Indigo
The color was indigo, a kind of blue that glowed. They were pedal pushers I think, down to the knee and the little top I was wearing was indigo background with small white perfect stars, sleeveless before I knew I should cover up part of myself.
I was lying on the grass in my front yard on Rosemary Lane. We lived in Campbell, California before it was the Silicon Valley, it was all peach and apple orchards and the McDonalds that came to town in 1969 still counted the burgers sold in the hundreds.
I lie on the grass which was cool on my skin. I felt it tickle the back of my neck and brush the sides of my legs. I pulled it through my fingertips enjoying the silky feeling, the damp, cool, soil underneath.
I lie like this for a long, long time, doing nothing, staring up at the blue, cloudless sky, seeing, nothing and seeing everything, no one came to call me no one asked what I was doing. I felt beautiful and full of the beauty surrounding me. I loved my little outfit, my fourth of July outfit. I wore red tennie shoes so I could be red, white and blue.
We had home made peach ice cream on the fourth of July and sweet sticky barbeque.
In the end there was a sleep over and I remember climbing the stairs to my attic room. I was lying on top of the covers still wearing my indigo matching set when she came just past dark.
The girl friend who was spending the night, lay herself on top of me. She moved around slowly, shifting her weight, asking if it felt good. She kept moving, ‘stop there’ I said.
I forgot about that moment and it was 23 years later before I found myself saying ‘stop there, right there’ again.