The Bet

 This is a true story except for all the parts that aren't.

***

It began as a bet that ended as a dare. I should have backed out or just refused to cooperate but I didn't  Confident I’d win the wager, I laughed off the consequences and sat smug in my presumption of victory. I looked over at her, a sly smile playing across her lips.

 “I can’t believe you’re making me do this. I thought friends prevented each other from being stupid. I swear the whole thing was rigged.” I slipped off my shirt and watched nervously as the sun peeked above the tree line. We’d known each other for too long and she knew my naked days were over.

“I’m a responsible adult now! How the heck am I ever going to explain this?” She snorted and chuckled, a rumbling that erupted into a belly laugh. “Naked gardening is the newest thing”, she replied, coffee spilling from her mug as she tried to stop laughing. A heap of clothing lay on the floor as I stood shivering in the early morning light. “Can I wear my gardening clogs?”

“Buck naked, baby!”

            I quietly shut the door behind me and snuck into the garden completely nude.  According to the bet, I had to spend 30 minutes gardening naked and couldn't do it in the middle of the night. Squeezing as tightly as possible against the brick, I slipped through the garden and into the overgrown shrubs on the side of the house.

“You can’t hide in the shrubs!” Ann hissed.

“Yes, I can! I’m pruning.” I knew she was timing me and began to slowly cut away the viburnum. Inch by inch, I cut each tiny branch. Anxious not to jab anything tender, I moved along the wall, careful to remain hidden. No sounds came from my neighbor’s house and I moved slowly towards the exterior of the shrubs. I grabbed a thick branch and pulled it to the side, my bare feet loud on the dry leafy mulch. Grabbing my wrist, Ann pulled me towards the grass.

“It’s about damn time! Get out here!” she yelled.

I'm so glad they're wearing flip flops.

Shocked to have been exposed, I loosened my grip on the branch, the tight wood slapping sharply against my shoulder. My knees slammed into the grass and I threw out my hands to break the fall. Bent over with my bare butt sticking out from under the shrubs, I froze at the slam of my neighbor’s door. Rounding the corner camera in hand, Percy Clutterbuck was an enthusiastic photographer who often took pictures in my garden. A myopic mumbler who rarely needed another person to carry on a conversation, he often chatted with himself as he worked, tripping and stumbling across the garden. Desperate not to be seen and hoping he wasn't wearing his glasses I crawled towards the shrubs, severed sticks crisp under my knees. 

“I say, I've found a butterfly! It looks like a Purple Spotted Fritillary. I've never seen such a large specimen.”

I could hear him snapping off the lens cover as he fumbled for his camera, my hands moving frantically. A long thin branch caught my hair, pinning me in place as Percy took picture after picture. Hazy memories of a late night out with Ann and a sore butt flooded my thoughts. Percy’s prized specimen was my college tattoo, a purple butterfly inked onto my right cheek. Reaching behind me, I grabbed a tall branch, pulled it to the ground and let go as he leaned in for another photo. The branch shot upward, slapping his shoulder and sending him tumbling. Cussing and mumbling as he fell back, Percy dropped the camera and I ran. 

“I don’t think that was a Purple Spotted Fritillary at all!” he mumbled. He adjusted his glasses and sighed deeply. “That’s a Giant Freckled Dumbass! They’re not rare at all.”  

**Secateurs is another name for pruners.

This piece of FICTION was written for Jennifer at Three Dogs in a Garden.