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Interlude - John Gardiner

Time together is spent alone. No one can share in the happiness or the sadness, the violence or the peace. And his emotions had torn away at him for these past many months. Even now, as he wanted to reach out beyond himself, to find comfort in those closest to him, he found that such could not be the case. There was no one who could know how he felt. He would perhaps have said he was coming unglued, if, in fact, he had not suspected he was coming unglued. He and his wife had been seat-mates on the school bus back in high school. There was a lot of history between them. She cared. He knew that. But she didn't know. She was oblivious. And he couldn't tell her. For she was not a part of it. So, while they sat together still, and he loved her dearly, and he loved the house they had built when they'd first gotten married, and their two teenage sons, and many of the other things in this life, he felt alone. So terribly and awfully alone. So that he took to going for long walks in the evenings, and he would walk hither and yon through and about the small town where he had grown up, and where they now lived. And he found himself drawn to the haunts of his past -- to the places where he had once been -- to the places he had once known. And one of those places was the railway tracks just outside of town, where he had spent many happy times as a youth. He could well remember hunting frogs in the swamp areas alongside the tracks and skinny dipping in the river that paralleled them, at least during the summer vacations of those long ago times, and especially when the weather was hot and sultry. They had been idyllic hours, so that he found he relished the thought of walking along again in that place. He set out on one of his evening walks, but found that he could not reach as far up the tracks as he would have liked, being forced back by the coming night. So he turned about, but resolved to return to complete the walk. And so it was that he arose early one fine summer's Saturday, packed a sandwich, and made off in that direction again, intent on finding out what he and his friends had discovered there that had made them forget their troubles, such as they had been at twelve or thirteen years of age. He soon cleared the town limits, gulping in huge lungfulls of the fresh, early-morning air, and feeling vibrant and alive as he walked. It was a coolish sort of a morning, but the day ahead would be bright and warm and friendly. That was the feeling he got. Continue >>>

(continuation) He descended the long embankment that stretched down to the railroad line that snaked out from the town, having once been an integral communication link for it, but now having lain dormant for some considerable length of time, because the trains no longer ran in this part of the country. When they had been kids, once in a while they'd had to scamper from the tracks, with the knowledge that a railroad jigger was just around the bend and on its way toward them, and that they were trespassing on private property. They'd lay low in the bushes, watching while it passed, careful not to reveal their presence. No such worries on this day. The tracks were deserted in this time. He smiled as he felt the first of the ties that supported the steel crush into the bottom of his shoe. He took the ties two at a time, taking longer-than-average strides, almost as if he was hurrying away from something, or perhaps toward a better something. And the day began to warm up, after he had been striding for some time, soaking more into the place the farther he went, so that the sweat trickled down his forehead and in little rivulets down the spine of his back. But he luxuriated in the exertion, and walked only harder and faster, as though trying to flush away the moroseness that seemed to fill his system to overflowing in that part of his life he had left behind. And he felt the place seem to grow up around him, and its bushes seemed more tangled and dense than they had been when he'd been young, and he looked down toward the rust-covered rails, and suspected this was no longer a boyhood haunt, having perhaps lost its favour, replaced by the video game. So that by the time he reached the second railway bridge, the one he had known was around a certain bend, he was beginning to tire, so he finally slowed his pace. He felt freedom as he walked out onto the bridge, so that he could see the water of the river moving slowly between the ties. He stopped near the middle of the structure, and looked out over the river. It was almost exactly as he remembered it. He could almost hear the cries of he and his friends, as they splished and splashed in the water, naked and unabashed, and not caring at all about the ways of the world.

And so it was that on that warm, clear summer's morning, he again felt an urge to be completely free of the fetters of the life he felt he had somehow become trapped in. He climbed down off the bridge to the place where they had once had a crude beach. Now, even the space that had been here was overgrown and tangled, so that he had difficulty reaching the water. When he succeeded, he crouched down and gathered up a handful of it, letting it trickle out of his hand. Felt fine.

