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A River Can Be As Frisky As Telescopes


The coffee was boiling over. I hurried to clasp its warmth and absorb it into my system, stimulate what's left of my senses. It seems that the sky has lightened; god, did we really stay awake all night. Well - perhaps awake is too strong a word - suffice it to say that I lived through many, many hours, and now had great need of a squeegee for my eyes. Coffee must do.

Our vocal cords are like violin strings - until one masters the playing, the intonations are uneasy, cautious. My hands shake - I am no mistress of my tongue. A finger slips into the warm fold of black liquid and tests its heat. The music on the radio rises into my soul and offers its lazy condolences. Sleep - what's sleep when you've got a whole highway in front of you, and a whole new light to follow. A smile made its way to the corners of my mouth. I scratched my neck, remembering what tongue had been recently there, and yawned ungraciously.

Rediscovering him that night was like peeling away at the skin of an onion: layer by layer we revealed ourselves, slyly glancing at the cards we held and trying not to expose too much at one go. The conversation skittered around our lives - after all, there was an extreme amount of catching up to do, almost too much to do in one evening. The clock read three in the morning by the time we reached my place, quietly intruding into the pre-dawn bedroom, snuffing out any doubts about each other. I could not say anything; my voice had lost its attraction, its ability to move coherently. I clicked on my lava lamp (after all, that was what we were really there for - to look at my nifty new lava lamp) and sat on the floor, not wanting to think about the large, soft bed or his solid body against mine. Not yet. It would come, eventually.

He looked at me first, with eyes that sought me out, settled me down. His fingers moved to my sides, sweeping down the length of my ribcage to my thighs, firmly caressing me with strokes of fire. We stood on our knees and kissed for what was a long time, for what we were trying to say to each other. His tongue darted quickly in my mouth as a hello and I responded in neighbourly fashion. My whole body twitched. William Hurt looked on, stone- faced, from an inverted position behind the door. The light of the lava lamp cast a burnished glow on our skin, what of it was exposed.

I thought of how close we were, or weren't, as friends. I thought of how I had known him for two years and never gotten to talk with him at length about anything. I sought out each memory I had of him, every sentence or passing word. I marvelled at the sensuousness of his touch, wondered if I would feel it again, for purely physical purposes. It was nights like these that made martyrs out of my emotions (who were on the warpath as we kissed). They were chasing me - like to have run off, run away. Out of this, this warmth which I deserve? - certainly not. And as I moved my face lower, and lower, and heard soft sighs in response, I vowed to bathe in this glow for a long, long time to come.


kelly_garner@unc.edu


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