Melody

Chapter 1: the 'crime'

I think it's fair to say that Tate led me astray, if that's the right expression. I was almost thirteen when he and his mother moved into a house in the street behind us. He was about a year older than me.
I had quite a few friends at school, but none in our old, not very classy neighbourhood. In fact, there weren't many children at all in the streets around us and no kids of my age anywhere nearby, so I, an only child with the rather uncommon name of Melville, spent a lot of time by myself at home. But I was used to it, in fact, I liked it.

My parents were an easygoing couple with a penchant for socialising. I think I was only nine when they started going down to the sports club on the weekends for a quick drink - "we'll be an hour at the most, Melville".
The 'hour' had quickly become two, then three and four, and now often even more. Again, I didn't mind, I was a well-behaved boy and could amuse myself with my things quite easily.
Then Tate turned up.

Pretty quickly he had me riding my bike with him all over our suburb and the surrounding suburbs. Then he induced me into sneaking into the backyards of houses as a dare.
We started pinching fruit from trees growing in the yards and Tate even took the odd item from sheds and garages - nothing too serious. He was egging me on to do the same.
Eventually, I grabbed what I thought (hoped!) was probably just a rag off a rail at the back of a house. I was scared stiff. I scrunched it up and hid it in the back of my wardrobe without even looking at it properly.
It was a week before I would go riding with Tate again, and then I wouldn't go anywhere near the area where I had pinched the 'rag'. I was also reluctant to resume sneaking into backyards, despite Tate's urgings.

I decided that I had to get rid of the evidence of my 'crime'. Perhaps I could burn it, or wrap it up with some rubbish and toss it into a bin somewhere.
I got it out and looked at it properly for the first time - it was a girls t-shirt, and for a 'rag', it was in very good condition. It was quite pretty without being excessively girly. I felt a pang of guilt - some poor girl was probably missing this, but I didn't dare take it back; far too risky.
I spread it out on my bed and kept looking at it. It was quite wrinkled from being scrunched up, but I knew that it was too nice for me to wantonly destroy. What was I going to do?
It smelt like it had just been washed. I took it into the laundry and ironed it - my parents wouldn't be home for hours yet.
I hung it up in my wardrobe. I looked after my own clothes, so there was little likelihood of my mother finding it.

Tate was losing interest in me - I was no fun anymore. I thought that that was no bad thing. I'd seriously frightened myself and I didn't want to go any further with our 'naughty activities'.
He stopped coming around and I think he and his mother moved away a few months later.