"They aren’t daddy’s," I said. 

"Are too!" Megsy smirked.

"Are not. Maybe they’re Uncle Bobby’s?"

"Don’t be dense. Why would Uncle Bobby hide magazines in our garage?"

I stared up at the canopy of craggy oaks. Clumps of mistletoe were tangled in the branches. Wicked-witch pom-poms, my daddy called them. I never knew what that meant...

Just thinking about daddy made my cheeks get hot. 

Only this morning the world was spinning in the right direction. We were headed down to the bayou just like every other Saturday morning to hunt for turtles in the swampy ravine when Megsy wanted to grab a bucket from the garage for our booty. If I’d only made her skip the bucket this wouldn’t be happening and we’d be up to our neck in mud and water--safe.

"Do you think Mama knows?"

"Doubt it." Megsy turned over a flat rock and started stabbing worms with a stick, squirting their insides out. She always took to killing bugs when she was trying to come to terms with something. Just last week fourteen pill bugs had lost their lives because Mark Frost had the nerve to call her a cissy (Megsy’s hadn’t wanted to play Spin the Bottle). Mark Frost was lucky he didn’t get stabbed.

"Stop doing that! Leave the poor things alone."

"Shut-up and get off your butt. We don’t have much time left."

Escaping the blinding Texas sun, we moved deep into the wild territory of the ravine. Megsy and I had christened this place The Bayou because the mossy trees reminded us of the Louisiana back country. Our favorite part was a small stream, the color of copper, that twisted and turned its way back to the Gulf. The water smelled like dark cool soil. I’d dig my feet into the sandy bottom. It felt like squishing Jell-O between my toes. We’d been warned by daddy to watch out for water moccasins. We were constantly on the alert for little black heads poking out of the muddy water. Today, I didn’t care about the stream or snakes. I just sat on the bank throwing stones in to listen to them plip-plop.

"You better get a little dirt on your clothes or mama will think we’ve been up to no good," Megsy said.

"She won’t care,"

"Yeah, like she doesn’t thrive on hollering at us. It makes her feel like she did her mothering for the day."

"Let’s just wait till after her first cocktail. She won’t be so edgy then."

"No, then she’ll yell at us for being late for supper," Megsy said as she grabbed a handful of mud and tossed it at me.

"Stop it," I screamed and scrambled to grab some mud before she pelted me again.

"They’re not daddy’s," I shouted for good measure and beaned Megsy all over her polka dot blouse.

I could just imagine mama’s look when we walked through the door. Her face would pinch up tight and she’d shake her cigarette at us. I knew what she was thinking. All her hard work down the drain. 

Every morning mama dressed Megsy and me in matching outfits, right down to our pink satin panties. I think she secretly desired twins. But since Megsy and I were only thirteen months apart we fit the bill. Our brown hair was clipped in short pixie styles. Easy maintenance, except it clung to our heads like helmets from the sticky humidity. Megsy looked cute in the outfits of bright polka dots or floral prints. Her small frame was perfect for the Twiggy styles, but I looked like Baby Huey with clothes on. I was built solid like a battleship. Nothing to be ashamed of, my daddy reassured me on more than one occasion.

"They are too daddy’s, and you’d better get used to the idea!" Megsy screamed as she ran up the hill towards home.

That night I lay in my bed trying to get comfortable. The stifling heat made the cotton sheets cling to my body. I kept looking towards the window praying for a breeze. I wanted to see the white lace curtains lift, revealing a change in the weather. Nothing moved, except my mind and it raced a hundred miles per hour.

"One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi," I counted quietly to myself, trying anything to fall asleep. Counting sheep had failed. Megsy was sound asleep. I wanted to pinch her awake. I couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t worried like I was. When that box had fallen in the garage this morning my world had shifted in a way I still hadn’t figured out. All I knew was those magazines spilling out...Penthouse, Playboy, XXX, popped a bubble in my universe. I had tried to scramble away from those glossy pictures, like they were going to reach out and bite me. 

