Truth & Admiration Ch. 01

"Um, two?" She stepped back from the counter and pulled off her hoodie. "Can I help?"

Miranda could finally see Al and now guessed that she was only a few years older than Al. She also understood why she'd been hiding under the baseball cap and baggy clothes. While she had a high girly voice and handsome boyish face, she had a womanly figure; heavy round breasts sitting high on a long narrow rib cage. Miranda was sure Al drew all kinds of attention from the wrong guys. And even the baggy worn jeans hanging on her hips looked sexy because of her pinched waist and the lovely swell of her narrow little butt.

Looking at her, Miranda found herself envious of the younger girl's figure. While they were about the same height, Miranda's breasts were much smaller than Al's. And while she knew she was fit and slim, Miranda's butt - Thom had called it 'The Boom' - stuck out and made her feel terribly self-conscious no matter what she wore.

Al looked at her expectantly, and Miranda felt herself starting to blush. She ducked her head and squatted to dig out a colander from under the counter and handed it to Al, moving away from the sink.

"How about you clean the veggies and greens?" She suggested. "Start with the onions and peppers, I'll need those first."

"So I've been dating this guy?" Al volunteered as they worked side by side. Both of them focused on their tasks. Miranda breaking eggs, Al scrubbing the dirt from the onions. "Dan. He's older, and he wants me to move in with him - says he wants to get married - I like him, but there's this boy I met, who is up at Western, and I don't know, I just keep thinking about him."

Al reached for the cutting board behind the faucet and pulled a knife from the drying rack. "Dan is rich, but he's kind of a druggy. And I don't know, it's all just moving so fast," she told Miranda as she sliced the roots off the onion. "And then I keep thinking about the boy - I don't know why. We were never even together. We just spent this night talking, but he was so sweet; had done so many cool things."

She sliced the top off the onion, and then cut it in half, and Miranda watched her narrow hands as she began to work at the skin with her nails. They were longer than Miranda's, beautifully rounded, and painted a pale pink.

"I thought if I saw him..." Al's color rose. "I thought if I fucked him, that maybe I'd stop thinking about him, that I'd feel better about Dan." She moved to wipe her eye with the back of her hand.

Miranda was whisking the eggs, turned to see that Al had stopped, that she was crying.

"Stupid onions," the girl mumbled, moving to wipe her eyes again.

"Here stop that," Miranda said, pushing her hand away from her face with a hand on her arm and turning on the faucet. "Rinse your hands."

Al obeyed, putting her fingers under the cool water. Miranda reached up and wiped the tears from her cheeks with her thumbs, before wetting a clean cloth under the faucet.

"Hey, it's OK," she told her. She held her forehead, which felt feverishly hot while wiping her cheeks and dabbing under her eyes with the cool wet cloth. "That's a lot of pressure Al. How old are you?"

"Nineteen." Her lashes were long and wet. "Next month."

"Well, I don't blame you for high-tailing it to the woods. That's really young to be thinking about living with someone, much less marriage," Miranda told her. "And while having to choose between two guys may seem like a good problem to have, that's really hard too."

"But that's the thing," Al said, turning to Miranda, her expression suddenly confused. "That's why I got off the bus, I don't think I like either of them. I don't like anything right now. I don't even like myself."

"Aw Al," Miranda cooed and hugged the girl's shoulders. "I know what that's like, and I know how hard that is. I'm really sorry."

Al began to sob, and put her arms around Miranda's waist, squeezing her.

"I'm so sorry," Al bawled and clutched at Miranda. "I'm so sorry. I'm such a fuck up. I'm so sorry."

"Hey! Hey now, take it easy," Miranda whispered. "Al when was the last time you ate?"

"I don't know," Al admitted. "Last night I guess?"

"OK, come on," Miranda said as she turned the crying girl so she could pull out a chair for her. But Al held on and wouldn't sit, so Miranda stood there with her, arm around her shoulder, petting her hair, cooing and hushing until she calmed down.

"I'm sorry Miranda, you don't even know me, and... fuck, I suck."

"Stop it!" Miranda laughed, pushing her back into the seat. "Seriously, stop running yourself down, Al. It's hard leaving home. It's scary. You are a brave girl! Where are you from?"

"Nashville," she sniffed. Miranda knelt in front of her and wiped her nose with the little linen towel.

"That's a long way from home! What made you want to come out here?" she asked. "Did you come out here with friends?"

