Twenty-One September 1972
TWENTY-ONE
I didn’t write to John after he stormed out that day.
I tried, but my letters were forged in anger and, instead, I threw each of them into the fire.
But Kiju said that things have a way of sorting themselves out, and despite months of not hearing from him, I was excited when John pulled into the yard in his father’s truck that fall.
I was heading back into the house after pulling that year’s carrots when I heard the crunch of gravel under tires and made my way around to the front of the house.
I was wearing an old pair of jeans rolled up almost to my knees and rubber boots.
The grass was still wet with morning dew, so he must have been up before the sun to be here so early.
I stood there, hands dirty, waiting for him to get out of the truck.
“Hey,” he said casually, as he closed the door to the truck.
“Hey.” I shifted my weight from one side to the next.
“Nice boots,” he said as he walked toward me.
“Thanks?”
We stood there awkwardly, me with my hair pulled back and my muddy clothes, and him with his hands stuffed into his pockets. Kiju broke the tension.
“I thought I heard a vehicle. Well, John, so good to see you. Come in, have a cup of coffee.”
John followed Kiju into the house and I tagged along behind him.
“What brings you this way? Pickers won’t be here for another week or so,” Kiju said, as if she didn’t know the situation between us.
“I need to talk to Aliet. I was hoping we could take a drive.”
“Isn’t that nice.” She looked at me and winked. “I’ll pack you a little snack.”
I was annoyed that they were talking around me and not directly to me.
I wanted to tell them that maybe I didn’t want to go, but the truth was, I did.
As much as my anger at John had sustained me these last few months, so had the fear that I would never see him again, that our friendship, if that’s what it still was, was over.
So I stayed quiet and let Kiju pack a lunch.
“Where are we going?” I asked as he closed the passenger-side door for me.
“I thought we’d head over to the bay and watch the tide come in? Full moon tonight as well.”
“Okay.”
The road over the mountain twisted through the trees and I rolled the window down to take in the scent of early morning mixed with the salt water that was still miles away.
As we rounded the last bend and reached the top of the mountain, the sun shone brightly behind us, lighting our way to the water.
The paved road came to an end and John slowed the car. “I don’t really know where I’m going,” he said.
“Keep straight.”
I closed my window as the dry gravel from the dirt road flew up around us.
It hadn’t rained in a while and the dirt was dry, caked and yellow.
The road narrowed and the branches of the trees began to bend, obliterating our view of the sky.
And then, just when I could sense that John thought we might be lost, the trees gave way to a view of the water.
He stopped the car at the top of a hill and before us was the bay.
The flats of mud, the ocean floor and, finally, the rocks, both small and large, that marked “the shore.”
“Where’s the water?”
“It’s out there. Keep driving.”
The hill was steep, and the remaining road was surrounded by trees. The red cliffs rose up from the seabed, their ancient faces turned toward the water. At the bottom of the hill, he turned off the ignition and tentatively opened the car door.
I took his hand and led him away from the car and toward the rocks.
There is an art to walking on a rocky shore, and if you’re not careful, it can result in sprained ankles, and cuts and bruises to both legs and to the hands that you use to catch yourself when you fall.
We took it slow until we reached the mud.
“When I was little, Kiju used to say that we couldn’t walk on the mud, that we might sink and never be seen again.”
“My dad always said the same.”
The conversation was not coming out as naturally as we both knew it could.
We seemed to be shying away from a difficult conversation.
We stood and watched the birds swooping from the cliffs out toward the water.
The waves, remarkably small for such a powerful body of water, were too far away to hear.
I walked toward the line where the land met the rocks that in a few hours would be under water.
Large pieces of driftwood, still and salt grey, lined the edges where people before us had built fires.
Large stones made careful circles, filled with ash and blackened wood that shone in the glow of the sun.
Caves dotted the bluffs, and trees hung over the cliffs as if they were ready to dive.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted.
I stared out at the water. A breeze was coming off the bay and I crossed my arms to ward off the chill.
John took my hands and turned me to face him. “I’m sorry. I am not you. I have not lived your life or been in your shoes. I overreacted and I am so sorry.” There was a pleading in his eyes almost as if he expected me to refuse his apology.