"Don’t touch’em," I remembered hollering at Megsy, but did she listen? She picked one right up and started flipping through the pages. Her giggling made my stomach flip-flop. Those women made my body get hot and flushed right down to my toes. Those magazines couldn’t be daddy’s!

My daddy was the man who put on a suit and tie every morning and smelled like Old Spice. The man who came home from work and gave me bear hugs or tickled my tummy until I called "Quits!" I couldn’t even think about what those magazines meant about mama. This hurt my head, creating a dull throbbing ache in the middle of my forehead. I pulled the sheet up tight around me and tried to hunker down hoping the thoughts might cease if I curled up into a tight ball.

The women had white legs and pink-nipples. Those images were now sealed in my head like cement. I wanted to drill Megsy on what else lay between those glossy covers but I knew the words would fall dead in my mouth. My brain felt scrambled, and no matter what I did I couldn’t resurrect my daddy to the man I knew before those magazines tumbled out. I climbed in bed with Megsy, spooning her warm body. Her hair smelled like sweet almonds. I snuggled in closer. Being next to her made my mind settle down. 

Two days later Megsy took to taking baths. One in the morning and one in the late afternoon. Mama beat on the door for her to turn the water off. "You’re going to flood the house," she’d scream and rattle the door knob. "Megsy, why do you have this door locked? I want it left open next time, do you hear!"

I’d sit on my bed reading Nancy Drew, pleading for Nancy to turn back as she headed out into a thundering rainstorm to search for clues, no doubt hurtling towards some disaster. The water in the bathroom turned on and off, rythmically, like the washing machine in mid-cycle; draining and then filling back up again. Mama banged on the door again.

I didn’t understand why Megsy was taking all these baths. Mama said she was probably starting puberty. I didn’t ask what that word meant. It sounded like rocks in my mouth. I knew it had to be bad. If going through puberty meant you had to take two baths a day I didn’t want any part of it.

I was just thankful Megsy’s puberty status didn’t stop her from going down to the Bayou. But, the thing was, overnight she lost her desire for worm killing and turtle hunting. I’d be searching in the water with my culottes soaked and Megsy would be on the bank of the stream etching her name with a stick. Her body was present but her mind was in orbit. I wanted to talk about the magazines and daddy. Megsy never even mentioned the subject. I wasn’t going to be the first one to bring it up. I decided to wait her out. I laid down beside her like a love sick puppy. I knew better than to talk to her. Megsy needed silence to work things out. I honored this silence--if I didn’t, I’d get pinched real hard for sure.

Megsy was peeved because Mama was making her take another bath.

"I already had two,"

"I don’t care. I can’t be sure you’re washing properly. Now get the water running,"

"Mama, Libby and I are old enough to bathe ourselves. I’m twelve. Stop treating us like babies."

"Don’t say another word, Margaret Sue!" With the shift in tone and the proper name, Megsy clammed up tight. We undressed while Mama lit a cigarette and took up her usual position on the toilet. I still liked having Mama in the bathroom. It was the only time I felt I had her full attention. She’d hum and sing lines from "One Calamera," which was her perennial favorite. Mama’s voice was sweet and clear. I loved how she tried the Spanish song, but couldn’t sing a lick. I’d study her bright orange-red lipstick that reminded me of persimmons as she inhaled and exhaled the smoke. Her shiny black hair was swept up into a tortoise shell hair-clip and her brown eyes had a delicate application of lavender. "Never wear any heavy looking colors on your eyes, Libby" she told me once as she got ready to go out to dinner with daddy. "It makes you look cheap."

Once we were good and scrubbed Mama left us to pour her nightly drink and she was lost to us.

"Lock the door," Megsy said as soon as Mama was gone.

"Why?"

"Just do it!"

"Mama will be mad if she finds the door locked,"

"Quit being such a mama’s girl. Do you want me to tell her who ate the last cookie?"

I got out of the bath to lock the door. I was standing, dripping water all over the blue tiled floor. The water was pooling up around my feet. Megsy scooted up to the front of the tub and pulled the plug out. I just stood there dripping and shivering.

