I was bent over the sink, opening the buttons on Pamela Wilcox's blouse with my teeth, stroking her thigh, when my mother's voice intruded. "Luke! Don't stack the dishes in the sink like that or everything is going to fall. Pay attention to what you're doing!" Mom reached over and shut off the water. "Go get the rest of the silverware from the table."

I sheepishly did as my mother asked, thoughts of Pamela draining away with the soapy dishwater. I heard the familiar put-putt of the town's DDT truck, and quickly placed the remaining flatware on the counter. Without catching my mother's eye, I wheeled and headed across the room.

"Back soon!"

The screen door banged shut behind me and I raced past my mother's new 1964 Grand Prix. As I mounted my bike, my mother's voice rang in my ears, "Don't stay in that cloud too long, Luke D'Angelo. Who knows what it might do to you!" Most neighborhood parents were saying the same thing to their children, many tacking on, "Don't forget to come home when the streetlights come on!" We welcomed the arrival of the truck, riding to it willingly, drawing in the sweet scent, trusting that no harm could ever come to us. The sound of windows slamming shut followed me that evening as I fell in behind the white truck, pedaling blind, deep in the spray of poison where you couldn't keep your eyes open for long. I lingered in the gas as long as I could, Lord of the DDT Flies, dropping back and coming up for clean air now and then. Though I had never done more than sit near her in eighth grade English, Pamela Wilcox and I hotly groped one another in the fog. The voices and shouts of the other kids faded in the distance as they fell back, letting the truck continue on its route while they awaited the next arrival of the evening: the Bungalow Bar ice cream man. But I pressed on. After a bit, I slowed to get my bearings; being recently transplanted to Faith Junction, nothing was familiar in this part of town. Out of nowhere in that dense haze someone laughed near me, a laugh that tinkled melodically. I looked left, then right, but the fog hung too thickly to make out who rode there. All I could tell was that someone female inhabited the cloud. My heart raced and my imagination flew. I increased my pedaling and thought I could see a slim shape ahead, arms extended to the sides, riding without hands. A daredevil girl. No one I knew. She laughed again and I realized she was laughing for the pure joy of the ride; she had no idea I was watching her. I resolved to get her attention. Perhaps I could sneak up on her, shout above the noise of the truck, give her a scare. I saw sparks near her front wheel and thought the DDT truck might be on fire. I slowed a bit. "Watch out!" I yelled, but she didn't acknowledge me. Before I could yell again, the sparks moved upward and gathered over her head. I held tight to my handlebars to keep my balance, watching as the sparks grew into a shiny ball with a dark core. Bright rings circled the outside of the globe. I pedaled hard again and watched as the ball settled a few inches above the front fender of the girl's bike. She held her arms wide. As I drew nearer, I thought I felt something tugging my bike. I wasn't sure what drew me forward, but it was as though my Schwinn had been caught by a magnet. Now I rode alongside her, holding tight, trying to gain control of my front wheel. The ball was wider than the back of the DDT truck, a silvery sparkling object with a dark center that frightened me. Overhead the sky was dark now, and I wondered if the moon had somehow fallen from the heavens. In spite of my fear, I reached one hand out toward the pulsing mass. As my fingers passed through the object, which felt neither hot nor cold, the dark at the core suddenly glowed blue, then dispersed and faded into the night. The remaining glow pulsed and formed into a sparkling tornado that moved back and forth in front of us and threw off a mesmerizing swirl of shards of black light. I tried to focus on the shape, but the more I stared the less I could see. The image faded. I felt cool air. And I heard her laugh again, just before my wheel hit a huge hole. I launched over my handlebars into the air. My bike clattered to the ground and I landed hard on the asphalt, tumbling to the curb. The DDT truck moved away, taking the girl, and the light show, with it in its wake. I watched her recede as I rubbed a skinned knee. The poisonous fog dissipated slightly, but the aromatic remains of the gas stayed. To my surprise, the girl fell back from the truck, turned her bike in my direction and rode toward me. My pulse beat hard at the sight of her slender shape, and I felt a stirring inside as she pulled up next to me and planted her pink sneakers on the pavement.

"You all right?" she asked.

I blinked twice. This was no ordinary girl. She possessed the most beautiful skin I had ever seen, even more beautiful than Pamela Wilcox's. She wore white short-shorts that exposed tan and taut legs, and above the shorts, a red and white checkered top was tied at her waist, Ann-Margret style, exposing a flat belly. Blonde and trim, she was as near perfection as I could ever imagine. She had to be about my age, yet our paths had not crossed. How could that be?

"You have to stay focused to ride in that fog. It's not much different from a real fog," she said softly.

I nodded at her, not able to find my tongue, angry at my ineptitude, embarrassed by what was occurring in my shorts. She hooked her thumbs in her front pockets and my eyes lingered on the curve of her hips.

"I've never been in a real fog," I replied finally. "I only moved here a few weeks ago." As if "real" fog didn't exist anywhere else. I stopped myself from staring and knew I was as crimson as her shirt.

She tilted her head at me. A golden wave of hair caressed a heart-shaped face.

"What was that?" I asked. "That ball ... " I didn't know how to describe what I had seen. "Those sparks, and lights..." I pointed to the sky. "It's time for me to go get some chores done at the farm. The animals need feeding." "Wait a second..."

Her eyes held mine for an instant. She was radiant. There was no other word to describe her that evening in the fading light. I wished I had put on a clean T-shirt and pants instead of the faded madras shorts and stained white shirt that hung on me. I tried to think of some words that would keep her from leaving, but nothing came to mind. She laughed that high tinkling laugh again and dug into her pocket. Shyly, she handed me a small jar with a metal cap. I let her drop the container into my palm. The glass was cool and comforting in the summer heat. I held it up to the light and found my voice.

