Blogger's Note: Stop right there! Before you go any further, do you love me?
My last entry, "Brookport", shattered all of my personal records. I've had nearly the same number of "views" in the last 48 hours than I've had since I launched "Parenting with Lightsabers" back in March. I usually get about 150-200 people checking out an average post - which I thought was pretty cool.
But... "Brookport" netted nearly 3,000.
I don't know what to say about that. I've been on Cloud Nine for two days now.
Thanks in no small part to Amy for getting that boulder rolling, to Kim and Kay Comer for the nod in their blog Bird's Eye View of the Katydid, to everyone that shared that post, and especially to all of my regular readers that have kept coming back since the virgin voyage of the S.S. Parenting with Lightsabers. But I'll get to all of you in a moment...
First, I want to talk to any new readers that might return after reading "Brookport."
If you do love me... if you care anything at all about my wishes... if I have any hope to keep you coming back to see what goes on in here, then please, oh please, oh please... DON'T READ TODAY'S POST!!!
I'll explain.
Today's post is part of a continuing story that tells how my wife and I met and fell in love. If you read today's post, you'll have no idea what's going on. Furthermore, today's chapter is potentially going to be the most unexciting leg of the entire journey. I've actually got this thing plotted out, and I'm struggling to make this one fun.
The story is a romantic comedy. And this is the heart of the story. The pulse. The sentimental song in the middle of the movie that shows clips of two love-birds doing all kinds of sappy things together.
Now, I think my regular readers would tell you that this ride has had its moments. My "viewership" graph indicates that they prefer this story to most of the stuff that I ramble on about in here. So... if you'd like to know what this is all about (...and I really, really, really hope you do), then start here. It's the first chapter titled "The Tea Monster." Read it, and use the archives to navigate numerically through the chapters (it's not hard, they're listed just to the right.) Then, you can come back here and continue on.
Now, for my regular readers... step right up. Let me unfasten the velvet rope for you. Present your multi-pass and proceed inside. Amber and Gina, I don't need to see yours, come on in. Kristin and Crystal, of course you can bring your drinks inside. McKenzie and Rachel, come on through, I'll bring you a beer in a second (in the meantime, I'm sure Kristin and Crystal will share.) Ambrosia and Melissa, thank you for keeping my chin up, for believing in me. For what is a writer without a reader? And Steve, come on through... ignore the drunk guy wearing the Teletubby costume. I was going to write a post about how crazy some of these toddler programs are, but that asshole got too drunk for me to finish. And, thank you, Joanna. Hurry up and get done breast-feeding so you can join those drunk-asses inside. Love ya, bitch. And, yes, the rest of you. I was just starting to sound like that bitch from Romper Room, so I figured I'd better quit naming each of you one-by-one.
Come on in...
"Shit?"
"Gowno."
"And fuck?"
"Kurwa."
The Oldsmobile drifted mischievously along the county highway like it was keeping a secret that not even its occupants were privy to. The dented, front bumper smirked at pastel, cherry blossoms that floated carelessly in a Spring breeze. As patient as an old dog, my car gently stirred some roadside Easter flowers from a daydream, and they swayed to life like drunk hippies. As we passed an old, farm house, an orange, tabby cat twitched its whiskers in the shade of a lilac bush preparing to arrest some yellow dandelions that had sipped a little too much of the intoxicating air. Joanna and I couldn't seem to keep straight faces.
The road I was following occasionally borrowed some of the bank along the Ohio River. Sometimes we would crest a hill and get a scope of the river snaking through the green and honest countryside. We'd bookmark our dialogue and hush for a moment as our heads would follow the view in unison, then we'd resume the conversation seamlessly after we fell away. My air conditioner didn't work, and my windows would only roll halfway down, which was ideal. Sometimes, Joanna's hair would catch the perfect breeze and skirt away from her neck before falling gracefully onto her shoulders. The casual ebb and flow of the highway placidly bounced us like children as I tried to divide my attention evenly between the endless sky, the landscape, and the girl in my car.
Joanna and I had been on several excursions over the past couple of weeks. We had tripped around western Kentucky and southern Illinois going for strolls in parks, along downtown sidewalks, and through grassy country. My car was unusually clean as Joanna insisted that we clean it on our first getaway. Now, the fresh, Spring air was tinted ever-so-slightly with the faint scent of Febreeze.
