Thursday, August 27, 2009

** & he says, "I could take you out on the boat."

I love—LOVE in tall letters, LOVE written with sparklers in twirled letters across the night—that I have a boy with a boat. A boat big enough for two, parked next to the garage on its trailer, with its faded yellow-painted interior & two benches inside. (One for me, and one for him, theoretically... but it's us, and so it's one for two, the other to catch the glow of the sky.)

The sky is halfway to sunset as we glide off across the lake, rippling with fall-tinged breezes that set the mirrored surface into tiny peaks. Our water-bound chariot has a tiny motor, 2 m.p.h. at best, but on a night when the sky is fading from purple-pink to ink black and you can feel summer slipping through your fingertips... you don't need, nor want, any faster than that.

It's calming, like the boat is holding us in its arms, rocking us back and forth. The water splashes, gently lapping up the sides; the motor hums, slicing trails through the surface; the silence is only broken when my love realizes I'm almost positive the boat is going to flip over & he devilishly grins as he stands and insists,
"But I need to get something... OVER HERE."

The same eyes I melted into at 13 crinkle as he smiles at me; black Jager hat atop his head, his feet in the Zen text sandals against the bottom of the boat. We're trolling back toward the center of the lake from a quick detour near a buoy, and I marvel at the way his arms around me still feel the same. How, even 10 years & a heartbreak & two houses of sin & thousands of chapters in between, the simple act of being tucked into his arms still is infused with the same allure.
Still feels the same.

My curves finding his, the way feet slip into summer's-old flip flops and immediately fall back into the spots you've worn down.

I've always found my center around water, despite the fact I have no patience for baths. I need water that stretches out ahead of me, that reflects the stars & that catches my thoughts as they spin outward.

Sometimes, I need an ocean; usually, this lake suffices. It's a lake into which I've spilled equal amounts of secrets and sorrows—sitting in a darkened car next to it with my love, standing heartbroken against the dock railing with an empty-feeling ring clutched in my hand, casting kissing shadows against it on hand-held walks.

& now we have a new memory to add to our list; of a peachy pink sky above and the gentle ripples below. Of intertwined fingers and interlocked lips, surrounded by the closest thing we can get to the sea in our land-locked corner of the world.

These are the memories, tinted with summer sunsets, that I hold closest.

~The Second Mate

**Guest Blogger


Sazaran said...

W-o-o-o-o-w, Guest Blogger! Puh-lease tell me you're going to write a book some day and I won't have to rely on Stephenie Meyer, alone, to quench my craving for colorful romance. PUH-LEASE! :)

Amazing. It's all I can say. Oh, and WRITE ANOTHER ONE.

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