Can't Catch a Break - No Enemy but Time
by neverdoubted

Chapter 2

Setting the oven to pre-heat, she opened a drawer to seek out her favorite apron. Baking can be a messy business, and she didn't want to have to take a bath only to go outside to play with Hunter later and get dirty again.

Sitting in the top of the drawer was a potholder she had knitted herself. Knitting was one of Evelyn's favorite hobbies. She had been trying to get Michelle into it for years. But so far, the young, uninterested girl had been unable to make anything but small squares of loosely interconnected yarn - only suitable for keeping pots from scorching their linoleum countertops.

Holding it aloft, she briefly pondered if it was possible to knit an entire outfit out of yarn. If so, it would remove the financial burden of her clothing request. But seeing how easy it was to see right through its many holes got her to reconsider. What good would it be having extra outfits if everyone could still see through them?

Putting the potholder away and getting out the frilly apron she had been looking for, she oriented it upright and looped the upper string over her head. Most of Evelyn's aprons were plain, utilitarian affairs. But this one, a parishioner's gift, had a bright bouquet of flowers printed on the front and pretty embellishments around the border. Splaying it in front of her for a better look, Michelle thought it would make a lovely dress.

Curious, she pulled both sides tightly around her slender body to see if she could get it to cover more than just her front. Higher up, she got the edges to just barely meet in back. But when the same thing didn't seem to be happening all the way down, she twisted her torso and craned her neck to see what was the matter. What she saw made her fret. Two bright white butt cheeks stuck stubbornly out behind her through the gap in the fabric and refused to let it close.

While she had noticed the steady stretching of her limbs and torso lately, she hadn't really been paying much attention to her bottom. Located in such a remote spot on her body, it was easy to overlook. After all, it had always been nothing more than some skinny, flat expanse - offering a meager cushion when she wanted to take a load off, but otherwise forgettable.

The discovery warranted she keep a closer eye on the situation. But in the short term, she had to accept that this unexpected new roundness was impossible to overcome no matter how much she tugged on the too small garment.

Admitting defeat, she let the apron hang loose and grabbed the lower strings instead. Wrapping them around her waist, she tied them into a crooked bow in the small of her back before turning her attention back to the large drawer.

The oldest aprons, tattered and faded and stained with battle scars from one to many close calls in the kitchen, eventually got ripped into strips and repurposed into cleaning cloths. And because Evelyn had collected many aprons over the years, the drawer was full of these makeshift rags. Michelle only needed one, though she wasn't planning to clean with it. She eventually found the perfect accessory to complete her outfit. It was a threadbare strip of leftover cloth from an apron long gone.

As she was wrapping the red rectangle over her head, she was reminded of a happy memory from a couple years earlier. Whenever they played pirates, Hunter would borrow these cloths and hang them from the treehouse. They made excellent fluttering flags to signal their intentions to other passing ships or warn off any potential rivals.

But one day, after learning about the Spanish conquistadors in school, he had come up with the idea to play bringing Christianity to the uncivilized tribes of the new world. The daughter of a missionary herself, Michelle was enchanted by the proposal and eagerly agreed to play along.

Using a picture in their schoolbook as a guide, they both came up with costumes. Hunter, the conquistador, wore his boy scout uniform, but added a wide, red, cloth belt around his waist and gold cords at his shoulders - stolen from the living room drapes. In one hand he carried a bible, and in the other, a halberd, fashioned from the handle of an old rake and a kitchen knife.

Michelle played the role of the lost heathen who needed to learn about Jesus. Braiding her straight, raven-black hair into twin braids with a thin band of twisted leather wrapped around her head, she bore a passing resemblance to a Native American. Being barefoot and naked except for strips of brown cloth - the closest thing she could find to animal skins - tied around her upper arms and a skimpy loincloth, added greatly to her credibility. Though the resemblance was tested as soon as you saw her distinctly blue eyes and pale complexion which obviously came from European ancestors.