"How do you say bitch?" I was trying to learn some Polish by starting with the important words first.
"Suka," she translated with a smile.
An expression of sudden understanding dawned on my face. "Sooo.. when Kristina calls you 'biały suka' she's calling you a bitch??" I asked her. Kristina was one of our co-workers. She and Joanna were always cutting up.
"Yeah. That means 'white bitch.'"
I smiled at the revelation as we rolled through the four-way stop in Golconda, IL. We were on our way to the Garden of the Gods which is a raised plateau of clever rock formations from which one can see to the horizon. A semi-circular, stone path graduates from shaded moss to the scenic, sandstone bluff that highlights the Shawnee National Forest.
"I bet your father wouldn't want to hear you talk like that," I poked at Joanna.
"Actually, my dad is very fun. You two would get along," she insisted.
"Oh yeah? What does he do for a living?"
"He made women's designer shoes his whole life. Then, he retired and closed the factory. But he grow restless and now he get a job as a construction foreman for a big company."
"He made women's shoes?" For some reason, that surprised me.
"Yes. They were very nice shoes. Women liked them from all over Poland. When we were still under communism, my father was making these shoes in secret. They were beautiful. I show you sometime," Joanna explained. "What does your father do?"
"My father died when I was four," I answered.
She looked genuinely concerned. "Oh. What happened?"
"Well, this was in January of '78, which is supposed to be one of the worst winters ever in this area. He was a tow boat captain. One night, in the middle of a blizzard, he was called out to fuel a small tow boat. The winds and the waves were bad, and they overtook the boat. He was wearing a life vest when the boat capsized, but the water was just too damned cold. Hypothermia is what actually killed him."
I could feel her look at me as I drove. I adjusted in my seat and tried not to look uncomfortable. "Why don't you have a girlfriend?" she asked me.
I shrugged. "I don't know. I was married once." I paused to get her reaction from that statement. If she was bothered, she didn't show it. "That was over ten years ago. I've had some on-and-off relationships since then, but nothing ever got off the ground. I have an eleven-year-old son," I explained.
"Really?" she interrogated. "You don't seem old enough to have a child that old."
I nodded. "He's a good kid. I'm proud of him."
She smiled warmly as we returned our attention to the road.
When we pulled into the parking lot at the Garden of the Gods, I went to open my door which got stuck on one of the hinges. I put my shoulder into it once, then twice, and, finally, the third time it broke free and opened. Joanna laughed.
We ambled toward a flight of stone steps that introduced a path that wound around the park. As we began climbing them, I was surprised by the feel of soft, lady fingers slipping into my hand. I tried my best to act cool, but a rooster was crowing enthusiastically inside my heart - hungry and ready. I've never been all that good at hiding my emotions; so, when my fingers laced into hers, I tried my best to close them gingerly. Once we started into the forest, I turned to steal a glance at the Polish girl that seemed to like me. Sunlight danced across her face as it playfully splashed from the canopy of trees overhead. I willed myself to look away, and I wondered if she could hear my heart wildly pounding from such a simple gesture.
The forest pathway ventilated into open air, and we stepped onto the edge of a warm sandstone bluff. A teenage boy poked his head up from a crevice in the ground. As soon as he saw us, he jumped out and walked past us. He was wearing a black Slipknot tee-shirt and avoided making eye contact. A funny smell wafted through the air as he passed. Joanna and I laughed.
We continued around the trail, hand-in-hand, spotting shapes in the rock formations and speculating wordlessly about interesting-looking people. I could hear robins chirping from somewhere. They've probably sang to me a thousand times, but this time I heard them. We didn't talk much for a while; we didn't need to. And besides, a Spring breeze would periodically whisper to us.
We stopped at the well pump at the end of the circuit and got a drink of water. I pumped the noisy handle while Joanna cupped some water with her hands and drank the best tasting water in the whole world. Then, she worked the handle while I communed with the land.
"Hop in the car," I instructed. "I've got somewhere else I want to take you."
She did. Hell, we didn't have anywhere better to be anyway. We pulled out of the parking lot and found ourselves back on the highway.
