This was very embarrassing. I'd just missed hitting the fence post in a very embarrassing way, the sledge hammer flying forward out of my hands. All observed of course by Donna and her dad. I stood atop the wagon waiting.
Donna was older, four or five grades ahead of me. The family was all girls. With no boys on the farm, these girls were doing whatever any guy would do, driving the tractor, the combine, doing the chores plus any other necessary tasks around the farm. Including I suspected fencing.
She came across the fence-line, and looked up at me from the back of the wagon. "Did your Dad teach you how to do that?"
I had to think, it felt like a trick question. I didn't want to blame my dad and yet my performance probably told her no one had really trained me for doing this. I tried avoiding the question, "Just a freak accident." I blurted.
"Do you want me to show you how to do it?" she asked. "Sure." I said, surprised.
"Well then, come on down with that thing and we'll practice right here." pointing generally to the side of the wagon.
Without a word, she took the sledge from me and set herself up facing the rear tire. "Now," she said, "Just watch, I'm going to hit the top of the tire. Watch my hands and how I do it." With that she grabbed the handle, the hammer rose over her shoulder, paused a moment, then, rose up, arcing over her head and slammed onto the top of the rubber tire, dust flying. To my amazement, she went into motion again and without a pause smacked the tire a few more times. Then she put the hammer head on the ground and turned to me, leaning on the handle. Her chest heaving with the exertion.
I stood in amazement and wonder. I had never seen anything like it. My mother did chores sometimes, but basically worked in and around the house. I could not get over the sight of this woman, in a dress, wearing big work shoes, whacking a tire with such ease. She must have read my mind. "I always work with my dad when we do the fencing and we take turns hammering the posts into the ground, so I get lots of practice."
She began by talking about the use of the sledge. She talked about the basic styles of using it, her style not being the windmill style my dad used. Then she went through the motions slowly, demonstrating and talking through each movement. Lifting the hammer over her shoulder, then off the shoulder into the air, and as it arced sliding her front hand down the handle, her hands together at the end of the handle as the sledge hammer crushed the top of the tire. Wham! She let it bounce off onto the ground again leaning on the handle.
I was speechless as she instructed me to take her place facing the tire and placed the sledge into my hands. She basically had to drag me there as I was in a very confused state of mind. For as much as I wanted to know how to do this, I found it suddenly hard to listen and concentrate. You see, she was now physically very close to me. Guiding me, placing my right hand just above the mallet, then demonstrating by moving my right arm and hand holding the hammer, up over my shoulder, with the left on the end of the handle holding it high over my head. This she said was called the "loaded" position. All I could think of was that her feminine body was moving around me, as she was setting me up, back and forth, often inches from my face. To further complicate matters I became very aware of her hands touching, gripping and guiding mine, feeling the warmth and heat with every touch. I was surprised by the intensity of my awareness of every movement and touch.
Then, all the while she was setting me up she was also talking. I knew It was important but with all the sensations invading my mind it seemed like her voice was a great distance away. But in spite of the explosive sensitivity to the touch of her hands on mine, the odd word would break through the sensations. This was weird, new and very dizzying. Donna of course seemed completely oblivious to my situation, touching and moving so close with careless abandon. It was confusing, disconcerting and great, very great, all at the same time.
I was so disappointed when she backed away. It suddenly occurred to me, I should not be feeling good about something like this. I was sure that I was sinning in some major way and immediately began to feel a huge load of guilt.
"Mike, Mike, hello," I could see her hand waving before my face. How embarrassing. "You ok?" she squinted into my face. It all came rushing back. I felt like such an idiot. I was sure she knew exactly what I'd been thinking about. Another wave of embarrassment hit me.
It was time for me to do it myself. Of course, due to my distractions, I was not confident that I'd heard everything. The spots she'd touched or brushed against, still reverberating with heat. But I did my best. She jumped right back in near me, her hands wafting over mine, my heart pounding strangely, as she casually and carefully clarified things to set me up again.
I was surprised at the disappoint I felt when she noticed her father showing up at the truck. She quickly told me I did well and deemed me ready to finish hammering in the fence post. Then she was gone.
When she turned to get into the truck she waved good-bye and I was once again, alone on the wagon. She had actually waved goodbye! I was so smitten! As I prepared to continue hammering in the fence post, I could not get Donna, her presence, her touch, her voice out of my head. I kept looking at my hands and arms, still aware of exactly where she'd touched me. Somehow everything had changed. I had discovered that there were women in this world! I had discovered that Donna was amazing. A tune of my own making "Donna...Donna" began weaving through my head. Suddenly I was aware of what a beautiful day it really was. "Donna" had sad I was ready to knock that post into the ground! Wow.
"Strengthen me with raisins, refresh me with apples, for I am faint with love" Song of Songs 2:5
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The Lilacs in our front yard
waft their intoxicating scent
into the air.
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