Filling
by Cat Young

"Bet you can't knot the stem."

Ray has that look in his eye, the one that usually means he has some sort of mischief in mind. I'm not sure exactly what, so I play along. "I beg your pardon?"

"Tie a knot in the stem. It's a tradition."

The question that immediately springs to mind is, "Why?" but I don't ask. It doesn't work that way with Ray. Instead, I ask if he has any particular kind of knot in mind.

"Just a knot. You know, the regular kind. But you can't do it with your hands."

"Excuse me?" If this were Basic Training, I wouldn't be surprised; in the course of my duties I sometimes have to perform specific basic tasks while my hands are restrained or otherwise occupied. Somehow I don't think that Ray has policework in mind, however. This sounds more like one of his attempts to expose me to Chicago's more... unofficial culture. His next sentence confirms it.

"You have to do it with your tongue."

Aha! "My tongue?"

"Yeah. You stick the stem in your mouth, and you tie a knot in it."

"And this is a tradition, you say?" And not an entirely unfamiliar one, I must admit. The cherry stem is a novelty-- they are an uncommon item in the Territories-- but the same principle applies no matter what one uses. When I was young, it was short lengths of seal sinew left over from the Inuit women's sewing.

"Sure."

He has a definite twinkle in his eye now. Sometimes I wonder if he's even aware of the amount of, well, I can only call it flirting, that he does with me. I doubt it... if he were, he would probably be more careful.

A brief hesitation is part of the game. He smiles at me, and I place the stem in my mouth. It's sweet, soaked through with the juice from the cherries, instead of the salty tang of dried sinew. The texture is not entirely dissimilar, though, and it brings back memories... laughter, firelight, the sound of chanting drifting over from the larger circle where the adults were gathered. The three of us-- Innusiq, Joon, and I-- were always there, of course, and sometimes others. Electricity was rarely dependable, so we played our own games for entertainment.

I don't think it's serious, this flirting of Ray's. He certainly isn't interested in me romantically. It's more of a fascination, I think, a fascination with our differences. He does love me, of course, as I love him-- on the deepest level we have enough in common to see to that. The surface differences just keep things interesting.

The stem is pliable enough to work with, now, and I start attempting the knot in earnest. It's more difficult than I had remembered, but the thickening at the ends helps a little. I try to catch it with my teeth as I work it through the loop, but it slips free. I work it back into position and try again.

What would Ray do, if he knew? If one day I took him up on one of the dozens of pseudo-invitations he gives me? He'd be surprised, of course; he would never expect it from me. He has a tendency to equate my reservedness with innocence, my habitual solitude with naivete. I don't mind, particularly. He never underestimates me when it truly matters, and at other times... it can be convenient to be underestimated. I rather enjoy his flirtations.

Suddenly the end of the stem slips through its loop, and I tighten the knot with a quick tug. Pushing it through my lips, I smile at him, then drop the stem into my bowl and ask if he's finished his. He hasn't, of course; he's been watching me. He checks his watch and reminds me that it's time to prepare for our own presentation, and I agree and stand up with my tray. He looks as though he wants to say something, but doesn't. I let it go. I can't resist, though, making one last comment as we walk out the cafeteria door.

"By the way, Ray... thanks for giving me your cherry." He's startled, but covers it quickly, still not believing I know what I'm saying. One of these days he'll figure it out... I just hope he'll enjoy it when he does.

END