"I'm going to take you to Bell Smith Springs," I informed her. "I used to go there all the time as a teenager. There's this place we would go where you could jump off a cliff into the water. We'd hang out there all day getting drunk and swimming. But that's not where I'm gonna take.you. There's also this natural arch there. You can climb these metal rungs to the top. It's not perfectly vertical so it's not too scary. That's what I want to show you."
She opened her hands as if to say, 'lead the way.' I winked confidently and drove us there.
My old car chauffeured us back onto the highway. Our carriage idled past attention-loving dogwood trees that were posing for our interest. Young buds shimmered coyly and took turns kissing the sky. We loosened the stitches on time; we simplified conversation; and, we rolled along unencumbered by responsibility like children leaving from the last day of school. A cosmically preposterous revelation flashed us in a facile moment. We realized that capturing it would corrupt it; so, we let it fly away like forgiveness. As I unwrap my memory of that day, my fallible humanity grasps for that truth parsimoniously. When I come up empty-handed, I shamefully feign virtuosity and assert that I was only playing. But, in truth, I would love to see and feel it just for a moment, just once more.
We left the conformed, painted-line highways and meandered through crater-filled side roads until we found a rutted shoulder next to a line of wooden posts. A picnic table sagely rested next to a trail that disappeared into lush, green foliage. The path was freckled with shallow puddles of water and muddied in spots - which might have explained the fact that no other cars were there.
We paused for just a brief moment to gauge the practicality of navigating the muddy gambit. "Still wanna go?" I asked Joanna.
A diffident smile assessed the path before addressing me. "I wish I had worn different shoes," she admitted. I noticed that she was wearing some aqua-green, leather shoes that would almost certainly offer little to no traction if marshy ground became unavoidable. "But, we're here now. Let's do it," she insisted with sanguine punctuation. I took her hand this time, and away we went.
The footpath descended quickly until it followed precariously close to a bluff. Moss-covered sandstone created a haphazard trek when it was wet, as it was this time of year. I tried to help Joanna navigate the slippery ground, but I was sliding nearly as much as she was.
Finally, we reached the long stairwell that was cut into the cliff-side. The stone steps plunged into the canyon and emptied beneath a natural marquee of rock. Water dripped somewhere deeper in the crevice, and the acoustic stone amplified the sound.
We hunched free of the cliff's chilly maw and filed into the canyon floor.
"If you go that way," I pointed off to the right, "you'll get to the place where we would go swimming back in the day. We're going this way..." I took a left turn at a fork in the trail, and we followed a creek that was more active than I had ever seen it before. Perhaps I had never been here this early in the season.
At last we came to the spot where the path crossed the creek. Usually, stone steps bridged the gap by making foot rests just above the water's reach. But, now, the water was up and just covered the steps. If we were going to continue, we would have to get wet.
"The arch is just up there," I explained pointing ahead. "Once we cross the creek, we're basically there. If you wanna go back, though, I'd understand."
Joanna shrugged and smiled. "Aw, fuck it. I am wet enough already. Let's go." She reached down to slip off her shoes and carried them in one hand.
I smiled and stepped to the first stone. I reached back to take her hand and guided her across. We were ankle-deep in cold water, and something about that just made us smile and even laugh a little. We paused when we thought we heard a distant rumble of thunder and looked at each other as if to say, 'did you just hear that?'
We dismissed the sound as Joanna put her shoes back on.
The path clambered through fallen boulders, slowing our progress considerably. But at last, we reached the cliff face and the first metal rung that had somehow been hammered into the stone. I placed my hands onto it. I looked up to where the rungs disappeared over a ledge and then at Joanna as if to say, 'you ready?'
"Let's do it," she encouraged.
And with that a single, deafening clap of thunder introduced a torrential downpour like none other I have ever seen before or since. For a brief moment, we stood there, unsure what to do and looking at each other with water running down our faces - dumb victims to an ornery, practical joke.
"What now?" I yelled over the sound of the monsoon.
She had a determined grimace that faded as the rain washed it away. Finally, she spoke. "Uhhh.. oh, man! OH, MAN! We right here!" She cupped her hand against her forehead to shield her eyes from the fierce rainfall. "I bet now we will never come back!"
A moment later she submitted to her sensibilities. "Kurwa moć!" she swore, "let's go back!"