And he set down the small pack he was carrying, and slipped out of his light jacket, and started to pull away his clothes, so that before much time had passed, he stood naked again on the river's edge. He felt the gentle summer breezes blow over him, closed his eyes and looked toward the sky and the sun, to feel its warmth beating down upon him, bathing him in its glow. Then, he stepped forward into the shallows of the river. He felt the cool muck of the bottom squirm through between his toes, and his first reaction was to recoil, but that would have been a reaction to this place in this time, not to that other time when it wouldn't have been even a consideration, so he continued to wade out until he had reached his waist. He could feel the coolness of the water as it washed by him, passing over him, and around him, and in and out of him. He could feel it bathe each of the hairs on his body as they floated within it. He pushed out into the water, sinking ankle-deep in the muck. He slowly breaststroked out near the middle of the meandering river. And he hung there. Eyes closed. Not moving. Inert. Absorbing the calm he felt. Letting it wash around him with the water.

He stayed in that position, treading water, for some time, slowly moving his arms and legs, just enough to maintain himself. Keeping his eyes closed. The insides of his eyelids looking red from the brightness of the sunlight that illuminated all the world around him; the world that he struggled to keep from coming to this place, and he wished only that he could hear the cries of his friends, so that he could know they were with him, and that they could be together always. But that wasn't the way it was. No, surely not.

Finally, after some time, he opened his eyes. He was facing the railway bridge and found himself looking directly at a young, blonde woman, who was sitting on the edge of the bridge, swinging her legs in mid-air like a young child might do, apparently watching him as he hung motionless in the water.
"I thought I was the only one who came here," the girl said.
"Apparently not," he answered.
"You look at peace," she said.
"I was rather enjoying it," he answered.
"Sorry if I intruded," she said, "but I didn't expect anybody to be here.
I come here myself."
"I used to come here once," he said.
"Mind if I join you?" she asked.
"I'm rather naked," he said.
"I don't mind," she said.

And she seemed to take his comment as an affirmative answer, and he watched as she got to her feet and walked along the bridge, eventually reaching the end of it, and picking her way down through the undergrowth to the edge of the water. He watched her as she slipped out of the jacket she was wearing, and pulled her t-shirt over her head, revealing two smallish, but firm looking breasts. He felt himself go rock hard, even in the coldness of the river water, and was embarrassed even under the cover of the water. And he looked away. Until he heard her enter the water, then he looked back, to see her body slip beneath its surface.

"It's beautiful," she said, and the words seemed to float lightly over the river's rippling skin.
He said nothing, felt only giddy excitement of a kind that had not overcome him since the days of his youth, that she should be so close. He could feel the energy from her, even through the solid fluidity of the water that lay between them.

She smiled a broad, warm smile and he again felt himself aroused beneath the surface of the river. He closed his eyes tightly. Thoughts of his family. His wife. His high school sweetheart.

She came until she was a short distance from him, and then did as he did, treading water, slowly and evenly, near the middle of the river. They watched one another for a brief time. "You said you used to come here," she finally said. "Yea, when we were kids," he explained. "It was kind of a hang-out." "Bare-ass beach," she commented. "Sort of," he said. "We used to use it. And some of the high school girls." "And you used to watch them from the bushes," she accused. "Once in a while," he admitted. There was a brief pause after the exchange. She turned away from him for a minute, slowly revolving in the water. "Man, it's nice," she said, as she came back around to face him. "Yea, it sure is," he answered. And she was gone again. "So, what brings you here today?" she asked on her next pass. "I'm not sure," he answered. "Just felt like I wanted to see the old place again, I guess." "Still the same?" she asked, stopping herself, and remaining motionless across from him. "Pretty much," he said. "A little more overgrown maybe. Doesn't look like this place gets much use anymore." "I come here quite a bit," she said, "and I never see anybody else. Once in a while a few cows up in the field over there." "Strange, eh? This being such a nice place and all," he said. "That's what makes it a nice place," she answered. They hung for a couple of moments longer in silence, she again rotating slowly in the water, holding her arms far out from her sides, so that her fingers seemed to almost touch him as they passed. But he had relaxed, and was rather enjoying her company. She was a rather pleasant young woman. "What brings you to this place?" he asked, finally interrupting the silence. "I like to get away from things," she answered. "It gets too confusing out there. Too many decisions. Too much pressure. This is uncomplicated. This is freedom." And he knew what she meant, but said nothing. Still, even though he was enjoying this time, he could not tread water for eternity, and finally he started to tire, so that he turned toward the shore, giving wide berth to his companion. And soon he was sitting on a log that hung out over the water, near where his clothes were, still naked, surprised that he would reveal himself to her, but feeling no embarrassment at the act, feeling instead relaxed and comfortable as he allowed the warmth of the mid-day sun to dry him. She floated lazily near the centre of the river, eyes closed, apparently within herself. He found himself smiling at the innocence that seemed contained in the expression on her face. He was hungry and remembered the sandwich. "I have a sandwich," he called out to her. "Are you hungry?" "That would be great," she answered, opening her eyes, and turning in his direction. "We could have a picnic," she added, smiling. He returned the smile. "I guess we could," he admitted. Continue >>>

