She had moved into the adjoining trailer only two weeks before. Trailer life is of necessity fairly intimate and I had met her briefly a number of times. She was not the kind of girl you particularly notice. I had got the impression that she was painfully shy. The first time I met her, the day after she moved in, I said hello casually. She blurted a reply, stammered a name I didn't catch when I introduced myself, whirled, and fled into her trailer. I failed to get a clear impression of what she looked like. Young. Slender. Taller than average. Blonde. Not a real yellow or a striking white-blonde, but fair. Large, frightened eyes whose color I hadn't caught. And that's all. Nothing that would enable me to recognize her on the street.

During the days that followed, she avoided close contact. My first instinctive suspicion of any newcomer, a reaction to the knowledge that I was being hunted by an unknown enemy, quickly evaporated. I exchanged greetings with the girl a couple of times, but she didn't invite conversation and passed on quickly. I concluded that she would probably misinterpret any friendly overtures I made and I dismissed her as a timid soul who wanted to be left alone. I wasn't interested.

Until that midnight glimpse through the bedroom window. Glancing out, I had been startled by the extraordinary sight of the girl in the act of pulling a nightgown over her head. Too surprised to move, I stopped to gape at her. The gown was a pale iridescent green against the honey tones of her skin. For several seconds she stood completely revealed, her arms raised, small breasts pulled tautly erect, her body bathed in soft light. Then she lowered her arms and took a step forward which placed her out of my line of sight. I became rudely aware of what I was doing. Chagrined, I told myself to stop acting like a peeping Tom, but I couldn't erase that golden image from my memory. It gave me a restless night.

Now, with a somewhat rueful smile, I turned out the lights in the front of my trailer and went back to the small bedroom. I felt a return attack of nerves at the prospect of going to sleep again. Perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub. For in that sleep of sleeps what dreams may come....

I forced myself to turn out the light and lie on the narrow bed. After a while my eyes began to ache from the effort of staring at the ceiling. Don't think about it, I told myself. You've never had the dream twice in one night. You can think about it tomorrow. In the daylight. Think of the girl next door. You forgot all about your troubles when you glanced out the window.

 Prev. P 7/130 next