Five Minutes in Heaven

by Lisa Alther

  The Butchers won the coin toss, and Joe effortlessly returned the Commandos’ kickoff for a touchdown, striding like a Louisville pacer through the scarlet maple leaves that were swirling like flocks of migrating cardinals across the plateau from the Wildwoods.

  “Sorry, guys,” Joe muttered to the Butchers as they trotted back up the field, shoulder pads jouncing like saddles. “I shoulda knowed this would be a waste of time.”

  For a while, Sandy strolled around the backfield in his cleats, hands on his hips, studying the Butchers and holding up a wet finger to assess the breeze. Jude and Molly fled to the sidelines each time the ball was snapped, while the Butchers ground the Commando line into the clay and massacred the ballcarrier. The afternoon gave every evidence of being a long and bloody one, and Jude couldn’t imagine why she and Molly had given up cantering their horses along the river in order to be ripped to pieces by a gang of surly hoodlums.

  Finally, Sandy announced in the huddle, “Okay, I’m ready.”

  Jerry Crawford centered the ball to Sandy. The Commando line turned suddenly impregnable, giving Sandy the leisure to fake a lateral and two handoffs to Ace and the Panther Twins so convincingly that the Butchers chased them down the field before realizing that Sandy still held the ball. Jude and Molly, meanwhile, were darting around midfield, causing the pursuing Butchers to collide with one another like enemy tanks. Sandy sailed a perfect spiral pass to Jude, who grabbed it out of the air and dashed untouched across the goal line.

  Noreen’s cheering squad went wild, prancing and twirling and turning cartwheels. They shook their red-and-white pompoms and thrust out their arms and legs in intricately choreographed patterns. Then they shouted in unison, with the same fervor they used to devote to speaking in tongues: “Hidy, hey, hidy, hoe! Iddley, widdley, waddley, woe! Our Commandos are the best! Better, better than the rest!”

  The Butchers slunk home to the mill village after their defeat, and Molly invited the Commandos and the cheerleaders to her basement to celebrate their first victory with Cokes and butterscotch brownies.

  “I have an idea,” said Noreen as she drained the last of her Coke and brandished the green bottle like a fairy godmother’s wand. “Let’s play Spin the Bottle!”

  The boys in their football uniforms eyed one another, grinning nervously and blushing behind their newly sprouted acne. Then they eyed the cheerleaders, who were draped decoratively around the steel jack posts that held up the ceiling.

  “Good idea,” said Ace, grabbing the bottle from Noreen. “Me first. Y‘all girls get in a circle here.”

  Molly and Jude sat down cross-legged on the black-speckled linoleum as though before a campfire. Noreen and the other cheerleaders sank to their knees, tucked their feet beneath their hips, and braced their palms against the floor behind them so that their chests puffed out like robins in the spring. Ace stepped into the center of the circle, squatted, and twirled the bottle on the linoleum. It spun more and more slowly before finally stopping on Molly. She and Jude exchanged glances.

  “Nobody has to play who doesn’t want to,” announced Jude.

  “Fair’s fair,” said Molly. She stood up and disappeared in her football uniform behind the furnace with Ace.

  Jude watched Jerry spin the bottle, praying it wouldn’t land on her, wondering what was going on in the shadows behind the furnace. Would Molly really kiss their ancient enemy? Would she moan and sigh the way she had in third grade when she kissed the back of her own hand?

  Jude watched in silent misery as the bottle inched to a halt. It was pointing at Noreen. She jumped up with a squeal, kicking back her saddle shoes in a coy pep-squad hop. As she and Jerry headed for the furnace, Ace and Molly emerged. Molly was blushing. She didn’t look at Jude. But Ace did, grinning, his braces glinting in the light from the overhead bulb, which Molly had encased in a red-and-gold Japanese lantern.

  Sandy’s spin landed on Jude.

  “She’s too young,” said Molly quickly. “She’s just a fifth grader.”

  “She’s only a year younger than I am,” said Sandy. “I just skipped two grades, is all. Come on, Jude.” He held out his hand.

  In the dark beneath the cobwebbed heating ducts, Sandy whispered, “Thank God I got you.”

  “I’ll say,” whispered Jude. “Do we really have to do this?”