"Get back in the tub," Megsy barked at me. "I read about this in one of the magazines. I’m going to show you something."

"Read what?"

"I’m going to show you, so shut-up."

Once the water drained out, Megsy put the plug back in and started running the water again.

"The water can’t be too hot." Megsy said.

I didn’t say anything but watched as Megsy kept adjusting the faucets. She then scooched her bottom up close to the running water and spread her legs out in a V. The water ran straight down onto her vagina. I couldn’t look. 

"Megsy, stop it,"

"No-no-try it. You’re going to like this, Libby." She scooched up even closer to the gushing water. She laid her head back. I got up and sat on the lip of the tub. My nipples were erect and standing on end. I couldn’t figure out if I was cold, excited or scared. Megsy closed her eyes and now I knew I was scared. What if Mama somehow got that door unlocked?

"Meg, open your eyes."

"Quiet. It’s almost over." I watched transfixed as Megsy’s body convulsed a little. She had a wide grin on her face. She slipped back into a sitting position. She turned off the faucet and pulls out the plug.

"Come on Libby. Try it."

"No way!"

"It feels really good and it tickles like crazy."

"No," and that’s how I left it for two more baths until I got too jealous of Megsy’s smile--and I gave in. I couldn’t stop giggling the first time. It reminded me of a feeling I’d experienced once the summer before. Megsy and I had been over at a friend’s house because her dog had had a litter of puppies and we were playing with them. One of the puppies had taken a fancy to my underwear; whenever I sat down he tried to wiggle up my dress. He’d sniff and squirm at my panties. It tickled and sent a bolt of heat up my body... and now the running water created that very same jolt. It tickled and I liked it. But as soon as the pleasure passed by, a wave of shame washed over me. I kept thinking about those women on the magazine covers and it seemed to me that what they were doing was dirty.

And I’d come to think the very same thing about myself.

Megsy and I began to take one magazine out at a time. We’d hide it under our shirts and high-tail it down to the bayou. We hid like rabbits in the bushes. I was supposed to keep a look out for any other neighborhood kids. 

Megsy turned the pages slowly, when I would have been more comfortable with a quick scan. We sat Indian style and the whole time those pages were flipping I kept my heel tucked up close with a steady rub against my vagina. My body and face were flushed. I never directly looked at Megsy and what she was doing. I was too busy trying to manage what was happening to my own body. The pictures held me transfixed. Concentrating on those women with their big breasts, brown and pink nipples, their flat tummies, long shiny hair, and their pouty lips made me feel excited like peeking at Christmas presents hidden beneath my parents bed. The other feeling flooding my body was fear. Every layer of fat on my body took on monumental proportions. I became keenly aware of every short prickly hair on my head. 

I felt ugly. I started looking at Megsy in a new way. A wall of separation took shape between us. I saw Megsy’s prettiness and I knew she was going to be a beautiful woman. I wouldn’t. Spite rose up in my stomach and I felt even more wretched. But I couldn’t stop looking at those magazines. 

Sometimes Megsy and I would just lie back against the wet cool earth and take a breather.

When we finished with the magazine for that day we’d tuck it under some bush and go back to playing in the stream hunting for turtles. Megsy had stopped etching her name in the sand. It was as if we were split in two. One experience didn’t interfere with the other. Megsy said a couple times we probably should stop. I agreed. 

And then the tension would build back up and we’d collect another magazine.

Two weeks passed before daddy found out our secret. He spanked Megsy and then me. He grounded us for a week. After he left for work we checked the garage. The boxes were gone. Mama never said a word about the spankings and she didn’t uphold the grounding.

"Daddy will forgive us," Megsy told me and I hoped she was right. 

The summer slowly slipped into fall. The Bayou that had protected us from the blazing sun and kept our secrets became damp and desolate. Megsy and I abandonded it as the water turned from copper to a mossy green. In September I’d enter the sixth grade, Megsy, Junior High. It was the first time we’d been separated in school. But separation between us was becoming like the air we breathed.