random about the world in their song, she Fred was fascinated by the delicate patterns there, applying the spaces to her memory until it made something almost like sense. If it wasn't quite predicatble, then the chirps and hums were at least memorable. And once a body listened long enough, well it might not be able to say for sure what part of the song came next, then at least you felt your body tensing, teasing at a version that came pretty darn close, just before it sounded.
It was relative anticipation.
She slipped from her bed, and once again there was a renewed interest in spaces. Not the song outside this time, but the actual silence. The places where the worn, wooden floor of her room wouldn't be sure to add to the nocturne that was still playing its way through just past her window.
Five inches past the foot of them bed then a seventy degree turn to the right. Take a step, a large one, almost two feet, then one foor, and then another three and you were almost to the window. Fred could feel the heated air that always took up residence for the whole of August pressing in towards her through the paned glass. Bit by practiced bit, she pulled the window open until the air and the crickets and the song, all of it could come rushing in, working its way past her and deeper into the room.
They'd repainted the outside of the house last summer, spending weeks on it and doing all the work themselves, together. As a family, it'd been announced, just once. It was obvious enough what they were doing. And when it's that certain, it doesn't need repeating, over and over. Not a one of the three of them needed any convincing round the facts. A good bit of time had been spent on this window, by her and Dad both. Still, she'd done her best to pretend not to notice how he worked at the seams, to make sure they didn't stick with drying paint. It was easy enough to fetch them drinks from inside, or to go wash the rollers and brushers at the spicket outside, until the dirt there grew thicker, clumping with the lingering residue of paint. It was the only time she'd wondered if he knew.
It wasn't that she worried about getting caught. It wasn't that she didn't think if she actually asked, there was a good possibility they would shoo her along anyway, right out the front door. It just wasn't. Sooner or later, Fred figured, she would sort out what it was.
The lake was just a half mile from the house, or so. More if you were driving, but the walking was a part of it. About halfway there sounds started to disprupt the company the crickets had been keeping her. Laughters, shouts, splashes following one after the other. Fred was moving along the creek now, the one that fed into Peters lake. It was the last weekend before school started, and anyone that was anyone tended to end up there. She wasn't an anyone though, she was a her. And she didn't understand what happened there, not really, no matter how much she watched all parts that made it up. The ways they tested each other, the less clothes they wore somehow inversely proportional to the totality of their knowledge. Fred stopped for a while, watching some more. There weren't any crickets here at all, it occured to her, still trying to understand.
They were built differently than her. They played differently too. They weren't perfect, even though they seemed to want to practice at it, but they were a puzzle. A little while longer, and she kept walking.
But with everyone at the creek, it left the lake still and silent, and nothing but hers. The crickets here back, in the song and in the spaces, and Fred felt herself smiling as she slipped into the water and welcomed the even pressure than rolled over her skin. She wasn't too big or too small here, too young or too old. The water supported without question, and she floated along easily, rolling to her back to study the sky. Feet kicked, a backstroke followed by other, and then there was the middle of the lake. Her arms lifted again, and she held it there, noticing the way it broke up the sky, splitting the universe into pieces of her chosing. She rotated her shoulder, and the world changed again.
And again.
Again.
She gave them their own names, built their own rules. New rules. New understanding.
And then changed the world, all over again.
Just one more time before bed.
It was relative anticipation.
She slipped from her bed, and once again there was a renewed interest in spaces. Not the song outside this time, but the actual silence. The places where the worn, wooden floor of her room wouldn't be sure to add to the nocturne that was still playing its way through just past her window.
Five inches past the foot of them bed then a seventy degree turn to the right. Take a step, a large one, almost two feet, then one foor, and then another three and you were almost to the window. Fred could feel the heated air that always took up residence for the whole of August pressing in towards her through the paned glass. Bit by practiced bit, she pulled the window open until the air and the crickets and the song, all of it could come rushing in, working its way past her and deeper into the room.
They'd repainted the outside of the house last summer, spending weeks on it and doing all the work themselves, together. As a family, it'd been announced, just once. It was obvious enough what they were doing. And when it's that certain, it doesn't need repeating, over and over. Not a one of the three of them needed any convincing round the facts. A good bit of time had been spent on this window, by her and Dad both. Still, she'd done her best to pretend not to notice how he worked at the seams, to make sure they didn't stick with drying paint. It was easy enough to fetch them drinks from inside, or to go wash the rollers and brushers at the spicket outside, until the dirt there grew thicker, clumping with the lingering residue of paint. It was the only time she'd wondered if he knew.
It wasn't that she worried about getting caught. It wasn't that she didn't think if she actually asked, there was a good possibility they would shoo her along anyway, right out the front door. It just wasn't. Sooner or later, Fred figured, she would sort out what it was.
The lake was just a half mile from the house, or so. More if you were driving, but the walking was a part of it. About halfway there sounds started to disprupt the company the crickets had been keeping her. Laughters, shouts, splashes following one after the other. Fred was moving along the creek now, the one that fed into Peters lake. It was the last weekend before school started, and anyone that was anyone tended to end up there. She wasn't an anyone though, she was a her. And she didn't understand what happened there, not really, no matter how much she watched all parts that made it up. The ways they tested each other, the less clothes they wore somehow inversely proportional to the totality of their knowledge. Fred stopped for a while, watching some more. There weren't any crickets here at all, it occured to her, still trying to understand.
They were built differently than her. They played differently too. They weren't perfect, even though they seemed to want to practice at it, but they were a puzzle. A little while longer, and she kept walking.
But with everyone at the creek, it left the lake still and silent, and nothing but hers. The crickets here back, in the song and in the spaces, and Fred felt herself smiling as she slipped into the water and welcomed the even pressure than rolled over her skin. She wasn't too big or too small here, too young or too old. The water supported without question, and she floated along easily, rolling to her back to study the sky. Feet kicked, a backstroke followed by other, and then there was the middle of the lake. Her arms lifted again, and she held it there, noticing the way it broke up the sky, splitting the universe into pieces of her chosing. She rotated her shoulder, and the world changed again.
And again.
Again.
She gave them their own names, built their own rules. New rules. New understanding.
And then changed the world, all over again.
Just one more time before bed.