  “We might as well get it over with.”

  As they tried to embrace, their arms collided and tangled. Then they bumped noses and began to giggle. Finally, Sandy managed to plant a peck on her mouth before they both doubled over with silent agonized hilarity.

  Afterward, Jude and Molly changed from their football uniforms and walked to the pasture behind Jude’s grandmother’s house, where they kept their horses. Jude’s father had bought them from a friend of Mr. Starnes who trained Tennessee walking horses for shows. These two geldings hadn’t made the grade, but they were wonderful for riding because they were so happy no longer to have their hooves weighted for the ring that they seemed to dance on air as they ran. Tennessee walkers originally being bred for plantation owners to ride while surveying their fields, these two could cover miles without tiring, in a running walk as comfortable as rocking in a rocking chair. Although they had elaborate names and pedigrees, Jude called hers Flame because of a flaring white mark down his forehead, and Molly called hers Pal because he was a palomino, with a ghostly pale mane and tail.

  On weekends, Jude and Molly rode downriver through pastures of bluegrass and timothy and fescue, past fields planted with tobacco and corn. Through bottomland studded with cottonwood, maple, sycamore, and sweet gum, their branches draped with lianas of wild grape that stirred in the breezes down the valley like serpents writhing in a jungle. After a picnic in the sun by the river, they headed back home along ridges thickly forested with oak and hickory and ash. In the fall, juicy orange persimmons fell into their laps as they passed beneath the overladen branches. And in the spring, dogwoods and redbuds starred the dark brooding woods with bursts of pink and purple and white, like fireworks that didn’t fade.

  That afternoon after Spin the Bottle, they cantered through Mr. Starnes’s alfalfa field, alongside the low-leaning willows by the river. As Sidney leapt and barked beside her, Molly veered Pal toward the shore. Jumping the lip of the bank, Pal plunged into the water, throwing up a spray that glistened orange in the setting sun like sparks shooting from a fire.

  Once Molly was thoroughly soaked, she headed Pal back toward dry land. He arced time after time up the rutted clay rise like a salmon leaping upstream. Molly threw her head back and laughed, dark wavy hair fanning out around her face, thighs gripping Pal’s straining shoulders, fist maneuvering the rope she’d run through his halter for reins. For a moment, Jude couldn’t catch her breath. Molly looked like the goddess on her grandmother’s glass vase, the one with the bow on her back and the dogs leaping at her knees.

  When Molly reached level ground, she dug her heels into Pal’s flanks and lay down along his neck. He broke into a gallop, flying hooves hurling up clods of earth. As his cream-colored mane floated up and mixed with her dark hair, Molly glanced tauntingly back over her shoulder at Jude. Jude leaned forward and Flame shot off across the field after Pal like a land missile. Jude could see each muscle of Molly’s back tensing and straining beneath the wet clinging fabric of her pale-blue work shirt.

  When Jude and Molly finally slid off Pal and Flame in the stand of giant oaks on the cliff above their cave, the horses were covered with patches of white lather and dark sweat. The girls collapsed on a bed of leathery mauve leaves, laughing and gasping as their horses snorted and stamped and wheezed. In the tops of the huge old trees swayed globes of mistletoe the size of medicine balls.

  After catching their breath, Molly and Jude propped themselves up on their elbows so they could watch the indigo mountains below, wave after wave of crenellated ridges like ripples on the sea, all being swallowed up by a maw of vermilion sunset. Jude could smell Molly’s sweat and the rotting oak mold
beneath the two of them, where a million earthworms were munching away. Molly’s breath was stirring Jude’s hair and tickling her ear. Suddenly, she recalled Ace’s smug smile when he came out from behind the furnace and Molly’s averted eyes.

  “Do you still want to build a cabin up here when we grow up?” she asked Molly.

  Molly turned her head to look at Jude. “Sure. Don’t you?”

  “Yes. But we haven’t discussed it in a long time.”

  “What else would we do?” Molly reached out her little finger and interlocked it with Jude’s.

  “That kissing stuff was pretty dumb, wasn’t it?” said Jude, relieved.

  Molly didn’t reply.

  Jude’s skin prickled with anxiety. “Wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Molly finally agreed. “Count on Noreen to dream up an ordeal like that.”