"No," Al told her. "I came out alone. Shit was fucked up back home too. I just wanted to get away, and it seemed so cool here. I'm so stupid Miranda, I don't know what I'm doing."

"That doesn't make you stupid Al." Miranda could see she was calming down. She got up and poured a glass of water from the tap. Kneeling again she handed it to Al, watched her take greedy gulps.

"What is Al short for?"

"Aletheia!" she barked, blowing a snotty raspberry with her lips. "Even my name is awful."

"What?!" Miranda shouted in mock outrage. "Are you kidding me? Aletheia is a beautiful name! It means 'truth'! I'd kill to be named Aletheia."

"Oh whatever!" she hiccuped. "Says the girl with the coolest name ever!" Al's eyes were still red and watery but she was smiling now and able to look at Miranda again.

"Uhg, Al. If I had a dollar every time some douchebag said 'Do I have the right to remain silent?'"

"Seriously?!" Al looked at her in disbelief, then burst out laughing. "Oh fuck that is awful!"

"You have no idea," Miranda assured her. "I think that's why I fell for Thom. When I told him my name he said 'Prospero's daughter.' - just like that."

"Ooh he sounds like a smooth one," Al laughed and sniffed.

"He had his moments," Miranda said, handing her the damp cloth and her beer. "Sit there, and let me get some food in your stomach. It won't solve anything, but you'll feel better and think clearer."

"I can help," Al said standing. "Really, please, I was just... I feel better now Miranda. Please let me help."

Miranda felt a strange rush, but smiled broadly, trying to cover for it. Something about Al's girlish voice, the way she'd asked.

"OK then. You do the salad dressing, let's get to it!" she ordered.

Dinner didn't take long, and serving it Miranda realized that she was probably just as hungry as Al, that the last thing she'd eaten was a biscotti at breakfast. They clinked glasses and Miranda was happy to see Al tuck into her supper.

Al insisted on cleaning up afterward, and while she did Miranda went upstairs to get bedding. When she came down Al was looking around confused.

"What is it?" Miranda asked, still holding the blanket and sheet and pillow.

"Where do you... clean up?" Al asked.

"Oh, yeah - that," Miranda smiled. "There's a bathhouse with a shower, sauna, and a washer-dryer. This is a commune - kinda? Everyone else has built their own houses now, so Jean and Marcus are the only ones who still use the old bathhouse for showers. But believe it or not, at one time, three couples lived in this house and shared that one shower."

"In this house? Together?" Al asked, looking around. "All at once?"

"Yup." Miranda laughed. "So I usually just brush my teeth and wash my face in the kitchen sink, unless I need a shower. I brought you a face towel... or, doooo you need a shower?"

"Is it a big deal?" Al asked, looking sheepish. "It's not an emergency, It's just been such a long grubby day."

"No it's totally fine," Miranda told her. She walked over to the fridge and grabbed another beer. "Come on, put on your shoes."

Al held onto Miranda's arm as if she was afraid they'd get separated. Miranda couldn't blame her. The path was through the woods, and so narrow the huckleberry bushes and cedar branches brushed against them from all sides. She had walked the path so many times with Thom and Leethie, and by herself, she could easily walk it in the dark. But she made sure to hold the flashlight pointed down at their feet, so Al could see where she was stepping.

"No Mr. Pickles back here right?" Al joked, but Miranda could tell she was afraid. Knew how she felt, remembered how strange it had felt when she first moved here to be outside in the dark. Thom when he teased her for being afraid of the dark. "You don't understand," she'd told him. "I've never been outside AND in the dark before - that would be super dangerous in New York - so yeah, it's fucking scary!"

"It's just up ahead,' she warned Al as the little house came into view. "Careful, there's a step."

Miranda turned on the light and put her things on the bench, walking over to start the propane water heater on the far wall. She set their glasses on the washer and poured them each a beer. When she turned around Al was looking around the room nervously.

"Everything alright?" Miranda asked, offering Al a beer.

"Yeah, I just thought-" she looked at the shower, around the little room, and then down at the little bench."I just pictured something with rooms?"

"Oh hey," Miranda said, "if you need privacy, I can wait outside."

"No!" Al shot back, reaching for her beer. "Seriously, this is all just so... different. Should I go first?"

"Yeah, sorry. It's all hippies up here, and I'm used to it. I'll go first if you want," Miranda told her, seeing her relax a bit she gestured at the bench. "Relax. I won't take long."

