The Accidental Siren

2.5 Mara

I don't remember our conversation after the moment our noses touched. I don't recall climbing out of the tree, and I'm not sure how Mara reached the rope over the barb-riddled bushes. 

I do remember tying the basket to the blanket and the way her slender arms hoisted the contraption like an anchor on a boat. I remember the last words she whispered from her perch, “See ya later, alligator.” 

I remember her smile.

Somehow, Whit had managed to keep us out of trouble. I snuck through his house, down the ramp to the basement, then regaled him with my adventures until the morning sun turned his bedroom orange.

We attended our last day of elementary school with heavy eyes and naps at recess. When the last bell rang and the kids went berserk, I felt above it. Mrs. Conrad picked us up at the flag pole and unknowingly ushered us into the craziest summer of our lives.

Back in Whit's bedroom I remembered the item that sparked the evening's insanity.

“Is it broke?” he asked.

I inspected the plastic casing and twisted the dials.

“Is it gonna work?” he asked.

I rotated the lens... and it fell off in my hand.

“Shit!” he said. “That dick weed broke it!”

“Crap...” I said, but before the grief had a chance to settle, a hatch sprung open. I scrunched my brow and poked the camera’s innards.

“What?” Whit asked. “What is it?”

I removed a black and yellow canister of film from the open chamber.

“Didja already shoot somethin'?”

“No,” I said. “The old lady must’ve.”

Whit grinned. “We gotta develop that shit. Today.”

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