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By chris Date: 2006 Jul 15 Comment on this Work [[2006.07.15.14.55.11483]] |
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"Honesty is what it's all about." "You mean honest about everything?" She bowed her head close to her chest, embarrassed. They were both very satisfied with their summer thus far. Satisfied because it was even better than the previous one, which they thought could not be topped. They began to talk in earnest as soon as they stepped off the bus. "Life is sometimes too much, you know?" Said the younger one with the pink barrettes. "I mean, there are times when I just don't care, but other times, all I want to do is leap into those roaring waters and drown myself in their whiteness." She looked relieved to see that her friend didn't think she was strange. Walking the cobblestone streets, they peered into the many store fronts and admired the colorful clothing - tie dye and batik - hanging behind the dusty panes. That day, there was nothing they could not talk about. They then walked across the bridge in the center of town and bounded down the hillside to the bank of the creek, which was flowing higher and stronger than was normal for that time of year. Stepping carefully over the wet and slippery stones, they found a dry, smooth rock for the both of them. A rock for two. The sweltering streets of Manhattan, where they both resided, might never have existed. But the hopelessly blue sky was quite real. A sky for two. The hair on both of their heads was too long. It obscured their eyes, which were very beautiful. Nonetheless, it was a comfortable lapse in personal grooming, for even though it was dreadfully hot, and even though sweat beads dappled both their foreheads, it felt wonderful. "I want to be a poet," the barretted one suddenly said. "Honesty is all it takes," replied her friend with all the certainty in the world. She had just put her hair up and looked cooler already. "Really? I don't know anything about sonnets or Shakespeare's Verse or anything like that." At that, she took out several handwritten poems from her knapsack, which they read for the rest of the afternoon. At some point, the barretted one thought she knew what it all meant: the overgrown fields and dairy farms surrounding them for miles, the blessedly cool creek rushing past their multi-colored canvas sneakers, the two of them. She described what she felt, her friend confirmed it, and they both laughed like there would be no tomorrow. |