Free Sundry Days by Donna Callea Page A

food and water with us. We raided the kitchen before we left, and have enough so that we won’t go hungry for maybe three days. We’ve got packs with extra clothes, soap, toothbrushes, stuff like that. I made bedrolls for us, and also brought along some waterproof tarps. The cycle has pretty big storage compartments, and I tied what wouldn’t fit onto Rebekah’s backrest.
    She’s not used to being out in the hot summer sun, or on dusty back roads in the middle of nowhere. To tell the truth, I’m not either. But here we are.
    “David,” she says as the sun starts to set, “we’ve got to stop. I have to go to the bathroom.”
    There are no bathrooms. But I pull off the road when I see a clearing by a small creek.  We haven’t come across anyone for the past several hours. I think we’ll be okay here.
    Rebekah climbs off, looks around, and starts going through one of the storage compartments.
    “I need my pack,” she says.  Then she takes it, and walks stiffly behind a tree.
    When she comes back, she looks really mad.
    “Rebekah,” I say. “I’m really sorry I got you into this.  We can still go back if you want to.”
    “No. Why would I want to go back?  It wasn’t just your idea, if you’ll recall.”
    “Then what’s the matter?”
    “I got my period. Shit, shit, shit,” she says. “You have no idea what a bother it is to be female.”
    That’s true enough. I know very little about periods except that they involve bleeding and girls get them once a month.  Don’t want to know any more than that, really. But I’m sorry Rebekah has to deal with it now. And I try to be sympathetic.
    “Bad timing, I guess.”
    “Yeah. I knew it was coming, but I didn’t think it would be today. I brought sponges. But my underwear is already stained. And it was about to come through my pants. Yuk. I’m sorry, David.”
    “Why are you sorry?”
    “Because periods are messy, and smelly, and embarrassing. Not very romantic.”
    “Oh.”  What am I supposed to say? I don’t care if she’s got her period. Except that it’s making her unhappy.
    “So you brought sponges?”
    “Yeah. Sea sponges. I brought a lot of them. They’re good for contraception, too, you know.”
    Now she’s lost me.  I have no idea what she’s talking about.
    “Contraception?”
    “Yeah, women use them so they won’t get pregnant. Your mother told me. Men aren’t supposed to know. But I don’t care if you know. I’m not ever going to keep secrets from you.”
    “So you use the sponges to absorb the blood when you’ve got your period, and to stop the semen from getting through the rest of the time?”
    “Yeah. Something like that. I’ve never used them for anything but my period. But when we start having sex, we should probably be careful not to get me pregnant.”
    Start having sex.  We’re going to start having sex.  Not until her period is done, I take it. But I can wait. I’ve waited this long.
    “Yeah,” I agree.
    “I don’t want to have sex until I feel good about doing it. You know? It should be special. I don’t want us to be sweaty and dirty from the road. I want to smell good for you. I don’t want to be bleeding. But I guess I will bleed the first time. Women bleed the first time, and it hurts. But I don’t care about it hurting. I just want it to be beautiful. The way I think about it in my imagination. I want it to be the culmination of our love. You know?”
    “All I know is I love you, Rebekah. I love you with everything that’s in me. I’ll love you forever. I’ll always love you no matter what, and I don’t ever want to hurt you.”
    But Holy Designer, what am I going to do?  She leans against me.  We sit on the tarp I’ve spread on the ground, and I put my arm around her. I kiss the top of her head.  That’s safe, I guess. And we eat some of the food we’ve brought.
    I’m quite a bit bigger than she is, and I’ve still got some growing to do. She seems small and fragile to me now.