Morena - Part One

He squinted. It was obvious that she was one of the children of the sun, as her skin had long since burned brown with time. The young man was pale from sun block and air conditioning, so that when his hand grasped hers it was like chilled milk being forced upon piping-hot chocolate. He pulled her up from the searing black roadside, noticing that she was leaving a fair bit of skin from her knee behind. The chalky whiteness of the scrape quickly took on that blotchy redness that, for a child ten years younger, would have warranted a mother’s kiss and a Snoopy band-aid. As he held her briefly to steady her, her brown curls brushed up against his face, and he smelled the stench of cheap beer and cologne on them, with a hint of something familiar; a smell he couldn’t recall at that moment.

“Ouch.”

She was now leaning over, looking down at her hurt knee, so he took the moment to look her over without fear of being caught. She couldn’t be more than a year younger than him, sixteen or seventeen maybe. She was wearing a tan skirt that flirted with her brown thigh in the wind, and a white tank top which made her seem even darker still. Her feet were bare, and her red-painted toenails wiggled on the hot pavement. Her nose scrunched up as she looked once again at the wound and winced a little, but when she looked up at him all he could see were the brilliant white teeth matching the glint in her eye as she smiled at him.

He began to mutter something about needing to reapply his sun block, but he felt her hand tighten as she turned and led him onto the grass and underneath the scattered shade of a nearby pine. She pulled him down to the earth so the tree blocked the view of the road and the House. Finally she let go of his hand, letting the contrast between them fade for a moment. She brushed her brown curls behind her ears as she sat against the rough bark of the pine. They sat there for a moment in silence, looking awkwardly in separate directions. It wasn’t the awkwardness of newly weds, but rather the silence that old lover find themselves enveloped in when they realize how long it has been since they’ve last embraced. He tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t come out as a mumble.

Their eyes met as they heard the noise: a low moaning from the House across the street. The young man leaned to look around the great pine, but couldn’t see any movement coming from the unpainted wooden structure. The unnatural moaning sounded like that of a woman, and as the seconds passed it began to grow louder. The young man began to stand up but he felt the girl’s warm hand tug at his sleeve. He looked down, and something in the brown eyes begged him to remain as he was. Suddenly, a loud crack, like that of wood snapping, cut short the moan. The girl’s eyes widened, and with little hesitation she pulled the young man close. Before he could object he felt her lips close in on him, and he soon forgot about the disturbance in the House, choosing instead to enjoy the girl’s attention. He stopped her warm advance for a moment; just long enough so he could lean down and kiss her scraped and scabbed knee. A white hand was left on her knee as their lips found each other again, and soon he felt her drag his hand up past her brown thigh and under her skirt. Once again the two figures became a single color, mixing beneath the tattered shadow on a hot summer day.

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The sun seemed to seek them out after some time. As it moved across the sky, the shadows of pine needles slashed away at the girl’s cheek as she slept. The heat had made the two quite sleepy, and so they were dozing, half-naked, beneath the tree. With arrival of the sun, the scars of the tank-top began to fade from the girl’s shoulders. His chest unfamiliar with sun block, the young man’s body began to blush. He was on the border of sleep when, through closed eyelids, he perceived a shadow growing over him, despite having failed to hear anyone approach. An eyelid’s ascent revealed a small figure standing over them, that of a boy, no older than 5 or 6. He had the exact same shade of hair that the girl had, but instead of a gleaming smile, a simple frown dominated his little face. The grubby boy wore a pair of tattered shorts and white t-shirt, the rest was deeply tanned skin that could easily rival the girl’s. There was a pinpoint of a blood stain in the center of the shirt.

The girl! She was so light the young man had forgotten she was still lying there, topless, with her head in the crook of his arm. He quickly reached over and covered her bare breasts with the crumpled tank top and slid his arm slowly out from under her. He stood up to assert his height difference over the boy. The sun beat at his back as he slid a shirt over his burned body. The boy was now chewing thoughtfully on his hand as he regarded the tall man in front of him.

“Um, do you need some help kid?”

No word from the sun scarred little mite. The young man was reaching down to shake the girl awake when the boy pulled his hand out of his mouth and exclaimed, “June!” The young man paused and stared at the peculiarity in front of him. Well, at least the kid knows what month it is, he thought. He looked down again to find that the brown-haired girl’s eyes were wide open.
The little boy continued with his call, this time pointing across the street at the House. “June!” It took a second for her mine to catch up to her ears, and then she was quickly on her feet, the tank top falling back down to the ground. The young man looked around to make sure there was no one around to see her like this. He then picked up the tank-top and offered it to her, but with a wave of the hand she dismissed him; she was fixed on the boy in front of her.

“What is it Simon?” she said, looking angry, “what must we do now?”

“We must go inside,” Simon replied, “we must go inside and into the dark.” He sounded almost like he was reciting. The young man squinted at the child through the bright rays of sun. The spot of blood on his shirt had gotten bigger.