Clarity
We spread our mostly naked bodies out on the huge, flat rocks next to the river, pretending to be cold-blooded so we could soak up the heat they'd absorbed. Our bathing suits darkened the rocks in funny patterns, the clouds moved so fast. The sky was huge, that day. The sweet smell of the blunt your friends were smoking made me smile, I pushed my body closer to yours.
August in the Catskills is beautiful. The greens and blues are saturated up there in a way they just aren't in Philly, ever. We thought we'd be bored, that we'd be ready to come home in a day or two, but we were both wrong. Truthfully, I could have been anywhere, as long as you were there. But upstate NY made things even more perfect, if that was possible.
Imagine this: 6 kids standing on the Mosquito Point Bridge, our toes hanging over the edge, 40 feet above the river. We stuck our fingers through the fence and looked down, our hearts mixed up in our guts. Gathering courage, climbing through metal bars, taking deep breaths. Jumping. Falling, falling, and still more falling. Splashing through the glassy surface of the river, white bubbles everywhere, wondering which way is up. Exhiliration, alive-ness! Fuck, yeah!
You told me later that things finally made sense for you while you watched me walk back to you from the island. My hair was sticking up all over my head, I was limping over the slippery rocks, trying not to eat it and look like even more of a dork. You said it was like an epiphany. Shivery, I climbed back up onto your rock, and you wrapped a towel around my shoulders. Then you wrapped your body around my towel. My heart felt like it had after I jumped off the bridge for the first time - bursting. You make me feel like that a lot.
On the bus ride back into the city we cuddled, giggled, and told each other secrets as if we weren't surrounded by strangers. The perfect weather had broken, we drove through the middle of a summer storm. Occasional lightning bolts made me suck in my breath and widen my eyes, made you laugh at me. The rain left streaks on the windows of our bus while I pressed my fingers into yours, and watched you through the sides of my eyes. I was a little sad, thinking about endings, and a little excited, thinking about beginnings. It was early evening, and the sun was setting in the west, to our right. The sky was a spooky orange color, completely surreal. It made me think of that Mates of State song, "I'll let you choose the blue." It would be so like you to choose orange, instead. And I'd probably be grouchy about it until I saw a sky like the one we rode through that night.
Just like the mountain stream on that perfect August day, everything is clear now.