Admonition - October 28, 2010

  I spent those nights under clouds and stars, unmoving in a lawn chair, picking at the wick of a candle. Falling asleep to movies; waking to infomercials. Well rested- but somehow not. It was an empty cabin in an empty place. Besides the swimsuit-clad children and spray tan grandmothers- my fellow vacationers, I was very much alone, which was what I needed. I leisured, bubble baths of cheap lavender soap and grainy salts. Snack food dinners and the nightly bottle of wine.

    On the third day of my holiday, a boy of about fourteen took refuge on my porch; a storm had come suddenly and he was caught in it. I called to him through the door.

    “Is someone there?” he hadn’t heard me. The pitter-patter was rhythmic and loud like popping corn.  I opened the door and stuck my head out, that’s when he noticed me and began looking around his feet.

    “Sorry- I was just trying to stay outa’ the rain.” his voice was deep and new, raw with puberty. I looked him over once again and noticed there was a cast on his left leg marked with messy scrawls; the names of concerned family and amused friends.

    “That’s alright, you’re not supposed to get that thing wet, right?”

    “No, it’s only been on two days.” he did not look at me, but I wondered what color his eyes were. I looked out into the horizon where the rain drops were blurring the world together in a frenzy.

    “Well, it’s not going to stop for a while. You want a beer or something?” I relished in that term, or something. I loved how it meant almost nothing, but held infinite possibility at the same time. Something, perhaps a beer or a glass of wine. Perhaps more, or not.

    “Okay.”

    I held the door open and he limped pass me, into the cabin. I was not embarrassed by the mess; I knew- no matter what-  he would be the embarrassed one. I asked how he broke his leg.

    “Um…it was my brother,” he scratched his head, “he pushed me off a trampoline.” There was reluctance to tell me, trampolines were for children.

    He was looking at my butt when I bent into the fridge, I didn’t mind. “Here.”

    He took the beer and opened the can as he would a  soda, he drank a large swig. I almost laughed as he squinted in distaste, he was compensating.  “Are you on vacation too?”

    Nodding, I asked him, “Where’s your family?”

    “They went to the beach, I couldn’t.” he looked back to his cast, back up at me, then to his full beer. “Where’s your family?”

    “I’m on vacation.” I answered.

    Then he chuckled a little. “Vacation from your family?”

    I felt very angry then, I felt like he was judging me. “Sometimes you need to get away.”

    He waited a moment or two, he crossed his arms loosely. “You got kids and a husband and stuff?”

    I wondered if he had found the letter I left at home. It was not much of a letter, but a note attached to the refrigerator door. I wondered if I was torturing him with my absence, or if he had even gone to the rouble to look for me, make a few calls. My phone had not rung once, and  I enjoyed the quiet mystery.  It was as if I had run away from him or something. Something… perhaps I wouldn’t go back, perhaps not. 

    “Yeah, I do. He’s at home.”

    “So, like…you didn’t bring him with you? People don‘t really go camping…alone.” his eyebrow cocked, I hadn’t noticed how sharp they were before.

    “How would you know? I bet that’s the first beer you’ve ever had, I bet you’ve never broken a bone before.” He was right, though. People don’t go camping alone.

    “Sorry, I mean- I didn’t-” his awkwardness was crystallized with familiarity. I had been him before, in a way.

    “Don’t worry about it….you have a lot more beers to drink. A lot more bones to break.”

    He sipped from the can again and looked out my kitchen window. I had been wrong, the rainstorm stopped and the sun was peaking back out from the wall of clouds. “It stopped.”

    He would go, and probably not come back. I had scared him away, I’m sure. He set the beer down and thanked me as if I had offered him great hospitality. He started to limp away.

    “Wait, let me sign it.” I took a permanent marker from the drawer and walked back to him. He swallowed when I dropped to my knees. He twitched when I began writing on his foot. I was overt, desirable, the product of taboo dreams. Now with my signature marked, also I was surely someone he would never forget. I looked up to his face and stared for a moment. His eyes were brown, like my husband’s.

FIN
 

-Kortnee Tilson