Sugar Hollow

(circa June 2005)


We sit quietly in the rumbling white truck. The cab vibrates with the rolling action of the tires on ill-cared for pavement. Your right hand, with nothing to occupy it, rests lightly on the seat. I debate with myself... to place my hand on yours, or not to. To do so would change everything. The movement my hand would make could trigger the air in the cab to swirl around us, stirring up the tender, delicate friendship and plunging it into something much more complicated. A slight smile plays momentarily on your lips... I wonder if you can read my mind, or if my expressions are just that transparent. My hands stay firmly in my lap, fingers twiddling awkwardly and tangling irreversibly with the light brown fringe circling the edges of my sarong. Change is difficult, strange; I cannot.

The road narrows heading into the hidden river bottoms, the verdantly opalescent green of the leaves on the trees on either side suppresses any truly cohesive cerebration. I amuse myself with thoughts of leaping out the window and landing in a soft buttery eiderdown of edible trees, voraciously gobbling up the liquid beryl leaves. My mind wanders.

The a.c. alternately runs quiet and wheezing, working diligently to produce a cool rain-forest atmosphere for the humans occupying the truck. It is Virginia, late June, the humidity reaching a record-high index. Our bodies are accustomed to it, the deep dragging, drowning water that moves oddly unhindered in the air. We are like fish, or we should be, for all the water we breathe. I look over to you, clandestinely, just in time to see gills sprouting on the side of your neck, and rippling with the passage of co-mingling air and water. I close my eyes. What a fantasy.

It is still and silent. We are very close. You begin to scan for a place to park your truck, occasionally glancing over at my side of the road... I turn my head slightly to avoid your penetrating eyes. If I meet your gaze, I would dissect and analyze all over again the many vivid colors painting your irises, and re-memorize the lines and contours of your face. I am transparent. You look at me and you see plainly the thoughts leaking out of my head, blood from a head wound. So I keep steady.

The truck thunders to a stop, tilted catawampus, half on the road, half in the ditch. Your door clicks open, swings wide and fast, bounces wildly at the boundary of its trajectory, and stills. I force my door up and out; grudgingly it gives ground to my body as I lean against it. I slip out the bottom of the door, and it slams shut, narrowly missing my head. You grin sheepishly. My tremulous smile wipes the grin from your face, and we begin walking the overgrown path at the side of the road, single file. As you pace, your 30mm solid black Nikon FE hanging from its strap oscillates to the rhythm of your footsteps along the dirt path. Periodically, I catch glimpses of it as it sways to your music, peeking out shyly from under your arms like a child behind his father's knee. Suddenly, you stop, turn, and face me. I pause in my stride, expectant. Without hesitating, you whip the camera up to your eye, aim, and snap the shutter. Startled, I let out ringing laughter, and you join in with a resonant baritone that shakes my reserve. We resume walking, giddy with the feeling of the moment and the strong, earthy scents hanging in the air. The river is journey's end.

You settle yourself on a large, flat-ish rock resting half-in and half-out of the water.

"Get in."

I pause again, shy and unsure. Your reassuring smile defrosts me; I untie and drop the sarong, leaving it where it lands. Standing on the edge in my bathing suit, turned away from you, I inspect the river bottom for sharp objects and debris before plunging into the rapids. A crawdad scuttles under a submerged rock, its eye stalks peeping out, warily scanning the water above it. The rushing water closes over my body, slowly, cool and wet. My shoulders shudder in reaction to the chill; I immerse my head quickly under, pop back up spluttering. You grin again, the mood is catching, and I grin back.

You begin snapping photographs of the river and her banks, the rocks shining wet with spray, and me. I protest, but you continue to move around from rock to rock, getting different angles, taking pieces of my heart and the river and melding them together into a simple collage... I submerge completely, close my eyes, and imagine you, still stealing parts of me until there is nothing left to take. My cells divide, little pieces of me separate and float off down the river; I am a water sprite, spirit of running water.

Back at the truck, you open the door for me, holding it against its will until I am safely, albeit tilted, in the seat. Lingeringly, you let the door's gravity pull it shut, a soft click. You lean against the window, and this time I cannot help myself. Your smile again appears, this time more full and emphatic, and my lips slide into a mirror of yours. Too bad there is solid glass between us.

You slip into the driver's seat, start up the engine, and pull out of the precarious parking spot. The trees on either side of the road speed up and fly past, racing to the horizon behind us. Your right hand, with nothing to occupy it, rests lightly on the seat. With deliberate, halting advances, I let my hand slide across the seat toward your hand, now gripping the fabric in anticipation. Your skin is smooth against mine. Your fingers get tangled just as easily. Automatic transmissions are heavenly. You hold my hand the whole way home.