Hey

A short story originally written on February 6, 2012.

What a beautiful day it’s been. The trees are still bare, with their skeleton branches reaching out to the blue sky, mottled with white puffy clouds. It has been a while since I’ve been here. I’ve had a rough bunch of weeks and I needed it, that break this place gives my mind and my spirit. I walked about for a few hours taking it all in with photographs here and there, but now I’m on a wooden bench, nestled among the bushes and trees just off the well-worn path.

I find it easy to be present here. The birds and squirrels are dancing about in the spring like weather. The air is fresh and the sounds are crisp. I’m sitting with my legs stretched out, right foot crossed over the left at the ankles, arms draped on the back of the bench and my head pitched back as I look up into nowhere. I’m breathing slowly, absorbing all the sounds and smells and the snap of a little twig … then “hey.”

I figured I was daydreaming, because that’s sometimes what I do. A faint smile comes to me as I go there again, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. “Hey” again. I lift my head and there she was in the middle of the path. There was a bit of a side glance, her hair just a bit over her left eye and that smile. I sit up and “hey” back with a growing smile as I realize this isn’t a dream.

I invite her to join me and have a seat. She declines and stays in the path. Her purse is slung over her right shoulder and a camera around her neck, held steady with her left hand. My camera was sitting next to me. We both look at each other for a bit, then we get cordial with a simultaneous, “How are you doing?” We both laugh as I stand, walk to her and we give each other a familiar hug. I reach back to grab my camera and ask with all the charm I can muster, “Heading anywhere in particular?” Another laugh as we start to slowly walk nowhere.

We walk quietly for a bit then I stop, rubbing the back of my neck like the little school kid I can be, especially around her. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her. We both love this place so it should be no coincidence that we bumped into each other, even though it’s not happened before, at least not without purpose. I step in front of her, turn and look into her eyes. I’m not staring, but looking.

With me faster this time, “So how are you doing?” “I’m good.” she says. We could communicate so well, talking about anything, yet there’s awkwardness there. We have our eyes locked into our eyes, speaking volumes in the silence. I turn to start walking again. I was waiting to hear, “And you?” when instead I heard “why” come from her. Without turning, “Why what?” was the best I could come up with.

“You know.”

“No, I don’t ... why what?”

I turn back to her and look into those eyes. She continues, “You do know what I mean. Why?” We’re standing in the middle of the path a few feet from each other. I could hear her breathe. I could see her breathe. “I’m not a mind reader, so you’re going to have to be more specific.” This time she turns her head. Not away, like she’s trying to decide if this goes on.

“Why do you … (she pauses) … how can you still love me?”

There it was. Shit, now what do I say? I could run and hide. Sure, that would be a brilliant response. I look through the trees and up into the sky, hoping for help. My right hand is on the back of my neck again, rubbing like on the magic lamp, trying to coax the Genie out of the bottle with an answer that makes sense to her and to me. Finally, after several minutes and before she asks again, I say, “How do you breathe?” Great! I answer a question with a question.

I can tell she didn’t like that as she pointedly says, “Don’t play games!”

I say I’m sorry and that this isn’t a game. More protracted silence, I ask again, “How do you breathe?”

She quickly snaps, “You just breathe until you stop breathing. Then you’re dead.”

Another long pause from me and again, “But how do you breathe? How does it happen? Do you know why?”

Her irritation is obvious as she now rambles on in a staccato about it being an autonomic reflex, diaphragm, nervous system and lungs, where the body just breathes and, “There is no why or how. It just is.”

Then her face and body shows she gets it. She knows. I know. I look at her, shrug my shoulders a bit and add, “… it just is.”