The First Day of Summer
1. The Secret Place
We are growing old, you and I. The bones are beginning to creak, the eyesight is starting to dim, and one day, perhaps, the memory will fade of the many wonderful years we’ve had together. There have been good times and bad times, great love and sad loss, so much to celebrate and so little to regret. But a part of our lives will always shine bright, those glorious, golden days of our youth.
Do you remember when we were taken to the secret place? It was the very first day of summer, and the last Saturday before the end of school. I had just turned seventeen, feeling terribly mature and dreadfully sophisticated. You were so wrapped up in your manly pride because you hadn’t shaved all week and it actually showed. We were so absolutely sure of ourselves, so sublimely certain of what we would become. We just knew that someday the two of us would make the world hold its breath. Well, that never happened; but you still take my breath away when you hold me in your arms.
It was one of those sultry, hazy mornings typical of that time of year. The air hung languidly over the suburbs, a thick, clammy blanket of enervating humidity. Growling stormclouds piled up ominously on the horizon, and above us the sun glowed a pallid yellowish grey through the sullen overcast. But we were so happy and feeling so free. You were in a playful mood, and I suggested one last expedition to the waterhole. You smiled, and I blushed because I was afraid you were going to laugh at the idea, at me. But we were both thinking the same thing. We all must grow up, and leave behind our childish games… but not just yet.
It was a ten-minute bicycle ride from where the highway veered sharply away from the river, along a winding dirt road through withered, tangled eucalypt scrubland. (I believe that part of the forest is gone now. Housing estates have crept up to the very borders of the national park.) I wore my favourite bikini. Do you recall it, the purple one with the…? Yes, of course you do. I recognize that twinkle in your eyes. You haven’t changed.
The swimming hole, as we should have expected, was crowded with kids, noisily having kids’ fun. So instead of plunging into the ferment, we chained our bikes to a tree trunk and went for a walk. We stopped in the clearing on the other side of the hill, where the track broadened and a pioneer’s cottage had once stood. It was uncannily silent and dreamily still. We could no longer hear the tumult from the waterhole, and even the birds and crickets seemed to have ceased their chatter to give us our peace and quiet. We sat on a patch of the softer grass. You stroked my hair and I caressed your cheek and we kissed. But our solitude did not last.
The crackling of dry leaves underfoot was the first indication that we were no longer alone. A moment later, half a dozen camouflage-clad figures emerged from the undergrowth. They circled us, staying warily close to the edge of the open space at first, but slowly moving in, until their leader was looming directly over us. Dressed in his battle fatigues, his belt and bandoliers heavily laden with a menacing array of weaponry, his young face streaked with black and olive paint, he looked fearsomely familiar.
But you got up and stared him down. You were almost a head taller, and though he held his ground I could see him beginning to waver.
“Identify yourselves,” he snarled, mustering his mettle to reassert his authority. “What’s your business here?”
You pulled back your shoulders and thrust out your chest, and scanned the menacing semicircle with a blistering glower.
“Go away,” you told him. “Leave us to…” Your voice trailed off, as the commander grinned and his underlings swapped nods and winks.
I shook my head and got to my feet and stood at your side. Our confronters backed away, albeit just a step or two.
“Does your dad know you’re harassing law-abiding citizens?” I demanded.
He stammered something and I’m sure he was about to skulk away; but you couldn’t leave well enough alone.
“What’s so special about this place?” you said.
He turned back towards us. His paint-daubed face darkened. He frowned and his eyes glinted. He looked around at his comrades before responding.
“You don’t know?”
“He wouldn’t be asking if he did, would he?” I snapped… and immediately regretted it.
Jason ignored me and told you about the secret place.
“What is it?” you asked.
“Where is it?” I asked.
I thought my question was no less reasonable than yours, but apparently your brother didn’t think so. He glared at me with undisguised contempt.
“We’ll take you there.” He paused, and I drew in my breath. “On one condition…”
I had a good idea of what was coming, but I stayed silent. So did you, as I recall. (Now don’t start getting defensive. We were both on the same wavelength that day.)
With just a quick shrug, you moved back to give Jason room to come around so I would be facing away from him. I did not move. I had my hands clamped on my shoulders because I was feeling self-conscious standing there in just my bikini, surrounded by these surly, sinister would-be warriors. He took hold of my elbows to pull my arms down and behind my back. He did it gently, but only so I would not resist. I didn’t. I allowed him to cross my wrists and bind them with something… it felt like nylon cord, maybe a tent rope. He knew what he was doing, looping the cord several times to spread the pressure, and cinching the knot to make it secure.
I flexed my arms and rotated my wrists as much as the restraints would permit, wiggled my fingers, clenched and unclenched my fists, not so much testing my bonds as making sure they would not become too painful as time went by, and reassuring me that there was no chance of the blood circulation being cut off if my wrists swelled in the heat and humidity. It felt okay… not exactly comfortable, since Jason had tied the rope tight, but it was not too great a strain. Anyway, I knew there was more to come. Your little brother was nothing if not predictable.
I glanced around. You gave me your usual “Don’t look at me” look. The other kids watched with curiosity and amusement. Judging from those expressions, I must have been their first hostage. On a signal from their leader, the two girls, Donna and Katrina, untied the bandanas from their necks and handed them to him.
Jason was still behind me, and I guessed what was next. He reached over my shoulders and pushed something soft against my lips. I parted them and he pressed the cloth between my teeth with the fingers of both hands. The large wad knotted in the middle of the scarf filled just the front of my mouth, so it was not too disagreeable; but he tugged with pitiless enthusiasm to tie the ends, wrenching my head backwards. Then the shadow of a blindfold descended over my eyes. Jason used the second bandana, and he was just as rough in applying it. My gasp of damseline distress was muffled by my gag into an unladylike grunt. Jason laughed, the other kids giggled nervously… and I’m sure I heard you chuckle.
