Jed Wolf

I loved April the minute I saw her, beginning with her name. I mouthed it too myself watching the tanned, part primate, part I-didn’t-know-what with a brown pixie-cut in a crepe-checkered sundress sip on a flower. Her steamy June lawn wafted with honeysuckle as immediately after introducing herself, she bit off a blossom end and carefully handed it to me saying, “Kiss it.” Touching the fragrant droplet to my tongue urged a suckling reflex and sure enough, I detected a delicate and delicious trace of honey.

“How could this be?” I thought as birds sang a bit anxiously. I’d have remained all day with the pale yellow and white blossoms yearning to be kissed, yet April galloped away then back like a creature urging me to join her.

“Ay-pril,” a shrill voice called from the house. “That’s Miss Goodchild,” April sniggered. “Come on,” she cried before we bolted in the opposite direction. “Ay-pril, come on girl,” the squawk insisted, as we dove under a mock orange concealing ourselves in citrus perfume. “Look,” she said pointing to one of her muddy bare feet. Both her middle toes were webbed to the next. “Wow.” I said, clutching my shoes. “Let me see,” she asked matter-of-factly, anticipating disappointment like I often did.

Undoing my shoelaces felt immoral. I couldn’t yet re-tie them but reckless in April’s feral presence, I yanked off the blue leather then my socks careful to keep them right-side-out. After giving my toes a quick glance, April stood and brushed herself off as I vainly searched for overlooked skin. Asking with my eyes how she got hers, “I came this way,” she said then pulled me up as if everything about her was a gift, including her casual strength.

Expecting to be caught any minute without shoes and pointing at the dampness on my rear, I looked for how to react. Mimicking her fake frown then smile, I gave my shoulders a quick shrug like she did then followed her from shrub to shrub crushing leaves in search of spice. We scrambled beneath a bower of snow-white Spirea like a pair of animals looking for dens and finding dryer earth, lay down on the white carpet looking up. “A nest,” she said pointing to another wonder.

I silently mouthed the word “nest” recalling cartoons I’d seen picture books but with no idea how else to respond, I quietly lay beside her as she gently shook a few long, thin branches and tiny white petals fluttered down on us. Privileged to feel crawling ants, I jumped as the piercing voice summoned, “Ay-pril!” again, but listening instead to insistent piping from nearby crab apples, April whispered, “Robins.”

I couldn’t keep my eyes off her as she sat up like an inquisitive animal. When I smelled then pointed out a dog-do smudge on her checkered outfit, she said “It’s okay,” then exploded from the snowy spirea, seemingly exasperated then headed toward the house. Not sure whether to follow or find my shoes, I noticed she’d stopped and was standing in sun beckoning me to come. “Hurry up,” she laughed and I burst from the bushes her barefoot friend for life.

We approached her back door where a big, evil-looking cat with a squashed ear crouched on cement steps. April said “Muffy,” then brazenly hauled it into her arms and squeezed. She planted a long kiss on its nose ‘till it yowled then placed it gently back on the step where swished to go in. Wary of getting too near, I let April hold the screen door as the beast hopped in ahead of us. She rolled her eyes impatiently as I waited for it to get well ahead. When I rolled my eyes because it stopped a few steps in and looked up, April let the screen door slam on me.

Above an aluminum-rimmed, Formica table with built in benches on either side hung a large cage with something speckled staring down at us. “That’s Robbie. Miss Goodchild saved his life,” April told me before a voice snapped from deeper in the kitchen, “What’ll you have?”

Standing in front of a double sink stood a stout woman in a flowered apron with tightly curled hair. Horrified by April’s mother, I tried not to act surprised. I’d been disappointed plenty of times, but things were moving too fast for tears so a pretended to relax.

“I suppose you’ll want some lunch too,” the woman barked. “Well then, come wash your hands,” she said in a warmer tone as I realized she might be a servant.

April pulled a stool to the kitchen sink as the old woman tilted aside gripping the kitchen counter. Robbie shrieked as we washed our hands and Miss Goodchild brought him grapes she’d washed and paired. “There you be. Be you there,” she said queerly, rocking back toward the sink.

