Free There's a Bat in Bunk Five by Paula Danziger Page A

aren’t. But it’s not an easy lesson to learn.
    We leave the store.
    Ted’s got his arm around my shoulders, and I’ve got an arm around his waist.
    All of a sudden I feel something weird around my hips, under my skirt.
    It’s my panty hose. They’re starting to roll down.
    I stop and pretend to look in a store window.
    I put my hand into my skirt pocket and grab on to the panty hose to stop it from continuing the roll down my body.
    We continue to walk.
    One hand’s holding on to my packages, the other’s trying to hold up my panty hose. The hand that’s trying to hold it up is attached to the elbow that keeps hitting Ted in his side.
    Finally he stops and whispers in my ear, “Want to tell me what’s going on before I end up with a bruised and battered body?”
    I whisper back, telling him.
    He starts to laugh and can’t stop.
    I start to laugh too, dropping my packages, and try to hold up the stockings with both of my hands in my pockets.
    He just stands there looking at me.
    â€œWe have several choices,” I say. “I can let them roll down and die of embarrassment. But then they’d have to find a new CIT and it’s sort of late in the summer for that. Or we can find a place with a bathroom.”
    Ted picks up my packages and says, “There’s a place farther up where we can get sodas. They have a bathroom.”
    â€œSounds good to me.”
    We walk along. Actually Ted walks and I sort of hobble, legs close together, hands in pockets.
    Finally we’re there. It’s a sidewalk café, and we sit down at a table.
    Ted orders Cokes.
    I creep into the bathroom, take off my sandals and panty hose. Shoving the panty hose into my purse, putting my shoes back on, I imagine what it would have been like to have my panty hose roll down to my ankles in front of everyone. It’s too awful to even think about.
    I come back to the table.
    Ted looks at my face and then down at my bare legs. He starts to laugh again.
    So do I.
    By the time we calm down, the Cokes have arrived.
    We sip them and look at all of the people walking around. I love sitting in an outside café. I love Woodstock. I love the world. I love Ted.
    I love Ted. Terror . . .happiness.
    We finish the sodas and walk across the street.
    Candlestock. The whole place is filled with all of these different kinds of candles. It’s hard to make a choice.
    I pick out a candle. Actually it’s a beautiful bowl with a candle in it, one that can be refilled.
    Ted’s by the cash register, talking to the two guys there.
    I continue to look around, at the sign on one of the shelves that says, SHOPLIFTERS WILL BE PROSECUTED BY THE LORD and at the candle that’s taller than I am. Actually it’s one that they keep adding to.
    As I pay for my purchase, Ted introduces me to the two guys, Dennis and Martin.
    Everyone’s very friendly.
    When we get outside, I hand the bowl with the candle in it to Ted. “I want you to have this. It’ll always glow, not melt down and be gone.”
    He doesn’t seem at all embarrassed by the gift.
    â€œIt’s symbolic, like us, huh?”
    â€œWriters are known to deal in symbolism,” I say.
    We take the packages back to the car and then continue walking around town.
    Then Ted and I drive all around. I sit in the car, daydreaming about what it would be like to spend the rest of my life here, the rest of our lives. I even have the names of our two future kids picked out. Heather and Dylan. Dylan because it’s the name of one of my favorite poets, Dylan Thomas, and also the name of Bob Dylan, the singer who once was part of Woodstock. Heather because it just seems right for this place.
    We stop by a stream, get out of the car, and go down the banks and sit there.
    For a long time we talk. It feels so comfortable. So right to be there with Ted. So this is what it’s all about. Being in love. I don’t want it