I wondered if you were going to get the same treatment, but Jason placed his hand between my shoulder blades and brusquely shoved me forward. I took a tentative step or two before halting, afraid I would fall. You gallantly put an arm around behind me, grasping my elbow on the other side to steady and guide me as I shuffled along the track.
From the soothing warmth on the side of my face, I could tell that the sun had come out from behind the curtain of clouds, and that we were moving in a direction away from the swimming hole, further into the woods. My skin tingled to the sudden chill as the canopy closed in overhead. The track narrowed and began to twist and turn. You clung to me more firmly now, saving me from stumbling and tumbling so many times. Swinging, swishing branches grazed my bare legs. They tickled more than prickled, so I didn’t mind. But the encroaching undergrowth meant that this was a trail not well trod. Jason’s secret lair was hidden deep inside the forest.
Bound, gagged and blindfolded, I had no idea of what lay just paces ahead of me. Before long, my muscles began to ache. The stress on my shoulders from having my arms pinned behind me and the effort to keep my equilibrium were starting to drain my energy and my willpower. But pride and curiosity kept me going. It was a strange, disorienting experience. The birds and insects had resumed their buzzing, hissing, chirping chorus, but no one spoke, not you, nor Jason, nor the others. I felt so eerily alone, even within your comforting embrace.
The passage of time became a blur. I don’t know how long or how far we had trudged before the path contracted to the point where you could no longer walk beside me, but instead followed closely behind, gripping my forearms to direct and balance me. I felt helpless and vulnerable and exposed, plus a little afraid. Yet putting my trust in you, having you lead me through the wilderness and protect me from its perils, made it a journey of joy. The goosebumps were not all from the effects of the cool air.
Jason called for the column to halt. I heard a rustling noise, like he was brushing aside the undergrowth to clear a passage. When we moved again, you told me to duck my head. The vegetation closed in completely around us, forming a tunnel that became more and more constricted, until I was forced to lean forward in a deep bow, and you had to take hold of my wrists to steer me. I tallied my footsteps, reaching a hundred before I tripped on an uncovered tree root, almost toppled and lost count. Finally we emerged into a clearing beside a small creek. I could hear its waters bubbling and babbling over the boulders.
The arduous trek had pushed me to near exhaustion, but I was impatient for my first glimpse of Jason’s hideout. Of course, that was not to be; and to this day it remains, for me, a mystery. The only impressions I have are those from behind my blindfold. You’ve never described it, and I think that’s how it should be. For me it will always be a secret place, a fantastical landscape painted in sensations, moods and feelings, not constrained by pictures or words.
I was so relieved and grateful when we reached our destination that I didn’t mind when Jason gruffly ordered me to kneel and I knew I would not be untied. Then two pairs of hands – I think they belonged to the girls – grabbed my arms and lowered me onto my belly. The grass, leaves and twigs were itchy and scratchy against my bare flesh, and I began to squirm. Jason thought I was attempting to escape my bonds, or at least he pretended so. He commanded his minions to hog-tie me. I gulped a garbled protest through my gag, and put up a feeble struggle as they forced my heels up to my backside and trussed them to my wrists. I continued to wriggle about, until the sting of the forest litter beneath me and the jeering mockery from those standing over me became too much. (Don’t give me that innocent look. I knew you were a part of it.)
After that, my memory goes fuzzy. I heard you and Jason and the others moving about. There was splashing and laughing and squealing; and at one stage everything went so spookily silent that I thought you had all abandoned me, hog-tied and helpless, in the middle of nowhere. I started to panic, but I quickly came to my senses. You would never do that… and even Jason was not so depraved. Still, that was how zoned out I was by then, no longer thinking clearly. It was horrible, in a way, but like one of those nightmares that you have when, even as you wake up and are glad it wasn’t real, you’re sort of sorry that you didn’t get to see how it would end. That’s how I felt when finally you untied me.
You took out my gag and daubed the sides of my mouth and chin where the dribble had oozed through the saturated scarf, and gave me a drink from one of the canteens. You helped me brush away the leaf litter which had stuck to my skin and got in my hair. You were so gentle, who’d left me bound and prostrate, suffering discomfort and derision, for so long. I was hoping you wouldn’t say you were sorry for my ordeal, because your tenderness now made it worth the price. We kissed, and your little brother snorted in disgust.
I remained sightless for the hike back to the waterhole. It was late afternoon. Only a few kids were still swimming and playing, and I saw they were giving us odd looks as I removed the blindfold. The wind had picked up and the temperature had dropped. The impending tempest had not yet arrived, but the sky was blackening. As we unchained our bicycles, Jason and his pocket-sized commandos about-turned and marched back into the forest. They were prepared to weather the storm. We arrived home just before it broke.
How many times that summer did we visit the secret place? Sometimes it was with Jason and his friends, more often just you and me. Always I went blindfolded, so I would never discover its location, nor even learn what it was like, except from the impressions of sound and scent. I loved that it remained so mysterious to me. It existed in my imagination, not quite real but more than a fantasy.
It was on our fourth visit, as I recall, that you again tied me up. After that, it became our tradition, and the games we played back then we carried on for many years. Yet after that summer we never went back to the secret place. It was time to move on from childish adventures, we thought. I suppose it still exists, unless that section of the forest has also fallen to the bulldozers. But in a sense it will always be there, a part of our lives. Yes, we did grow up, left behind such juvenile joys. But it’s only when you’ve grown out of that stage as well that you realize that the exploits and explorations of youth, not the duties and labours of adulthood, are what shape you most.