Still, when Pastor John came home that evening and saw the childish play they had come up with to accompany their costumes, he was very impressed. Any story that involved spreading the gospel to the four corners of the Earth was just fine with him!

The following Sunday, when they were hosting a traveling preacher in the parsonage - something they frequently did - Pastor John asked the children to re-enact their little play for the nice man. He even got out the church's old video camera and recorded it. Evelyn also agreed to be part of the audience and even snapped pictures for the scrapbook – though she was not at all happy when she saw her good knife at the end of the pole.

The visiting preacher, a rotund man with beady eyes behind too big glasses, seemed to quite enjoy the presentation. He went on and on what a cute little Indian girl Michelle had made despite her fair complexion. Afterward, he sat her on his lap and asked about every piece of her costume. While she explained how she came up with it, he rubbed the fabric of her loincloth between his fingers over and over as if there was some profound mystery to be unlocked within that boring, old square of cotton if he just stuck with it long enough.

She wouldn't have minded the man so much if his clothes didn't smell like old vegetables. But, having been raised to respect her elders, though she fidgeted in his lap, she did patiently answer all his questions.

Now tying the fabric she had picked out, a formerly red rectangle since faded to a pretty, pink shade, under her chin she carefully tucked any remaining strands of hair inside. This homemade bonnet would keep her hair, which she had been trying to grow out lately, from falling into the batter every time she looked down.

Pulling out the necessary bowls and utensils, she thought about how much fun it would be to go back and watch the recording of their silly performance. The idea of revisiting that carefree time in her life made her smile. If she asked him, Pastor John could probably locate the old video tape among the many bookshelves and storage chests in his study.

But then, a shadow fell over the formerly happy memory; like clouds suddenly forming on a bright day and dimming the sun. The role she had been asked to play hadn't exactly been that of a civilized, young lady. Far from it! Michelle could vaguely remember how she had portrayed the wild native - before her conversion to Christianity.

She remembered rolling around in the grass like an animal, beating on a toy drum with makeshift drumsticks, and literally growling at the conquistador the first time she encountered him. In her memory, the audience had howled with laughter at her over-the-top performance. But now that she was a little older, something about it didn't seem so humorous. Then there was her costume - if you could call it that. Suddenly, the thought of watching a video of her younger self, running around in practically nothing and pretending to be some wild, naked savage didn't sound so fun anymore.

Shaking the memory from her head, she crossed the kitchen to stand before the fridge. Before opening it, she made a mental list of all the wet ingredients she would need and which shelf to reach for. She only knew one way to make cookies, the way Evelyn had taught her - from scratch. But dressed as she was, in just a skimpy apron with nothing else covering her sensitive flesh beneath, she preferred to minimize the time spent in front of the frigid appliance.

Opening the door, she shivered as cold tendrils seeped around the edges of her apron and found her skinny, unprotected body. It was always a race against time to get everything out and escape. This time, the cold won. By the time she slammed the door closed, her arms and legs were covered in goosebumps.

Carrying the load back to the biggest counter which she had designated as her workspace, she set everything out and got to work on her double batch. Prying open the bags of chocolate, she succumbed to the temptation, and popped one of the chips into her mouth. The semi-sweet morsel melted on her warm, pink tongue, spreading goodness throughout the small cavity of her mouth and putting her in a better mood.

Naturally gifted, and fiercely independent even as a little girl, she had always been quick to pick up new skills...when she wanted to. Sewing and knitting had been too boring to keep her attention. And household chores were the bane of a restless ten-year-old. But baking was one activity she truly enjoyed. Therefore, she excelled at it. And while she wasn't up to doing a full, Sunday dinner by herself yet, cookies were well within the comfort zone of the little chef.

Hunter eventually came out of his room. He had changed out of his school uniform and was wearing regular play clothes - shorts and a tee shirt. Following the sound of bustling into the kitchen, he saw his friend peering intently at the lines on a measuring cup.