Miranda hadn't planned to take a shower at all, but seeing the other girl's embarrassment thought it was only fair. She started the shower, and grabbed two towels off the shelf, setting them on the bench while waiting for the little propane heater to get the water running good and hot.

'I wish I had worn prettier underpants today," she thought with chagrin.

Al was studying her beer as Miranda took off her shirt. The little room was cold, she could feel her skin gooseflesh, as she turned to set it on the washing machine, her back to Al. She reached behind her for the clasp of the nappy old purple bra. Setting it on the machine, she saw that her nipples were puffing up, a bright rose against her pale skin. She felt even more self-conscious. She thought of all the times she had showered and sauna in here with Jean and Marcus, with Thom and his friends, with Leethie - how it had never bothered her before. She felt herself blushing like a weirdo as she pulled down her panties in front of Al.

'Why would she care, Miranda?' she thought, touching her unruly curls. She had always groomed, but it had been so long since she'd been with anyone she hadn't bothered in months. She felt sloppy and plain as she pulled the band from her fine shoulder-length hair, a mousy shade of brown. She was comparing herself to Al, her beautiful thick hair and heavy breasts. She realized she was hunching her shoulders in shame. She wondered at herself, as she forced herself to stand up straight, at what possible difference it could make to Al.

'God, I hope she doesn't think I'm hitting on her,' she thought.

"How did you know," Al piped up over-loudly, startling Miranda, "that Aletheia means 'truth'?

"Heidegger," Miranda told the girl, thinking how embarrassing this all must be for her and making an effort to push her own embarrassment down. "I've never met anyone named that before though. I really do think it's a lovely name. Your parents must love philosophy?"

She climbed into the shower and tried to relax behind the shower curtain as the warm water washed over her.

"My dad. He teaches at a community college,' Al called to her. Miranda could hear that she was undressing. "I always thought it was pretentious."

"Well I think it's awesome," she called back as she began soaping up. "I hope you like Dr. Bronner's!"

"Why, is he a 'phenomenologist'?" Al asked, sounding like she dreaded the answer.

"No!" Miranda smiled. "He's just fucking crazy, but he makes peppermint hippy-soap, and it makes your bunghole tingle."

"No!" Al called laughing.

When she was done, Miranda turned off the water and opened the shower curtain. The little bench was just in front of her, but Al, wrapped in a towel, was sitting between her and the other towel. For a moment Al just sat there holding her beer and staring at Miranda's bush.

"Hey," Miranda said quietly, "pass me my towel?"

Al seemed surprised, turned so fast for the towel she almost spilled her beer.

"Fuck!" she swore, handing her the towel. She was blushing deeply. "I'm sorry Miranda, you must think I'm such a weirdo."

"Ha!" Miranda scoffed as she stepped out of the shower, but she quickly wrapped herself in her towel. "Look, I was just thinking how used I am to all of this, and what a weirdo you must think I am."

"Are you kidding? This is all so amazing. You're so amazing. I can't believe any of this. I just... I'm not-" She was standing now, her face had collapsed into sadness. "I'm just embarrassed."

Al looked down at herself, and then, as if she'd made some sort of decision, reached up and opened her towel, not to get undressed, Miranda thought, but as if she was presenting something, exposing herself. Looking at Al, Miranda was struck by how beautiful the girl was. Her breasts were bigger and even more shapely than she'd imagined, her belly looked wonderfully soft and round, like Botticelli's Birth of Venus, except with an old beach towel trailing from one hand, and a little rough-cut cedar shed instead of a half-shell.

But Miranda was confused. Was Al trying to seduce her? It was all so awkward and strange - it didn't feel like she was trying to be sexy. Then, as the girl's hand moved up away from her sex and Miranda saw what Al was showing her. She had no pubic hair at all.

"Dan pushed and pushed," she told Miranda. "And I finally gave in. I feel so dumb."

Her voice was shaking, but she didn't sound like she was going to cry again. Miranda wanted to hug her, but couldn't overcome her own awkwardness. Al had dropped the towel onto the bench and was touching her bald mons, her lips full and sweetly pressed between her thighs - like a girl's. Miranda reached out instead and took hold of Al's free hand.

"Hey," Miranda hushed. "It looks so pretty Al, you don't need to feel bad, and besides, I used to shave mine like that. Look at me, it will grow back."

"It won't," the girl told her simply.

"What do you..." Miranda looked down at the smooth skin, how perfectly hairless it was, tried to understand. "But it's just-"

"He paid to have it done," Al said, her voice growing hard. "He said he didn't want to ever have to look at 'that shit.'"