"What is it?"

She pursed her lips. "Something I think you could use." The jar appeared empty. I began to unscrew the cap and she placed her hand over mine. Oh, that touch. It was like a butterfly coming to rest. I tried to stay still, but to my dismay her hand alighted in an instant. Her voice was gentle but firm. "Not now."

"Don't open it?"

She shook her head. "Save it." Her blonde hair fell in waves past her shoulders. She pushed a strand behind her ear, an ear as delicate and translucent as a seashell. I thought about how good it would feel to nuzzle her, to bury my face in her neck and draw in her scent. I was sure that she would smell as good as she looked. She peered through the clear side of the container and smiled.

"It's really quite a good specimen. One of these days you'll appreciate it." "Looks like an empty baby food jar," I said, shaking the container. "Appearances are deceiving. Didn't anyone ever tell you that?" She giggled and as she pushed off and began pedaling away, I could swear that the cicadas stopped their thrumming for an instant.

I realized with a start that I didn't know her name. I wanted to yell, "Don't go!" But I had learned long before I was fourteen that you didn't try to control a girl like this. I was saddened for I didn't know if I would ever see her again. That thought was unbearable. I watched her round the corner. As she turned onto the main road out of town, she raised her hand to the sky in what I thought was a wave. The air suddenly grew cooler; then from the junction of the two streets, a bank of fog rolled toward me, softer and cleaner than that spewed by the DDT truck. The girl faded as great whorls of mist enshrouded me. I tried to track her, but she was gone, lost in the distance, in the fog. She left me wishing for more time with her and broader shoulders with which to impress her. Thinking about it now, I can see that I raced toward her the way I raced to the DDT truck, with a sense of joy and an undercurrent of danger, incapable of understanding that there could ever be any negative consequences to my actions. At fourteen, why shouldn't every bright light on the horizon turn into a rosy sunset? After a time, I headed for home where my mother's kitchen radio blared something about unseasonable fog scattered throughout our area. I climbed the stairs to my room and fell on the bed studying the jar. Something silver ran in my veins. The phone rang and I gently placed the jar on my desktop. The voice of my buddy, Joshua Weingrad, squawked at me.

"Twice in one hour. Do you think I'm going to go blind?"

I sighed. Josh enjoyed detailing his solo sexual exploits. He assumed I didn't mind listening as I didn't generally switch the subject, but tonight I had my own agenda. "I just saw the most incredible girl, Josh. Blonde. About fourteen or fifteen. With blue eyes and an unbelievable shape."

"Go Lukie!" he cried. "I'm wondering if you know her name." "Guess that's a no. How many quarts of this stuff do you think I can accumulate over the course of the summer?"

I glanced at the jar on my desk. If Josh got his hands on it, he would no doubt try to fill it the way he did most things these days. I made a mental note not to tell him about the receptacle and to keep it hidden.

"She's about five foot two, Josh." "I bet if I keep it in the fridge it would stay longer. I'm a goddamn machine." "Josh!" "Sorry. Big bazookas?" "She's gorgeous, Josh. I want to know who she is." "Deanna's having a party tomorrow night. Maybe your mystery bazooms will show up there." "I haven't seen her anywhere before." I was too embarrassed to mention her wonderful laugh.

He let out a low whistle. "I bet I know who she is." I held my breath.

"She gets out now and then when her father's not looking. Not stacked but not bad at all." "What's her name?" "Celeste. Celeste Carey."

Though I'd never heard it, the name sent shock waves into my groin.

"She's too weird, man. Ask Alec if you don't believe me. Only reason I know anything about her is 'cause he dated her."

Alec was our third musketeer. Unlike Josh and me, Alec had had an occasional girlfriend. My mother's voice rang out from below. "Luke, I need you to help me move the table. Could you come downstairs?" With my father absent, as usual, on a business trip, Mom relied on me to help her with her constant organizing. I wished my father would spend more time with us and lately wondered if there was more to his absence than selling paper products. Beneath the domestic sea of tranquility that my mother liked to pretend existed, I sensed turbulent waters.

"I have to go, Josh. Catch you tomorrow." "Tomorrow, douchebag. I'm working on filling a peanut butter jar. Wanna lay odds on how long that takes me?"

Later that night I lay restless in bed in the June heat. I switched off my transistor radio in the middle of a story about three new cases of flipper-like arms on Thalidomide babies. As I tossed and turned trying to induce sleep, something caught my eye, something glinting on my desk. I raised up on one elbow and studied the pile of things scattered on the green felt blotter. Next to a Silver Surfer comic book, I saw a half-finished model of a Corvette, my ticket stub from the 1964 NY World's Fair, some loose S&H green stamps, two forty-five rpm's and that little jar of Celeste's. Again there was a soft light. My window was open and outside a full moon cast an eerie light in the backyard. Surely, something had caught the moonlight coming through the window and reflected it toward me. I held my breath. There it was again. This time I saw it was the empty baby food jar that glinted. I stared hard at the glass, but the light disappeared under my gaze. I lowered my head to try a different angle. Nothing. I lay back on my pillow and thought about the exotic girl who had given me the gift. The light started again. For the next few minutes, the jar twinkled off and on in the moonlight. Was there a pattern to the flashes? I tried to find one, but eventually I gave up and let the jar be. There was space enough for both of us in my room. Sleep blanketed me and when I awoke in the morning the jar sat empty and still, nothing more than a baby food jar. I reached over to remove its cap, but as I twisted the cool metal, I heard her voice in my head.

"Save it."

The pull in my chest was unmistakable.

I sighed and buried the jar in the depths of my underwear drawer, away from the prying eyes of my family and from Josh's sticky fingers, and bounded down the stairs to face the day.