(continuation) And it was only a minute and she had reached the shore and was standing out of the water, water running off of her. He couldn't help but see the taut firmness of her body, as she also made no effort to cover herself. "And where shall we have this picnic?" he asked. "Just up in the field," she suggested. He climbed down from the log and started to reach for his clothes. "Just bring your jacket to sit on," she said. He looked at her with a look of questioning on his face, but did as she said. Picked up his small bag containing the lunch and walked naked behind her toward the field. Naked and unabashed. The lunch was a meager one, so they finished it in short order, and were soon sitting, basking in the warmth of the summer sun. She turned on her back and leaned back on her elbows, so that the sun shone directly onto her face, and closed her eyes, almost as if worshipping that which provided all life to their world. He found himself watching her, his eyes exploring the bronzed smoothness of her well-toned body. She was petite, but perfectly formed, and he could almost feel the silken softness of her. He had remained relaxed and calm and taken little notice of their nudity during the repast, but now she lay so close to him that he thought he could feel her energy reaching out to him, wisping over him, encircling him. He felt himself growing and was embarrassed for the first time since the river. So, he took his eyes from her, turning them instead skyward, into the cloudless blueness of that vast expanse. But, still, he could feel her. Then, he felt her hand touch him. "Penny for your thoughts," she said softly, and he looked back to her, and he could feel nothing but the blood racing through him. "I'm not sure," he said, again looking away, with some feeling of anguish. "I think you are," she said, and again her voice was soft and thick. And her hand held him, and she turned toward him, moving closer, so that they touched. He leaned forward, reaching for her, and they kissed, slowly and deliberately, as he put his arm around her, pulling her closer still. They lay side by side on the jackets in the field, and she took his hand and held it to touch her. He sought her out and gently felt her, as they kissed again and again, reaching into one another. He moved over her, and she took him and put him in her. He felt the warm comfort of her around him, pulling all of him into her, so that there was no without. And in that moment, he wanted for nothing. All of life was fulfilled. And there was little more.

They finished the act, and he held her tightly in his arms, afraid that she would somehow be pulled from him, and that he would lose her forever, into the mists of time, where went all others. She kissed him lightly on the side of his face.

"I knew what was on your mind," she said softly.
He looked at her. She was smiling.
"I guess you did," he answered, reaching forward and gently running his fingers through her golden hair.
"It was good," she said.
"Yea," he answered, but for the first time other feelings started to intrude where only warmth and comfort had been. Guilt gripped him.

He pulled away from her, and sat up, looking away.
"What's wrong?" she asked, also sitting up, putting a hand on his arm.
"Christ, " he said with a trace of anger in his voice, "I'm married. I shouldn't have done this."
"This was probably the most natural thing you've done since you were a kid," the girl said. "I don't think there was anything wrong with it at all."
"You haven't got a wife," he said.
"I've got a fiancee," she answered.
"Really," he remarked, looking over at her with renewed interest.
"And what would he think if he knew?" he asked.
"He'd likely disown me," she said. "But he won't know, unless you tell him."

There was a brief pause in the conversation.
"I don't do this sort of thing every day, you know," she continued. "I'm normally a very good girl," she added with a bit of sarcasm in her voice.
"I didn't mean to say you weren't," he said, and he felt somewhat better about what had happened, knowing she had another she cared for as well.
"First time you've ever done anything like this," she more said than asked.
"Oh, yea," he sighed. "Never even looked at another woman in eighteen years of marriage."
"Still, it was great," she said, reaching over and taking his hand.
"Yea, it was," he admitted. "It was really great." He gave her hand a firm little squeeze and leaned over and gave her a light kiss on the forehead.

