Prompt Reaction # 8
Loosely holding hands, not even aware of doing so, but, still, skin touching skin...The night air is crisp, cold... I can see my breath coming out in white clouds before my face. It's hard to take deep breaths, it's that kind of cold. When I breathe through my nose it tickles, freezing the hairs to little icicles, causing me to automatically rub it; perhaps some element of friction will create enough heat to stop the itch. I can't quite feel my fingers on the inside, though I'm wearing gloves, and my ears are starting to turn the color of a wild strawberry crayola, that sick, false pink, which, by the way, looks nothing like a wild strawberry. Wild strawberries are a dark, almost blood-red; claret. The wind is blowing fiercely, giving way to icy crystals, laying their blanket across the quiet ground. It blisters my cheeks, causes my eyes to tear, and freezes those stinging droplets to my temples and eyelashes. I was a fool to come out here and wait, my hair was wet, and is now frozen solid, like an icy wig atop my head, and these jeans were not made for winter weather. I'm wearing socks and boots, but I can still feel the cold in the bones of my toes. What am I waiting for? I thought if I came out here into the cold, I'd remember and appreciate the warmth I have much better. A memory sits behind my eyes of a warmth so soft and gentle, a warmth so simple and pure that it's almost painful to remember.
As our feet crunched over dead leaves and moss, our voices bounced across the cedar trees even though they were shy and quiet sounds. It was the first time we had ever been alone together. We ran into the woods and ended up in places I'd never seen before. I was wearing my favourite pair of Doc Martens, about 5 or 6 years old and they were still as good as new. They were worn and cracked, as leather can get, but the soles were still there, and not a single hole was in sight, not a single stitch out of place. I followed him through the mud and dirt and all other elements of earth and we sat under a pine, and the sun sparkled through the needles onto the dark soil crunched up by our heels. I remember saying something silly, and throwing my watch, approxiamately 8 feet down the hill, and declaring that I didn't want to know what time it was. It was a strange but incredibly important thing to do, because in a way, it defined everything that we are. When we were done sitting under this tree, we walked farther and deeper into parts of these woods I'd never been, though I'd lived here for a few years, and reached a large stone in the middle of a small clearing. We sat down on it, and I pulled the elastic out of his long, dark hair. It was one of the very first times I'd gotten to see it that way, and I had never really felt it. I remember that sharp intake through my nostrils as the fragrance of those dark waves made there way towards me, and for a moment I thought I had gotten hit in the face. For the first time, I gently pulled my fingertips through those curls, and it was like combing them through silk. The ends were cool, but I could feel the heat of his head warming my hands. I remember the quiet sighs that escaped my lips when I pushed that hair aside, as my hands gently caressed the nape of his neck, and his collarbones. It wasn't something ordinary, it was a dance, and the floor was alive and created a rhythm unknown to time and space. He had told me of the pain he endures everyday, torture amongst those he loves and not a thing done to change the circumstances. At those moments I felt admiration for his loyalties, despite the woe they brought to him. His muscles were knots, day in and day out, and not a thing could be done but sleep the pain away. They weren't just knots and aches, but were mountains, needles in haystacks, and had never once been touched. Now, as we all know, if a knot is left alone, it can almost never be untangled, and these knots won't ever be the soft and pliable muscles they are supposed to be. however, I made my first attempt to let them loose, and lifted his shirt over his head, revealing plains of gold and crimson, and a territory I'd never passed on in all my life. I let my palms rest on the skin between his shoulder blades, and listened to his silent tears. For a moment I was afraid to touch him, afraid to knead the pain away, but I did it nonetheless. I pushed and pulled and untangled those knots as much as I ever could do, until it was nearly dark, and time to go. We stood up from that place and brushed the dirt and leaves from our clothes, and walked away from the one spot, that we haven't been able to find, to this day. As we walked, I felt warm and secure, and almost like I had accomplished something, within myself, and made a place somewhere in his broken heart. The road became cold and the sky, dark and sprinkled with stars as we made our way back home, and we were loosely holding hands, unaware of doing so, but still, skin touching skin, so familiar though I had never done it before.
posted by Kasey @ 11/19/2005 11:34:00 AM
3 Comments:
Yeah, in the end, skin on skin means nothing--we're all just hapless molecules spinning through space, attached to nothing....
Kasey, I'm all confused. Did you say this is a new version? Obviously my old comment no longer makes sense.
My new comment (and it's not quite as dumb as it may seem) is: give us paragraphs. Writing without graffing is a way of telling the reader to buzz off.
What happened to old stuff I commented on--are you deleting stuff? Just be sure in the end for the sake of your grade that everything is up and labelled.
Kasey, this is one of those pieces where I can well understand that you'd want to wall yourself away from your audience behind a wall of no-graffing. This kind of material is very tender--it can't take much comment or much light of day. It's so private that the ordinary kinds of things I might say about it don't want to be said--the privacy of it inhibits the teacher in me.
It's good writing, it's fine writing, it displays yet again as if I needed more proof that you have a fine line in doing this sort of thing. That's all I can say.
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