Miranda realized she was only just now beginning to get a small sense of what Al was fleeing.

"Oh Al," she told her, trying to check her anger at Dan, at Thom, at fucking Leethie. "I'm so sorry."

"I feel so stupid Miranda." She sounded furious, but a tear slid down the naked girl's cheek.

"You're not stupid Al, you're really not," Miranda told her, squeezing her hand. She wanted to tell the girl what a motherfucker this Dan was, but she thought better of it and bit her tongue. Al was starting to shiver. "You're so pretty, Al. You don't have anything to feel embarrassed about, I swear."

Al looked up at her, finally looking her in the eyes. She looked so sad.

"It feels like a big deal because of what it represents," Miranda reassured Al. "That's why you feel so bad right now, but it's going to be OK Al."

"I feel so ashamed," she whispered. Miranda wondered what else Dan had demanded, what else Al had given up. "I feel so ugly."

"Hey," Miranda rubbed her arm. "Come on now, don't do that. It looks beautiful, you look so beautiful. I wish I was as pretty as you; I do.

Al looked up, smiled. She had begun to shiver.

"Let's get you in the shower and all warmed up," Miranda told her.

She guided Al by her shoulders over to the shower and turned it back on. Waited with her hand in the water until it was good and hot, and urged the girl in with a little push, and closed the curtain for her.

Miranda was shaking, but not from the cold. She took a couple of deep breaths, tried to collect herself, and looked for her glass.

"OOOH!" Al cried. "It really does tingle!"

"Yeah, it does!" Miranda called back laughing. Al's voice sounded bright again as if nothing had happened.

"I think we're going to need a lot more beer!"

Miranda burst out laughing.

Al didn't believe Miranda when she told her that she could walk the path in the dark, so on the way back to the farmhouse Al held onto Miranda's shoulders from behind, and they walked slowly home without the help of the flashlight.

"Are you lost?" Al asked.

"No, we're still on the path."

"How can you tell?"

"It's a little firmer packed than the dirt around it," she explained. "Feel with your feet. It gets softer to either side."

Al's grip on her shoulders tightened, but Miranda could feel as the girl's steps drifted first to the right, and then to the left.

"Seriously, can you see? How are you doing this really?"

Miranda laughed. - or tried to. Al's hands were gripping her tight and the image of her exposing herself, of her hairless pussy pinched between her thighs kept on flashing in Miranda's mind.

'You've just been alone too long,' she reassured herself, thinking about how hard the past year had been, remembering what Leethie had said about being a single woman in town; The odds are good, but the goods are odd.

When they got back to the house Miranda stoked the fire and Al was looking around again. This time, like she was trying to solve a mystery, ducking her head into Marcus's den, the sewing room, peeking up the stairs.

"How did three couples live in this little house?" Al asked.

"I know," Miranda agreed. "It's crazy!"

"Is the upstairs huge?" Al wanted to know. Looking up the steps.

"No, it's tiny," Miranda told her. "Go look, it's not much more than a sleeping loft."

"It's OK?"

Using her hands, Al climbed up the steep narrow steps into the dark. Miranda pictured her peeking out, over the books lined up on the floor around the stairwell, seeing Marcus and Jean's mattress on the floor, their clothes hanging from the rafters on a rod and in baskets.

"What the fuck - how can she stand it?" Al laughed as she came back down.

"I don't know!" Miranda laughed. "And you should see her, she's fucking beautiful and dresses great."

"I don't believe you!"

'It's fucking crazy," Miranda admitted.

They sat up drinking the last bottle of beer, laughing and talking; about music, about shows, about restaurants and coffee houses, about their parents and home, About Jean and Marcus and hippies, but not about Dan, not about the hot springs or hitchhiking. Not about Al's bald pussy. But Miranda had thought about it again and again. The beer had gone to her head, she told herself.

Finally, Al yawned, and Miranda immediately called it a night. They took a last trip to the outhouse together, Miranda swaying in the yard, listening to Al pee.

"Did you study philosophy?" the girl asked her.

"Some. I went to St. Johns," Miranda told her. 'With Thom and Leethie' she thought, with a sting that went so deep and seared so hot, it almost felt good. "It's a 'Great Books' program."

"Wow," Al exclaimed as she got up, making way for Miranda. "I have no idea what that means, but it sounds super cool."

"It means that, with my degree and a dollar fifty," Miranda joked as she sat on the still-warm seat, "I can ride the bus."

"You didn't like it?" All asked.