They sat for a moment in silence.
"So, what's bothering you?" she finally asked.
"What do you mean?" he asked, re-directing the question.
"Well, I wouldn't think you go skinny dipping by the railway bridge every Saturday," she said.
"No," he said, "that would be the truth."
"So?" she asked.
"Oh, I don't know," he said, looking away from her. "I guess my life is just catching up with me."
"What do you mean by that?" she asked.
"I don't know," he said, his brow furrowed as if a heavy matter weighed on his mind. "It's just that I'm not sure what it's all about anymore."
"Life, you mean?" she asked.
"Yea," he answered. "A couple of guys I sort of knew have died in the last little while. Young guys like me, if you consider someone my age young."
"Good friends?" she asked.
"No, not really," he said. "Just guys who were in high school the same time as I was. I guess it's just got me thinking about my mortality. And I feel like I'm doing this alone."
"What?" she asked.
"Living," he answered.

There was another pause in the conversation. "Have you talked to your wife about how you feel?" the girl asked. "No," he said. "She wouldn't understand. She's all caught up in looking after the house and the kids. She doesn't think about things like this. It's too stupid. That's what she'd say. She's so practical." "You might be surprised," the girl said. "I'm sure she'd be very concerned if she knew something like this was bothering you." "Yea, you're probably right," he said, "but I'm not sure she'd understand. I stood there looking at that last guy laying there in the casket, and I thought how awfully alone it must be for him. No matter how close you are to people, no matter how many friends you've got, no matter how long you've been married, or how many kids you've got, you live this life alone. No one can know how you feel. No one comes into it with you and no one goes out of it with you. It's a kind of a sad thing." "But life isn't a sad thing," she said. "I'm not sure you'd say that if you'd seen that dead guy's wife and kids," he said. "That was a sad thing." "He lived his life," she said. "He likely had a happy life. He lived and he died. That's what we all do." "But he had so much life left to live," he said. "No, his time was up," she said. "All of us get so much time, and when it's up, it's up. Do you think he'd rather not have lived at all, than to have lived and died at a young age? Do you think his wife had rather she'd never met him, or that his kids would rather not have had him as a father?" He sat, as if pondering the questions she'd asked. She leaned up to him and kissed him lightly on his cheek. "Imagine that you died tomorrow," she said. "Would you rather not have lived? You've had 18 years of marriage to someone who loves you. You've got kids who love you. I think you've done alright." "How did you get to be so wise?" he asked, smiling down at her. She smiled back up at him, and for the first time since they'd been talking, he noticed her nakedness, the beauty of her smooth softness, and he ran his hand gently over her, following the curves of her body. She responded to his touch and came closer to him. "Christ, what a day," he sighed, and he pulled her into him, so that he felt her against him again. And they made love again. This time more slowly, more deliberately. Then, they lay again on the jackets in the field, wrapped in each other's arms. Feeling contentment and peace. Caring for little else. He wasn't sure how long they'd lay there when finally he felt her stir. "Up for another swim?" she asked, pulling slightly back from him. He felt disappointment at the question, knowing that this idyllic time was at an end, and that there would be no way to recapture it ever again. "Sure," he answered. Continue >>>

(continuation) So they slowly got to their feet, gathered up their jackets, and he the small lunch bag, and they made for the river. And this time, they did more swimming than they had done on the previous occasion, so that by the time they left the water, he felt a relaxed tiredness throughout his body. There was sadness as he put on his clothes and watched her dress. Sadness that it had ended. But there was also happiness. Happiness that it had happened. "I don't suppose we should leave together," he said, as they stood on the railway bridge, preparing to part. "I'll walk back through the fields," she said. "I'll take the tracks," he said. And he reached forward and took her in his arms again, for the last time, and he held her close, feeling the soft curves of her body as they molded to him. "God, you're beautiful," he said, as he held her. She said nothing, but looked up at him and gently smiled. And so they parted, she through the fields, and he along the tracks. He watched her grow tinier and tinier and finally disappear from view. And he wondered who she was, and where she had come from, and where she went. But he smiled as he walked. He was glad to be alive -- glad he had come this way in life. He, of course, said nothing to his wife. But, as he walked into the kitchen of the house they had built when they were first married, he swept her up in his arms, and passionately kissed her. "I love you," he told her, and he meant it. "And I love you," she said back, and it was obvious from her tone that she too meant it. And he resolved that he would get closer to her, if such was possible after eighteen years of marriage. And she saw the change in him, but she never told him, content that all was well in their lives. And it was. He saw the girl from the railway tracks a couple of times afterwards, as might be expected when both lived in such a small town. But nothing was said between them. But he felt contentment and peace as she smiled knowingly at him. He never went back to the tracks. There was no reason.

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