  “Sandy and I couldn’t figure out what to do with our arms.”

  “You couldn’t? Here. I’ll show you.”

  Jumping up, she grabbed Jude’s hand, pulled her to her feet, and arranged Jude’s arms around her body. Beneath her fingertips, Jude could feel the damp cotton of Molly’s shirt and the firm muscles of her back. Then Molly placed her arms around Jude, one hand holding a shoulder and the other Jude’s waist.

  “See? Simple.” Smiling with just her eyes, she moved closer and kissed Jude firmly on the mouth.

  As Molly’s chest pressed against her own, Jude experienced an alarming sensation. It was sweet and nauseating, both at once, like eating too much fudge. Her teeth were set on edge and a shudder shook her limbs.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Molly.

  Opening her eyes, Jude found herself staring directly into Molly’s, which at that moment matched the blue of her shirt. “I don’t know,” she said. Shifting her hand down Molly’s back, she discovered a piece of elastic stretching between Molly’s shoulder blades. “What’s this?”

  “It’s my new bra,” said Molly, dropping her arms and stepping back.

  “Why are you wearing a bra?” Mothers wore bras. Teachers wore bras. Marilyn Monroe wore a bra. But not kids.

  “To support my breasts.”

  “But you don’t even have any.”

  “I do so.” Molly smiled.

  “Where? Let me see.” Jude reached out and undid her top button.

  “Jude.” Blushing, Molly turned away to rebutton her shirt.

  “Sorry,” said Jude, watching Molly uneasily.

  The next afternoon while Molly was at the dentist, Jude walked through the revolving doors into Fine’s Department Store on the main street of town. Glancing all around to make sure no one was watching; she sneaked into the lingerie department. All around her loomed beige plastic female torsos, severed at the waists, some headless or armless, others contorted into grotesque postures with their severed stumps of arms extended as though for a bloody embrace. Each sported a different type of brassiere or slip.

  Clenching her molars for courage, Jude walked into their midst as though into an enchanted forest in which interlopers were chopped up and turned into bra-bearing statues. Reaching out to the nearest rack, she grabbed the first box she came to. After counting out her savings on the glass countertop, she shoved it at the gum-chewing salesgirl and fled.

  Back in her bedroom, Jude threw off her flannel shirt and poked at the pale flesh surrounding her small pink nipples. It seemed no different from usual. But Molly always knew the right thing to do before Jude did. Inspecting the cardboard box, Jude read that the bra was size 36C. Removing the white cotton contraption from the cardboard box, she tried to figure out which strap went where. It was as confusing as when she was first learning to bridle Flame. Finally, she got the thing fastened and went over to look in the mirror on her closet door. The stitched fabric cups billowed atop her chest like luffing sails. Smiling proudly, she put her shirt back on and buttoned it. Then she turned sideways to the mirror to observe her new womanly contour.

  AFTER EVERY FOOTBALL GAME, there was a celebratory session of Spin the Bottle in Molly’s basement. Eventually, Jude had kissed each reformed Commie Killer at least once. These former marauders were so courteous and pleasant, even Ace Kilgore himself, that she was forced to admit that people could change. But try as she did to position her hands and mouth correctly, she felt very little except impatience as the boys pressed their lips against hers and ran their hands over the elastic that hung loosely between her shoulder blades. So she pretended that she was an orphan raised by wolves, participating in the rites of these strange creatures on the edge of the forest only to be polite.

  One afternoon in early winter, Noreen announced that Spin the Bottle had become boring. Everyone nodded in agreement except Sandy, Molly, and Jude, who were wary of what she might propose instead. Her new game was called Five Minutes in Heaven. Each girl’s name would be written on a slip of paper. Each boy would draw a folded slip. Then he and the girl he’d picked would be locked in the closet together for five minutes to “let nature take its course.” Since there were nine couples that day, Noreen calculated that a complete cycle would require forty-five minutes. But several participants had to be home for supper before that, so she suggested locking up three couples at a time, one in the closet, one behind the furnace, and one in the outside stairwell, thus trimming game time to fifteen minutes. Those who ate supper late could play a second round if they wanted.