“Miss Goodchild is Welsh,” April said as we sat down. “So, you’re Jed,” the old woman said rhetorically plunking plates of crustless white sandwiches in front of us. Though only in her forties, her exaggerated jowel, thinning hair and pudgy nose made her look funny in her flowered apron and April and I chuckled.

“Well?” she asked staring at me, deciding I was insolent to ignore her question. “Yes,” I said before spitting my first bite out onto the plate. “What’s the matter, April asked with her mouth full. I’d never had peanut butter and butter before. The smear of jelly was not nearly enough to rinse the offensive texture from my gums. Rather than wipe my teeth with my napkin, I sat mute. A shriek from Robbie shifted our attention as Muffy too kooked up. “April dear, put him out,’ Miss Goodchild ordered as I swabbed my mouth. “He’s making our boy nervous.”

Robbie’s cage hung high near the ceiling on a heavy hook. “He’s too fat to jump,” April said as she swept Muffy outside with her foot. Miss Goodchild sneered as she removed my uneaten sandwich. “Are there any Dannons?” April asked sitting down again. “Yes, but Jeddy doesn’t deserve one,” Miss Goodchild squawked rocking toward the sink sounding like a mother. I began to feel at home until to my surprise, the hag returned with two containers in a boney hand. “Here,” she said plopping mine in front of me with a spoon. “Can we be excused?” April asked. “Yes, Dear,” Miss Goodchild said grimacing.

I couldn’t believe she let us bring spoons outside as sitting alongside Muffy, April showed me how to open my first yogurt. The colored fruit paintings on mine were different than hers which made me nervous. “Mix it,” she said demonstrating. I dug deep and pulled upwards as instructed when something smelled a little off and the bottom gook stained the custard deep blue.

“Our Cocker Spaniel Matty died there,” April said, with her mouth full, pointing toward the yard. “He drowned one night,” she said. “It floods. He was too old to find the steps.” She added, “and blind.” I tried not to see the old dog blindly heading in the wrong direction but couldn’t stop picturing it.

Her story was bad enough but whatever was on my tongue was even more horrifying, and I froze again. “What’s wrong this time,” she laughed. “Spit it out over there,” she said pointing to hedge of Rose of Sharon, then grabbing my Dannon she spooned out the rest among some ivy for Muffy.

“Do you have a mother?” I asked. Her name is “Jane. She’s an actress. She found Robbie newly hatched on the steps and Mrs. Goodchild saved him,” she said taking my spoon.

“What’s with these steps,” I thought. “First the old blind dog, the scary cat and now the helpless bird…”

“Watch out!” April jumped up as two older boys thundering by nearly hitting us with the door. “My brothers,” April said as they hurdled past sprinting to the far side of the yard through the invisible flood.

The bigger one put his hands under the other’s armpits and on three, jump-lifted him up to the rings then the two swung like Tarzans back and forth on the largest swing set I’d ever seen. “Show-offs,” April said as I admired their muscularity. Hearing voices curled my toes as I recognized my parents’ approach.

Four laughing adults rounded the corner in tennis whites when a shapely woman I didn’t recognize stopped in her tracks, pointed at me and said, “There he is. Isn’t he just cunning?” “What a pair,” her husband said, motioning for us to move out of his way so he could get into the kitchen. “What are we drinking?” he asked, threatening me with a locker room towel snap as he passed. “I have Gin.” My mother walked right by me oblivious to my dirty bare feet and taking in the yard said, “Nice.”

I’d never seen anyone so tan as April’s father and was transfixed by her mother’s movie star face as she delicately daubed sweat from her cheeks with a towel. Aware I couldn’t keep my eyes off her, she smiled at me saying, “Look at him. Just look at him. Isn’t he darling – the two of them,” she chirped as I smiled back wiggled my toes. “For heaven’s sake Jimmie,” Jane pleaded to her husband emerging with drinks, “We must have a pool.”

After discussing where proposed pool might go in their expansive yard, the adults wandered around back to a seating area under an enormous Norwegian Maple. Looking back toward an open window Jane called, “Miss Goodchild dear, bring us a broom. April darling, you know where one is.”

April rolled her eyes at me, and I at her before she smacked her butt and took off like a racehorse. Her emergence from the garage and gallop past, urging herself on with an invisible whip was unforgettable, as was the thought of Matty alone in the dark unable to find the steps while her family slept.