“About a week ago,” I lied. “I spotted the rope first and then pulled off the well cover. It isn’t deep, I think, but I can’t pull the rope up myself. There’s something heavy on the other end.”
Putting the rope down the well had been part of my preparation. I had found the rope, a weathered-looking length, in the cellar of our house, along with an old metal stake, and had brought both to the meadow days ago. I tied one end of the rope tightly around one of the larger rocks I’d unearthed from the meadow, and lowered that end down the well, then staked the other end deep into the earth. I didn’t think it looked particularly genuine but it didn’t matter. All I needed was for Chet to want to find out what was on the other end of that rope. That morning I’d gone into my parents’ bathroom and found something in the cabinet, a small tub labeled POMADE. I’d brought it with me earlier to the well and rubbed the hair goop all over the first few feet of the rope, making it hard to hold. I had been worried that the rope would be too easy to pull up and that Chet could manage it from a standing position. I needed him to kneel in front of the well hole. As it turned out, I didn’t need to worry. Chet, acting like an excited little boy, dropped to his knees in front of the well and took hold of the rope.
“Ugh, what’s on this?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Some sort of muck.”
He put his fingers to his nose and smelled. “It doesn’t smell natural. Smells like shampoo.”
“Maybe someone doesn’t want us to pull it up.” I had moved so that I was standing directly behind him. He craned his neck to look at me. I could see one of his wet, puffy eyes stare at my chest. My skin tightened, goose bumps breaking out along my arms.
“You like butterflies?” he asked, his eyes still on the embroidered front of my tank top.
“I guess,” I said, and involuntarily shifted backward. I felt a sudden revulsion, plus anger at myself, that I had brought this man with me to my secret meadow. Of course he wouldn’t care what was down the well. Of course all he cared about was sex. He’d want to stick his penis in me before pulling up the rope. I’d been foolish. I tried to think of something to say, but my brain had emptied out and my mouth had gone dry.
But then Chet asked, “You didn’t tell your parents about this?”
“No,” I said. “They’d just get mad at me, and if they found anything cool down there they probably wouldn’t let me keep it.”
“Might as well take a look,” he said and turned his eyes back toward the well hole. “Now, what’s in it for me if we find a treasure chest down there?”
He was doing what I hoped he would do, working his way down the rope to get a better grip. He ducked his head partway into the hole and shifted forward on his knees. “Don’t fall in,” I said. It was something I had planned on saying, to make him feel more safe.
“How far down is it?”
“Not that far, I think.”
Chet made a couple of whooping sounds into the well that echoed back up.
“Let me hold on to you.” I had planned this as well, wanting to get him used to having my hands on his back. I didn’t want to just try and push him in and have him rear back suddenly and fight me.
I grabbed the fabric of his overalls with both fists, just as he said, “I got it. It’s coming up.”
I conjured all the strength I had and shoved as hard as I could. He tried to lift his head but it was in the hole and he banged the back of it on one of the layered stones that lined the well. His whole body tilted forward, falling, and for a moment I thought I was going to go down the well with him, a possibility that hadn’t even occurred to me. But somehow he managed to jack his legs out and stop his forward progress. I rolled to the side, listening to his surprised scream. One of his heavy boots was jammed between two of the flat rocks that lined the well entrance. “Jesus,” he yelled. Then: “Help me.” I heard a clattering sound as something struck the bottom of the well. His glasses, I thought.
I stood. One of my fingernails had snagged on his overalls and torn. I only noticed because I had reflexively shaken my hand and flecks of blood had spattered me in the face.
“Lily, God, help me.”