“Thank you.” I kept my hands in his.
“Does that mean that I am forgiven?”
“I suppose it does. I’m not embarrassed of who I am, it just never occurred to me to go around telling people. And trust me, Kiju has had her say about this as well.”
“Well, I am so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. And I think I did.”
“You did. And I took it out on the poor chickens.”
John pulled me in closer and kissed me. Above us, a seagull squawked, ruining the moment.
We spent the morning gathering wood and cooking the sausage Kiju had packed us over the fire and drinking coffee she’d put in a thermos.
John had used some of his pay to buy a bottle of wine, telling me he assumed we were adult enough to like it.
We didn’t, and offered it to the ocean. As the water started to edge closer, we climbed a path up one of the cliffs that led to the top and looked over.
I stayed back, but John walked closer until I yelled for him to stop and he came back to my side.
“We can see the water from here.”
“Wanna go for a swim?”
“I think it’s a little cold for that, and I don’t have a swimsuit,” I said.
“Neither do I, but I have a couple nice blankets in the back. Cold water is good for the system.”
I didn’t swim in the bay. There’d been too many warnings about the bay from adults my whole life.
But I knew there was a freshwater brook that ran from behind the shoreline, starting somewhere in the woods.
Someone had taken stones and created a little dam over half of it, so you could sit in the cool water as it passed by on its journey to the bay.
I took off my top and laid it on the ground, and John smiled.
We walked hand in hand into the brook, both of us shy and in our underwear, gasping at the cold and the painful stones that dug into the bottom of our feet.
I looked over at him and remembered the time he allowed me to braid his hair and how that had made me feel.
Now, I felt something stronger. John held my hand while I found a lovely place to sit.
Once I was comfortable, he slid in beside me and we watched the tide as it inched toward us.
I dipped my head back and let the cold water reach every part of me.
“Look.” He pointed to the water. In the distance, the fog had started to roll in. He looked disappointed.
“It will probably dissipate, it usually does.”
I shivered when a cool breeze brushed my wet skin.
“I’m getting out. It’s too cold.”
He helped me up and followed me out of the water.
Our little fire had started to die, so he placed a few more pieces of wood on.
The smoke smelled of summer. I put my clothes back on and turned to watch the fog.
John, in just his jeans, came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. He pushed my wet hair aside and began to kiss my neck.
I felt the muscles in my abdomen tighten and closed my eyes.
My skin prickled with goosebumps. We lay down on the blanket next to the fire as the fog gathered above us.
The breeze rattled the leaves on the trees and I lay on my back staring up at the never-ending sky.
John pulled himself closer to me. I didn’t move when I felt his hand slowly undoing each button on my blouse.
I felt the cool air touch my bare skin and let out a deep breath.
John kissed the spot just below my belly button.
There was nothing I was going to say no to in that moment.
I don’t think I could have found the words if I had wanted to.
I reached down and helped him out of his jeans, his brown skin against my freckled white.
I liked the feeling of his lips on my neck, his weight on my body, his knee as he gently spread my legs apart.
I could feel his hardness on my thigh, and I smiled.
He lay on top of me, breathing hard. I could feel his heart beating against my bare chest. He went to roll off and I stopped him.
“No. Stay.”
Sometimes in my dreams I can still see him, that smile, those dark-brown eyes looking down on me, his head haloed by the sun and the sky.
He bent down and touched his nose to mine. “Kesalul, my Aliet.”
“I love you, too.”
The bay inched closer. We could hear the slapping of waves on rock and the wail of gulls as they floated on top of the water.
“I’m going to get dressed. Look at that, the fog is lifting.” I pointed toward the water and John looked away. I grabbed my clothes and disappeared behind some trees, suddenly aware of my nakedness.
Once clothed, I grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around my shoulders before leaning in, toward the warmth of the fire.
John got up and dressed quickly. There was embarrassment between us that I wanted to dispel.
When he sat down beside me, I reached over and entwined my arm in his and laid my head on his shoulder.
“That was nice,” I whispered.