Amber by Dan-Dwayne Spencer (e book reader .TXT) 📕

“The panel atop each pole collects and stores the power in a series of car batteries for night usage. Look across the meadow. There are fourteen pole lights there. Those lights are drawing energy from twenty-eight batteries.” Stoney’s tone was matter-of-fact. Somebody living here had to be super smart to set all this up.

I gave Flower my best happy eyes expression and asked, “Can people like me, I mean teenagers, choose to join you and live in the commune?”

“We counsel everyone who wants to become a part of our community,” she replied. “Some we accept and some we don’t. It all depends on their expectations.” Her expression changed, and she leaned forward, taking a second look at my eyes. I wondered if my secret weapon was working on her. After all, I might have a chance with an older hippie chick—maybe. As she neared, I also looked into her eyes. They were the clearest azure blue I had ever seen. Looking at them made me think of perfect summer days, green fields, and fluffy clouds. I think I actually felt warm sunshine for a moment. Her expressive gaze communicated health and innocence. All considered, since my thoughts had just taken a turn into the wild side, I wasn’t sure how I felt about her anymore.

Looking me in the eyes, she stood, took my arm, blinked, and rubbed her index finger across my cheek. “There you are. I finally see you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I sounded indignant. That wasn’t the response I wanted. The duplicity of my instinctive impulses and primary desires battling my reluctant and bashful inhibitions raged inside me. My emotions tumbled. My heart pounded, my pulse raced, and my head felt like it would explode. There I stood with mud in every crevice and this touchy-feely woman saying weird-ass crap?

She took my hand, and I felt a tingle I had never felt before, I’m certain I wasn’t thinking with my brain when I decided she was pretty groovy. On one hand, I wanted her touch, and then on the other, it still scared the life out of me. At least my headache shut down.

Ignoring my outburst, she called out to the others. “Go ahead to the Roundhouse. This one needs to wash. We’ll catch up with you later.” Her strange statements aside, this aging flower child was turning out to be pretty hip. I kept telling myself a twenty-something chick wasn’t out of my league. After all, how long do you have to know someone to like them? Trust, however, is a different story. Trust is earned.

We walked along a path leading away from the trailers and the lighted meadow. The farther we walked down the sloping terrain, the hill behind us rose until the road went out of sight. Being lower and away from the light, the path grew dark. Thank goodness the moon finally made an appearance. Without it, I would have never been able to maneuver the nature trail’s narrow switchbacks. To me, we seemed to be going nowhere. About the time I suspected Flower of being a serial killer or some evil succubus, we stepped down into a tiny valley or hollow where a river ran through the property.

There, extending out from the riverbank, a wooden deck hung over the water in a pier-like fashion. At the end of the deck, steps descended into the river. My imagination started running wild.

Flower opened a storage box attached to the wooden decking and retrieved a bar of soap and a cloth. “I think this will help wash the mud off and out of those hard-to-reach places.”

With my imagination operating in overdrive, all I heard was “I… will help wash… those hard-to-reach places.” Most guys would have been glad to join in with any hippie washing rituals, but to be honest, my fear overtook my excitement. I wasn’t ready to let a chick give me a scrub down, not even one wearing a hot fringed halter top. Acquiring a defensive posture, my words became abrasive. “I’ve been able to wash myself since I was five.”

Smiling, as if she read my mind, she handed me the cloth and soap. “I assure you, I never intended anything else.”

Sitting on the decking and dipping the cloth in the water, I rubbed at the mud, rinsed the filth from the rag, and repeated the motion.

“That will take too long.” She laughed and pushed me into the river. Not knowing what to expect, I started swimming.

“Stand up,” Flower told me. “Stand, it’s shallow.”

Placing my feet securely under me, I stood. The water level only came to my waist. “I’ll be damned,” I said. It wasn’t an epiphany or even a desire, but it came to my mind and out of my mouth. That’s the way with idle words, regretfully they have a way of coming true.

For a moment, I laid back and floated. It was cool and fresh. Not at all like the muck in the playa. This was good. My headache completely left and I could relax.

“Toss me your muddy shorts. I’ll wash them out over there in our tub and ringer. Some detergent will get the clay out of the fabric.”

“My shorts? Oh, you mean my swimsuit.” Suddenly realizing I would be naked at the river with a hippy chick, my mistrust hit DEFCON level three, and the words of the old codger at the restaurant rattled in my head. I exclaimed, “It’s all I have on. I’ll be naked. I left my other clothes in the car.”

She answered me with a melodic, soothing quality to her voice, “I promise, in this darkness, no one can see below the water. When I’m finished washing them, I’ll leave them easily in your reach. You can put them back on before you get out of the river.”

She sounded sincere, but my mistrust