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It was a sultry night, that was it, the air warm and damp like a caress. And Ruth was hot all over from drinking – she hadn’t known that being drunk would light her up like that, make her feel like she glowed from the inside. So when it became a little too much, she stripped down to her slip and plunged into the cool, brackish water of the pond, the same pond that all the Threadgood kids had played in for years and years, and she let the silky coolness take her for a minute, sank with her eyes open to the bottom, wiggled her toes in the pluff mud, and came up spluttering and laughing. Idgie was on the shore, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open and it made Ruth’s laughter stutter and then redouble.
“Don’t – don’t do that!” Idgie said.
“Why, Towanda, I never knew you were afraid of gettin’ a little wet,” Ruth said, angling her head to give Idgie one of the coquettish looks that she used to use on the boys. It had about the same effect on Idgie. Then she gathered herself and said, “I ain’t afraid, just don’t stay under that long. Gonna get yourself hurt.”
“I can take care of myself, Idgie Threadgood,” said Ruth, savoring the syllables of her name and letting them lie on her tongue like honey. “Bee charmer,” she added for good measure. She walked out of the water – her slip was clinging, she could feel it, and it made her shiver – and Idgie was giving her an inscrutable, considering sort of look. A look like she liked what she saw. Ruth hooked her arm around Idgie’s shoulder, pulled her back to shore.
They sat on the wet ground. Ruth poked at their empty beer bottles, dug them little holes to stand up in, and rinsed the dirt from her fingers. Idgie slouched back on her elbow and pulled a flask from a pocket.
“Try this,” she said, still with that reserved, thinking look. “Just go easy, it’s not like this piss water.” She toed at one of the beer bottles.
Ruth took the flask – lighting strike as their fingers touched – and took a pull. Fire trickled down her throat, into her veins. The stars hung lower, swollen globes of light and fire.
Idgie took the flask from her and swigged. Ruth scooched forward until her feet were in the water. Soon the rest of her body followed, and she slid through the water like a seal. Ruth swam out to where the reflected moon floated and followed suit, floating on her back to gaze at the pulsing stars.
Time hung suspended, the world watery quiet. After a few minutes, Ruth heard the splashing of Idgie walking out to her. Ruth let her feet float to the bottom and stood up.
Idgie’s eyes were silver with borrowed moonlight. Ruth said to her, “You know what you need?”
“What?” asked Idgie, quiet, like she didn’t want to break a spell. Ruth smiled and threw her whole weight on Idgie, dragged her spluttering into the water.
“Ruth!” Idgie yelped, and pushed her off. Ruth sank into the water, laughing like a child. Idgie’s shirt was plastered to her, her hair two shades darker. Idgie stared at Ruth laughing for a minute, face caught between outrage and amusement. Then it settled on hungry and Idgie said, ferocious, “You little – “ and lunged forward to kiss Ruth.
Their mouths slipped and slid together, cool with pond water. Ruth was starting to get cold now, chilled by the smooth night breeze, and Idgie was the only warm thing in the world.
“Idgie, you are beautiful,” Ruth said all in a rush.
“What’re you, kiddin’ me?” said Idgie. She was doing that thing that she’d done since she was a child, where she tried to twist away, hide her face, but not let on she was doing it. “I ain’t beautiful ‘les you got less taste than my dumbass brother.”
“Idgie Threadgoode, will you look me in the face?” said Ruth, exasperated. “Lord, I never saw a girl so blind to herself. Now, you may not be beautiful exactly, but you sure are handsome, and that’s the truth.”
Idgie’s face stayed turned away, just the line of cheekbone to chin visible. She said, like she didn’t mean to let the words out, “You mean it?” Her shoulders squared.
Ruth caught Idgie’s chin, and tilted her face so Ruth could see her eyes. “I surely do,” Ruth said. “And you know I never lie. You are one of the handsomest people I know, top to bottom. I just want to look at you all day.”
Idgie’s mouth was kind of open, soft and surprised, and her eyes were caught, locked with Ruth’s. Then she ducked her head and kind of mumbled a thank you.
Then they were kissing again, slower this time, warmer. Idgie pulled away and leaned her head into Ruth’s shoulder.
Ruth woke up. Her head was throbbing, and she sat up gingerly. She was in her own bed at the Threadgood’s.
She stood and walked to the washroom, relieved herself, and then stood staring into the mirror while the bath drew. Her hair was a tangled mess. She started combing through it carefully. Her eyes, too, they looked huge, surprised, with those dark circles underneath. Lord, she was tired.
Abruptly she stopped, locked in her own gaze, remembering – the moonlight pouring down, the water, Idgie’s mouth hot and moving on hers – or had that been a dream? Yes, it must have been. Friends didn’t – weren’t supposed to. And so it had been a dream (pulling the comb faster and harder through her hair), and Ruth just wouldn’t go down to the River Club anymore, at least not with Idgie. She’d done as much as she could with that girl, tried to tame her wild ways, but –
A knock at the door. Ruth finished getting her hair in order, threw on a wrapper, and dashed to the door.
It was Idgie, and Ruth looked at her, and all her excuses just melted away.
“Idgie,” she said, and that was that.