Читать книгу River of Love - Aimée Medina Carr - Страница 18

Jack and I arrange a night together at The River—one last celebration of bonding under a silver spring solstice moon. I tell my parents I’m spending the night at Cha Cha’s. Sleeping bags, camping stove, and tent are stashed in a secret location. He calls a week before the special night.

“I’ll bring drinks, cookies, and sandwiches from home,” I offer.

“Let’s stack a pile of firewood and make sure there are no surprise visitors,” he said.

The barrage of Mom’s lectures about not trusting men works as a twisted type of birth control. I set an appointment with Planned Parenthood. The nerve-racking visit introduced a woman’s most dreaded torture tool; the speculum. What we do for Love.

On a warm May evening, a bright moon showers a gossamer glow on our transformation. We meet at The River’s entrance and kiss tenderly. First Love, what a sublime marvel. We’ve shared so many first blush experiences together. Spent hundreds of hours talking, exchanging ideas learning and growing. His patience beyond exemplary, he’s proved Mom wrong on so many levels.

We’re giddy and nervous. Jack’s sky blue eyes brim with excitement, he’s squirrelly and talking fast and ready for me to lead the way. We have complete trust and the other’s best interest at heart. I want this to be the happiest day of our young lives. Our hearts bound together.

He understands my difficult, bi-cultural existence: Chicana in a white world. How I shift without missing a beat. A hybrid creature that fits in—he admires my versatility with a smile that sets the world on fire.

“Let’s put the tent up and make a fire while we have light. Oliver sent a pre-bonding gift.” He took a joint out of his shirt pocket.

“Hmmm…something to smoke, what a surprise.” I giggled.

“Super potent doobage from the Hill. Via alumni friends from Boulder, it’s called Joaquín. It’s sold in tobacco cans instead of a three-finger lid. Ollie referred to it as muy primo.”

He puts up the tent, I grab the sleeping bags, camping stove and slip in Martin’s tape in the portable cassette player. The mellow acoustic guitar melody riffles through the campsite. We built a fire together and sit opposite each other. We watch the sudden crests of flame; our excitement building equally. Un Fuego. He stokes the fire, our eyes lock in the pale, gold campfire light. We’re intoxicated by the luminous beauty and waves of euphoria that surround us.

I’m in a turquoise, peasant dress with a white, lacy shawl wrapped around my shoulders staving off the cool night air.

He begins: “The moment I saw you… I’m so grateful for it all. I’ve experienced such joy and happiness, at this Tranquil River flowing through our lives.”

I take a deep breath and squint at the sparkling surface of The River just beyond the campsite—the gentle sound of water lapping, rushing over the rocks, beating against the shore like a heartbeat.

“Our Love is an eternal embrace with beauty that ebbs and flows and nurtures us. You and The River are the most profound miracles that opened up a new world to me.”

He’s off to Tulane University. I have another year of high school. Sadness about to blanket the intimate mood, we rebound quick. “Wanna seal it with a smoke and a glass of Blue Nun?” He prompts cheerfully and pours us two glasses of wine. I force a weak smile through tear-filled eyes.

“Let’s move over to The River.” The large, full moon hangs over the glittering water and springy waves. The gurgling, slop, slop, the sound of energy rushing, flowing like my life at this moment. I inhale the soft breeze of green woodsy and apple blossoms. I glimpse upstream, and on a rock: the Great Blue Heron our avian witness, on this monumental night.

With our glasses of wine, we relax on a large, flat granite boulder close to the riverbed. Jack lights up the joint and passes it to me. “I don’t have to worry about getting too stoned and fumbling my way home.” I sigh. He takes a hit. “Don’t you pass out on me.” He said and smiles.

“Fat chance, I’m enjoying every second with you.” I drink in the way he looks at me like I’m his lucky lodestar.

A wistful song hovers above The River’s slapping sounds. It’s Martin’s—Answer Silence with Silence, a tender melody. Full of the long Knowing of Love, as if written for this exact moment. I jump up, “Please, dance with me.” He puts his glass down, stubs out the joint, envelops me in his arms as we float in the warm blanket of Grace.

A rush of coolness blows past and gives me goosebumps. Jack rubs my arms. “Finish your wine and let’s go to the tent.” I slide into the unzipped opening and jump into his sleeping bag. Mine is next to his. I’m about to give a gift that can’t be given back or undone, so precious and sacred.

I’ve learned to trust The River, the Flow, the Lover. It takes immense confidence in God’s goodness. I accept the risk—to be in the present, to try not to make things happen, to not push The River.

He slides next to me in the sleeping bag. “Are we both going to fit?” He kisses me tenderly. He is such a good kisser. Small things matter and enable Love to thrive—warm vibrations fill the tent.

He slips the dress sleeves down my arms and kisses my breasts as his hands fill up he cups and nips gently. He moves slowly like the earth’s rotation while this profound moment unfolds.

He takes off his jeans and helps me with the rest of my dress. We lay next to each other in our underclothes—so near I feel the bold beating of his heart. Our kissing turns passionate and fervent, about to cross the threshold… the Power of Love, the Spirit comes from an uncontrollable place.

He slides down in the sleeping bag, removes my panties and kisses me down there. He inhales a sublime wisp of musky, amber-vanilla, sweetness sending a quiver through him. While kissing the hollow curve of my stomach, he realizes I’m not moving. “Are you, OK?” He whispers. I cup his head in my hands and laugh, “Yes, I’m so relaxed, I forgot to breathe.” We’re grateful for the comic relief—I kiss him with permission in my movement. I’m untrammeled by fears of being used, pregnancy, inferiority, and self-doubt. I finally, do the most authentic and nourishing act, for, in the end, I answer to no one but my own desire.

He slides on top and with gentle precision enters me . . . In one vast, thousand-fold flashback of every kiss, touch, hours of sharing walks, talks, and laughter-we meld in gladness.

“I’m sorry it took so long to do this,” I confess in the dark.

“Nothing to be sorry about, I wanted to be with you, it’s all that mattered, everything else was a bonus.” A delicious, calm settles over us as we slept in each other’s arms. Our bodies fit perfectly, wrapped together.

The next morning, streaks of warm gold sunlight streamed into the tent. Because we waited, planned, and chose with deliberate precision, we were rewarded by Love’s Larger Knowing that holds everything including freedom from the need to know. It will give us the strength to live with uncertainty—the very definition of Faith.

I’m awake before him, my mind races. How can I be this happy at such a young age? I’d relive this moment and yearn for the naturalness of his physical affection. I lie at his side, cradled and protected in his warmth next to his heart, so Loved.

We’re up early to see the rising of the daybreak star. Wrapped together in a blanket we sit on the same rock as the night before. Our lips raw with Love after giving everything to each other. We watch the orange-streaked, burgundy aurora, welcome the day. The sunrise splendor is the final blessing.

God is in The River, he holds us in the calmness of the morning light. We cocoon in a blanket, Jack’s arms around me. We breathe in the cool, fresh, river scent with hints of honeysuckle, and watch the drifting mist bring forth the morning.

I Love You (Pantoum) Six Indian Languages (Apache, Cheyenne, Hopi, Mohawk, Navajo, Ute & Spanish) Shill nzhoo Nemehotatse Nu’ umi unangwa’ta Avor anosh’ni Nemehotatse Te amo, te quiero Avor anosh’ni Konoronkhwa Te amo, te quiero Tom ho’ ichema Konoronkhwa Tom ho’ ichema Shil nzhoo Tom ho’ ichema Shil nzhoo Tom ho’ ichema