That she was dressed in a frilly apron and nothing else was not the part of the scene that surprised him. Going back as far as he could remember, Michelle had always cooked in such an outfit, first as his grandma's miniature helper, then as a fine, young cook in her own right. But why had she decided to randomly bake cookies instead of playing something with him?

Approaching, he made his presence known. Michelle turned her head and greeted him but did not stop to chat. She had a serious job to do. Dumping in three quarters of a cup of white liquid, she picked up the glass mixing bowl along with a wooden spoon and began to stir.

Hugging the bowl, which was nearly as big as she was, against her belly, she tried to push the spoon through the dense, white mound. She grunted once, and her little, barely formed bicep strained from the effort, but eventually, she got the mixture to yield to her spoon.

Sensing his gaze upon her, she put on a show, exerting the whole-body effort required to fully combine all the ingredients by hand. While her feet remained planted, the rest of her body counter-rotated against circular motion of her arm. She felt the frills of the apron swishing back and forth and tickling her ribs and bare sides. But having worn nothing but this apron countless times, she had grown accustomed to the sensation.

As the thickening slurry slowly transformed into a proper dough, she beamed proudly at her accomplishment. To see if Hunter was impressed, she glanced over at him to judge his reaction. While he was still looking at her, it didn't seem like his glassy eyes were trained on the contents of the bowl. Strangely, if she wasn't mistaken...he was staring at...her bottom.

But that didn't make any sense. Since her vigorous effort had caused some rogue strands of hair to escape her bonnet and partially obscure her vision, she convinced herself she was just seeing things.

By the time she sat the bowl down and turned toward him, he was looking at her face, but his mouth was still sagging slightly open. Something she had done had clearly impressed him, and she still couldn't say for sure if it was her dough stirring skills or...something else.

She tried to brush the hair back into place with her fingers, but only managed to put a streak of dough on her face. Breaking out of his trance, Hunter reached for a clean towel. "Here, let me," he said, happy to come to her rescue. Then he gently wiped the smudge off her cheek before addressing the stray strand. Michelle held still and let him carefully loop the lock over her ear and tuck it back in place - revealing her cute, freshly wiped face once again.

But the touching moment was ruined when, without explanation, the question popped back into her head.

Which boy do you like?

Feeling the butterflies come fluttering back to her stomach, she turned away from him with a blush. Unable to move or say anything, she just stared down at the bowl of dough and waited for the moment of anxiety to pass. Luckily, Hunter broke the awkward silence.

"You're really good at that," he offered, before quickly feeling the need to clarify, "making cookies, I mean.

"I could never bake cookies as well as you," he admitted, adding, "but I am an excellent taste tester, if you need one."

Giggling at his joke and acknowledging his compliment, the girl felt the tension break and the moment, thankfully, pass. She grabbed a smaller spoon and began to scoop out lumps of yummy, homemade dough onto one of the cookie sheets she had previously laid out. Leaving her to her work, Hunter headed outside.

It took nearly another hour of laying out dough, shuttling baking sheets in and out of the oven, filling up cooling racks, and washing all the bowls and utensils afterward. But when she was finished, she had two heaping platters full of delicious treats, and the whole house was filled with the unbeatable scent of freshly baked cookies.

Eager to share the fruits of her labor, she carefully wrapped two of the still soft rounds into a napkin then headed toward the backyard. When she reached the back door, she remembered she was still wearing her apron and stopped to take it off. Hanging it on one of the coat hooks, she then rushed through the door and set out across the sprawling, fifteen-acre, church-owned property that Hunter and Michelle treated as their own, personal playground.

Guessing where he might be, she headed in the direction of the treehouse, and was proven correct. When Hunter heard a voice calling out below him, he looked down to find his playmate, completely naked, as usual, standing at the base of the tree. She was holding a small package in her hands and beaming up at him proudly.

Tossing the rope ladder over the side of the structure, he said, "ready to play?"

Nodding excitedly, she began to climb.