Black Water

It was hot in July of 2005. This night was mercifully not an evening of the sweltering variety the two of us had grown accustomed to driving down the Interstate during daylight hours in recent weeks, for our many destinations, with or without purpose. Instead, it was wretchedly humid.

Near her apartment building was a swamp, and a small wooded area. Neighbor’s cats scurried around the grass until the sprinkler system turned itself on, at which point the cats of course scurried away with haste. Crickets, frogs, birds, and other sounds filled the air. The twilight that eve was a swirling, scarlet and violet impasto sky. Clouds broke in clumps, and bright white stars shone brightly despite the buzzing, distracting lamps in the parking lot. The sprinklers let up and we had moved from the sidewalk back onto the grass.

We were conversing, but not of anything of importance. Not at that time. Instead, I was reprising my typical role, that of the fool, and she retained her role as the pseudo-irritated straight-man. I had at this point taken something of hers, a key chain, or trinket. Of course I began to make a chase out of it. We chase one another around the trees and cars, back and fourth, and so on. Finally, she corners me and as she is attempting to regain her property I begin with the unsportsman-like tickling. She half tackles me, which I turn into an embrace.

I held her there for a long, akward while. I wanted to take her in. I memorized the feel of her arms against me. The scent of her hair products, the feel of her cheek brushing against mine, her fingertips. I released her.

We spent more time than we had intended outside. We had spent the better part of the last two days together, I had slept on her couch the night before, and we had run around looking for things all day. I begun onto one of my diatribes about my past, and my emotional insecurities and self doubts.

This was a role she would play frequently, and never complain. My counselor and confidant. So often I would encumber her with worries and pains I had bled out to her ears. Nonetheless, she stood ready.

I wrapped up that night’s monolouge, and said my goodbyes. I hugged her once more, and as I atempted to release she took grip of my elbows and lightly kissed me upon the cheek. My left cheek, if I recall. She said, "Its okay". She smiled Lightly, like a child. The humidity had made her sweat, and her skin glistened from it. She would have likely thought she looked terrible in that moment, but I captured that Image of her with my mind and held on for dear life. Her Headband, a hankercheif, slightly out of place, her checkered belt, blue jeans with ripped knees, and black hoodie, which she never went without. I looked into the sea of calm in her green eyes. The stars and street lamps reflecting out of them. I departed.

It was fourty minutes back to my home. I listened to my radio. I felt invulnerable.

Much time passed, Many encounters, much time spent together. Somewhere, we lost our way. All the bridges that used to link us had fallen under sheets of black water and rusted away.