"Let's go!" I yelled my agreement. We scrambled back down the rubble and made it to the creek. We didn't even pause this time; we were already wet so delaying would have been pointless.
As hard as the rain was coming down, I was soaked to the bone in no time at all. Joanna was hopelessly the same. We jumped at each crack of thunder and reacted by hunching and dodging as if the sound was tangible. I motioned my insistence that Joanna lead the way, but she refused. Asserting that I was the one that knew the way, she emphatically waved me in front of her. I wanted to argue, but speed was paramount. That bit of nonverbal disharmony hurt me. I wasn't at all upset that she wanted me to lead the way; I could understand the rationale of that notion. But, a sickness that this perfect, Spring day had just crumbled into chaos gutted me without remorse. I slipped and fell in the mud; my hands mostly covered by the muck. I knew that Joanna wasn't so petty as to blame me for any of this; but, after a day that was magically intoxicating, she was now almost certainly sober. Even I hadn't been able to fuck up a day like today. But Mother Nature decided she would ante up; and, when Mother Nature ante's up, you deal her in whether you want to or not.
Joanna reached down to help me up, but I managed to stand by myself. A frightening blast of thunder caused us both to jump. As soon as I was on my feet, we resumed our mad dash for shelter. I was slipping and sliding like a deer on ice, and Joanna wasn't faring any better. My hands were caked in mud, but I couldn't decide if I wanted to wipe them on my clothes. I held them out in front of me like a zombie, hoping the rain would have at least one useful purpose. At last, we made it to the cliff's overhang at the base of the stairs and found a provisional refuge from the merciless torrent.
We huddled there shivering and trying to catch our breath. A curtain of water that fell from overhead encompassed our sanctuary, and I used it to wash my hands. I didn't concern myself with getting splashed by the process. My saturated clothes clung to me uncomfortably. Shivering, I turned to see how Joanna was faring.
She was drenched from head to foot. Trembling from the cold, she was hugging herself. She was watching me, perhaps waiting to see what we were going to do now.
"Do you want to wait and see if it lets up, or do you want to make a run for the car?" I didn't delay the obvious question. Joanna's teeth were chattering, and I suddenly realized we weren't going to be able to wait here long. It was damp and cool here, and we were freezing.
Realizing the answer to my own question, I spoke before she could respond. "Let me know when you're ready, and we'll make a run for it!" I construed.
And that's when Joanna started laughing.
She may have laughed at what I had said; she may have laughed at how I looked; or, she may have laughed at the absurdity of the whole situation. But, the point is, she laughed.
And, I tried not to, because it just didn't make any sense, but then I laughed, too.
And that's when I got it.
Mother Nature wasn't playing a practical joke on us. Oh, no. Quite the contrary.
I grabbed her hand and led her carefully up the steps. We climbed with urgency, but we weren't in quite the same hurry that we had been in. We reached the top and cautiously crossed the moss-covered rock that capped the bluff with judicious steps. I slipped and grabbed a young pine to recover my balance. Once she ascertained that I was ok, she laughed. Like a madman, I, too, was laughing.
We finally made it to the car. She quickly climbed into the passenger seat. I tried to join her, but the driver's side was stuck... again.
I yanked on it until finally, after a couple of tugs, it broke loose. I climbed inside, and we both were just shivering and laughing. Soundless, breathless laughs erupted from our cores; and, the epiphany that this day was still perfect resurfaced.
Joanna's face was marbled with droplets of rain. She was trembling, but she was smiling. I scanned her for any sign of distress. Her hair was soaked and magnificently pitiful. Her clothes were drenched; they clung to her body and presented evidence of her womanhood. And then, finally, her electric, blue eyes met mine.
I leaned into a kiss. I was ready, and so was she. Two cold and thirsty souls weaved together by the forces of nature found asylum in a beat-up Oldsmobile. The rain, so hated just moments ago, was a welcome noise to mask our hungry breathing. Cool lips warmed against mine as cold, Spring rain dripped from her hair down my face. We believed in each other, and we believed we were due some joy. So we agreed to hold that kiss for a while.
(...to be continued)
Continue our "How We Fell in Love" story:
Chapter 8 - Enrique's Last Stand
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