Listen to the Casual Reply: A Collection of Short stories

The Visit

I can see you arriving at my house just as twilight sweeps through the evening air ushering in a cool breeze that carries away the mosquitos who buzz indignantly. I am so happy to see you and bouncing slightly and wondering how to greet you. But you take the edge off by greeting me as always and pull me into your arms. Your familiar bear hug. The bisous of our long time greeting. I feel star struck, it's been forever since I've seen you. And I feel flushed and you smile is so genuine . I love how are you are excitement personified. And I want to drink in this moment and persevere it for later, dissecting each moment as I squirrel it away in my mind. But you have already moved away from me. Bounding to the riverbank, to the chairs awaiting us.

"This is where you take these photos you send," you call over to me as I follow behind you. Am I walking. I seem to have become disassociated from my body. I think I'm floating in a trail of hearts like a Pepé Le Pew cartoon. You want to go down to the dock. I mention that it's not exactly safe, but safety isn't your concern. Once you have an idea it must be accomplished.

You gingerly jump from rock to rock to the pier and take each step in your long strides where I find I would have taken two or three timid steps to your one. You come back when you realize I'm not with you.

We talk aimless as we walk over to the neighbor's dock. The dock slips downwards and you put your arm around me as if you will catch me if I start to fall, but we don't touch. I glance at the twin Adirondack  chairs that are set at the end of the dock. They are rough from being weather beaten and left unsanded. They look like a slow death trap set by a carpenter that had a splinter fetish. Instead we stand and watch the water, leaning on the rails. Consequently, these are also rough.

I preen being in your presence. I cannot believe I am here with you. That you are part of my life. You see my views. You know more about me than you did before, just from being here.

You are rambling about a place this reminds you of, somewhere over seas and long ago. How a fisherman befriended you and gave you a free dinner of their daily catch. Or maybe how you swore you saw a mermaid. It doesn't matter. You are speaking and although I am listening, oh how I am hanging in every word, my eyes are full of light and love for you. I am staring at your mouth, and your eyes, and how strands of your hairs have come loose from the messy bun you formed in whatever rush you were in. I notice how your shirt hangs and how the hair on your chest is a light golden brown and I wonder what it would be like to touch you. But I keep my hands on the railing. And I laugh and repeat what you said and we laugh again.

We sit on the dock, a piece of  two by four railing base is between us. We dangle out legs over the pier snd we talk about the fisherman's in other countries. I laughingly tell the anecdote of traveling to Israel and "having" to  eat fish from the sea of Galilee, but on the way to leave the restaurant we found the delivery truck was from Jordan and how duped we felt and how ill, as none of us wanted to eat fish.

And occasionally I wonder if you look at me the way I look at you. I try not to care. I try to ignore you while I glance over and try to memorize everything.

Your nose is beautifully defined and sharp. It makes me happy because it's your nose and your nose is here in practically my yard. And then I laugh cause you are more than your nose, but it is a nice nose. You were telling me something that might have been serious and my laugh startles you for a second but you grin and continue. It's like you know that I am giddy with you. And maybe you like that.

Maybe you need it the way I need you here. Maybe the both of us needing something from each other is enough. Nothing nefarious need happen, this is enough.

After a while we both get up, slightly awkwardly. Our legs have betrayed us and gone to sleep. And we stumble up and hold to the rail for support as we get our legs back under us. The walk back to my house is timidly slow as we go. Slow going through the pre-dusk darkness. This time when you reach around to save me from a stumble you do brush my elbow and it is like lightning on my skin.

Can I be the only one feeling this way. What do you feel? Tell me all. I must know all the things you feel you desire to share. We head over to the patio and sit in the wrought iron chairs. The air is considerably chillier than it had been at even twilight and I wonder how long we can sit outside. I want you to myself. I don't want to take you in, even to escape the cold. I want to enjoy you in this evening air and to remember you in the moonlight just like this.