  Jude watched with mounting dread as Noreen wrote out the girls’ names, tore the paper into strips, and folded them. She noticed that Noreen marked her own slip with a tiny X when she thought no one was looking, catching Jerry Crawford’s eye as she did so. Then she mixed up the slips in the basket that had held the chocolate chip cookies. The first three boys selected one. Jerry unfolded his and gave Jude a look full of meaning. Noreen, meanwhile, looked at him with dismay. Then she glared evilly at Jude through her pointy new white cat-eye glasses.

  Walking over to Jude, Jerry seized her hand and led her to the closet to which he’d been assigned. Within was an athlete’s paradise—a croquet set, a kickball, fishing gear, a couple of rifles, a bicycle pump, a saddle and bridle, golf clubs and cleats, some deflated plastic beach toys. A badminton net was hanging off the upper shelf. Jerry closed the door, and he and Jude stood there in the dark, Jude wondering what they could possibly find to do with each other for the five minutes that stretched before them like the sands of the Sahara.

  As Jerry leaned over to kiss her, his head became tangled in the badminton net. Struggling to free himself, he pulled the net off the shelf, along with several rackets and birdies. Jude also became entangled, and they spent their first two minutes in heaven trying to extract themselves. Finally, Jerry got them out by ripping the net to pieces.

  Free at last, he put his arms around her and fitted his lips to hers. She could feel a fine stubble on his upper lip as he rubbed it against her own. Then he pushed his slimy tongue between her lips and into her mouth. She tried to push it back out again with her own tongue. This seemed to encourage him. Breathing faster, he started moving his tongue in and out like a striking snake. Jude turned her head aside, worried that she might throw up. Jerry put his hands on her waist, pulled her hips against his own, buried his stubbly face in the angle between her throat and shoulder, and began sucking her neck like a crazed vampire. She could feel some strange bulge in his football pants. It pressed against her belly like a concealed handgun.

  The door flew open. Noreen was standing there looking deeply annoyed. “Time’s up!” she announced like a teacher monitoring an IQ test. “Next!”

  “So what did you think of Five Minutes in Heaven?” asked Molly after everyone had left. She grabbed the broom and began to sweep up the cookie crumbs on the linoleum.

  “Not much.” Jude was fitting the Coke bottles into the cardboard six-pack carriers, inspecting the bottom of each for its town of origin. So far, St. Louis was the farthest away.

  “You didn’t like it?”

  “Did you?”

 
“It was okay.”

  Jude reflected that Molly’s partner had been Sandy. No wonder she hadn’t minded. Sandy always performed the minimum that he could get away with in these dumb games. “Jerry kept sticking his tongue into my mouth. It was disgusting.”

  Molly stopped sweeping to look at her. “You don’t like Frenching?”

  “What?”

  “French kissing, it’s called.”

  “You mean there’s a name for it? I thought he’d made it up.”

  “You just need some practice. Here, let me show you.”

  Dropping the broom, she walked across the linoleum toward Jude. Jude watched her approach in her red football jersey, feeling strange. Was Molly really going to do that to her? With Molly, it might not be quite so revolting.

  Extending the fingers of one hand, Molly placed her thumb beneath her index finger to form an opening. Wetting her lips with her tongue, she held this opening to her mouth. As Jude watched, she licked and caressed the aperture with her lips and tongue.

  “Try it,” she said.

  Jude obeyed, looking at Molly as she did so, fascinated by the unexpected talents of this friend she thought she knew so well.

  “I bet you’ll like it better next time,” said Molly, squeezing her upper arm.

  Jude studied Molly, who was bending over to pick up the broom. With a stab of alarm, she wondered where Molly had learned to French kiss.

  WHEN MRS. ELKINS ARRIVED in Molly’s bedroom to say good night one evening, she was clutching a pink book called New Life Abounding: A Guide to Christian Marriage. Perching on the bedside beneath the dotted swiss canopy, she gazed at Sidney, who was panting amiably, filling the room with his sour dog-food breath.

  “Girls, there’s something we need to talk about,” she said anxiously.

  Jude and Molly, who were lying under the covers in their pajamas, looked at her with alarm.

  “I suppose y‘all have been wondering about babies and all like that?”