Olly Olly Oxen Free

Meghan Austin

I don't talk about my childhood because it already happened. Even at the time, I remember bouncing a ball repeatedly against a brick wall and thinking: is it over yet? She had one of those childhoods where the parents were so old they didn't bother raising the last few. It wasn't "you're a special gift from God," but "the doctor said I couldn't get knocked up while nursing."

She stowed away on a boat to Iceland with her brothers and had to repeat the fourth grade. She told her father that the small bottles of beer in the basement fridge were for children, and her father said, "It's your life."

She got off on being disciplined, as you might a child. She was always pushing my boundaries, and sometimes, I had to hit her. "Don't play games without telling me," I said. I had to un-gag her to hear her response. She had terrible enunciation, another result of her terrible upbringing.

"I wasn't playing games," she said. Finally, she admitted she was playing Sisters, a game her sister invented. I was the big sister and she was the little sister.

"I'm not your sister."

"I know. My sister has bigger boobs. Wait. Don't stop. I've been really bad. Hit me." She smirked. "Please, Sis."

We met up once a year or so, if I was available and she was rolling through town or near an airport. She sent an email that said: "midway between Novosibirsk and Krasnoyarsk." But even the Trans-Siberian Railway has an end. I found her in her old neighborhood in her old coffee shop playing Sodoku. "You stood me up in Missoula," she said, not looking up from her puzzle.

"You stood me up."

"I wouldn't have stood you up if you would trust me a little, Tiger."

"How do you know I wasn't there?"

Later, while fucking on my living room floor, she demanded to know if I'd shown up. She said she wouldn't come until I told. "I'll get it out of you," she said. "You're tough but you're...oh, fuck."

She'd never been to Montana, or Russia for that matter, and had spent the summer at her brother's condo in Florida. She was back because she'd gotten an artist residency at some rich old man's estate in the suburbs. There were horses. The old man lived there too.

"That's creepy," I said.

"That's half the appeal," she said. "What if he's some kind of pervert and there are hidden cameras everywhere and I get molested?"

"No, I meant about the horses. Horses are creepy. Every time I've ever been on a horse, something weird and unnatural has happened. Don't worry. I'm sure you'll get molested."

"I better."

"No, you will."

"Don't scare me like that again." She traced her finger around the marks she'd bit into my shoulder. "There are three pools. And it's on the lake, so the pools are completely redundant. You should visit. I might need a lifeguard."

"I can't swim." We made eye contact. I'm not sure we'd ever done that before. Her eyes were green. It was weird and intimate. I stretched, and she offered a blowjob. "Nah, I'm good."

"Well, I'm starving. And you need to get a more comfortable floor. Or furniture. Ever heard of a rug?"

I found her underwear and I found my underwear, and I found my bra, and hers was in her boot. I didn't find her socks until later, and I put them in the pile of lost socks. We put our clothes on and go outside. We walk together for a while, but it's clear we're headed in different directions, and she crosses the street and I continue to the video store. Outside, it 's bright and hot and we're just two people walking, and this is not the end.

***

Meghan Austin wrote half of the Canadian award-winning novel Love Block. “Olly Olly Oxen Free ” is an excerpt from I Survived Mt. St. Helens, a novel that will hopefully be finished this summer.