by Joey Bush
“I didn’t know you have a brother,” Dane says.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “Whenever one of his favorite bands would come to the state, I was the only twelve year old girl in the crowd. I never really loved it the way he did, but it helps me feel close to him again.”
“Where does he live?” Dane asks.
“He doesn’t,” I answer.
Maybe that was a bit blunt.
“He died in a car accident when I was seventeen. Some jackass on a cellphone crossed the middle lane.”
“I’m sorry,” Dane says.
I shrug. “It is what it is. Anyway, I think I’ve had about all I can handle for now. What do you like?”
“You mean music?” he asks.
“No,” I mock, “what do you like in general? For instance, bees: natural wonder or an abomination that the bible forgot to denounce?”
He laughs.
“I usually just listen to whatever’s on top forty.”
I gag.
“What?” he asks. “Those songs are on the top forty because that’s what most of the people in the country listen to. Are you saying everyone’s wrong?”
“Absolutely,” I tell him. “Top forty is the same crap that’s been rehashed and rehashed since the seventies. The only difference is that most of the quote unquote artists on the top forty now don’t play their own instruments or enter a studio without making sure the auto tune is cranked up to eleven.”
“I like it,” he says.
“You know what’s happening here?” I ask.
“What?”
“We’re sitting here and out of nowhere, you’ve become the scared little girl. That’s what’s happening.”
He laughs. “What? Just because I don’t like music with someone grunting over the top of it I’m a scared little girl?”
“Well, yeah,” I answer. “Next, you’re going to tell me that fights during a hockey game distract from the integrity of the sport.”
He mumbles something and I turn the radio down.
“What was that?” I ask.
“I don’t like hockey,” he says.
“Oh my god,” I gasp. “We’re in a relationship and I’m the man.”
“Whatever,” he says with a chortle.
“So, where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise,” he says.
“You do know where we’re going, right? I mean, you’re not going to pull over and ask some old lady for directions like a girl, are you?”
All in all, he takes the teasing in stride.
That said, as we leave the city behind, I really am starting to wonder exactly where we’re headed.
“I have a confession to make,” I tell him.
“Yeah?” he asks. “What’s that?”
“I, uh,” I stammer.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know where you’re from,” I tell him. “Where did you grow up?”
“No thanks,” he said.
“No thanks?” I ask. “Were the winters cold in No Thanks, or was it soothingly temperate?”
“Where are you from?” he asks.
“Nuh uh,” I say. “Not only did you dodge my question, but you asked yours without a single ounce of shame for not knowing where your long-time roommate and new girlfriend came from. Try again.”
“Come on,” he says, “it’s embarrassing.”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” I tell him. “You don’t get to choose where you grow up, why would you be emb—oh my god.”
“What?” he asks. He’s visibly nervous.
“There’s only one place I can think that you would actually make you embarrassed.”
“Let’s talk about something else,” he says.
“You’re from New Jersey, aren’t you?”
He scoffs. “New Jersey? Are you kidding me? You know how I feel about—okay, yeah, I’m from New Jersey.”
I couldn’t stop laughing if I tried.
“It’s not that big a deal,” he says. “Like you just said, you can’t choose where you’re from.”
“It’s not that,” I cackle. “I’m just trying to understand why you talk so much crap on the state you’re from? Is it supposed to be Manhattan camouflage or something?”
“Well, yeah,” he says. “When I first moved to the city, I made the mistake of telling a few people that I’m from Jersey—”
“You even call it Jersey!” I howl.
He waits very patiently for my mirth to die down before continuing.
“Yeah, that’s about the response I got. I don’t get why it matters so much, New Jersey’s not that bad,” he says. “Yeah, New York City is awesome, but so is Trenton.”
“You know I don’t care that you’re from New Jersey, right?” I ask. “I’m willingly moving there.”
“Yeah,” he says, “I know. I guess it’s just easier to talk shit on Jersey. But where are my manners?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Where are you from?”
“Oh, that’s really not important,” I tell him.
“Come on,” he prods, “you had a good laugh at the expense of my home state. It’s only fair to share in the misery.”
“I can’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not from any of the states.”
I can feel the car slow as he turns to look at me.
“Where are you from?”
I sigh.
“It’s not that I’m ashamed of it. Really, it’s not. I’ve just had about the same experience telling people where I’m from that you’ve had telling people you’re from Jersey.”
I think my renewed laughter is killing any sympathy I might receive.
“Go on,” he says.
“You see, the difference here is that I don’t talk crap about where I come from, I just don’t bring it up.”
“Oh, will you just tell me.”
“Fine,” I say. “I’m from Waterloo.”
“Iowa?” he asks.
“Ontario.”
He’s unusually quiet.
“Canada?”
“Yeah,” I tell him. “It’s actually a really nice place to live.”
“People listen to death metal in Canada?”
And so the hilarity begins.
“People listen to all kinds of music in Canada,” I tell him.
“Wait, wait,” he says, trying to regain his composure. “Say ‘about.’”
“About.”
He’s disappointed and it’s lovely.
“I’m sorry, were you expecting something else?”
“I thought you were going to say a boat or a boot. I thought you people had a real problem with that word.”
“What do you mean, ‘you people?’” I ask, feigning offense.
He flips on his turn signal.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“We’re in New Jersey,” he says defiantly.
“Yeah, I got that from the road signs. I mean, where are we going?”
He seems rather proud of himself. “We are going camping,” he announces.
“Camping?” I ask. “I really don’t think I’m prepared for that sort of thing.”
“Not to worry,” he says, “I have everything we’re going to need in the trunk.”
“You’ve been planning this for a while, haven’t you?” I ask.
“A few days, yeah,” he says.
I’m a little nervous, but it is quite the gesture.
We exit the freeway and drive for a little while, death metal still droning quietly in the background. Either Dane’s forgotten about it, or he’s just that into me.
Eventually, we pull into a campground in what’s called South Mountain Reservation. There are a few occupied spots, but all in all, it’s pretty quiet here.
After we get everything unpacked, one thing becomes painfully clear: he forgot to pack a tent.
He offers to run into the nearest town and pick one up, but it’s already getting late and I’m
tired.
The air is warm enough, and we have plenty of bug spray, so we just unroll our sleeping bags and spend the night under the stars.
As tired as I am, I can’t keep my eyes closed. The sky is filled with more stars than I remember existing.
For all its simplicity, getting to know Dane a little better and lying under such a bright canopy, this is quite probably the best night of my life.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Eyes of the Morning
Leila
My peaceful sleep is shattered by the piercing cacophony of an alarm clock.
With my eyes still closed, I reach over to hit the snooze button before I realize I’m not in my bed.
Dane is already up, and he’s quick to silence the alarm.
“Sorry about that,” he says. “I forgot to turn that off.”
I rub my eyes and look around.
The sky is growing brighter, but the sun’s not up yet. It looks like it won’t be up for a while.
“You know,” I tell him. “I love the camping idea, but I’m not so much for the early morning.”
“It’ll be worth it,” he says, “trust me. Are you hungry? I packed some food. We still have a bit of time before we need to get going.”
“Get going?” I ask. “Tell me they don’t actually kick people out of here this early in the morning.”
“No,” he says, “nothing like that.”
“Then why the hell am I getting up so early?”
He smiles.
“It’s a surprise.”
I don’t so much stand as I roll and stumble to my feet. Dane pulls a peanut butter sandwich out of the cooler and hands it to me.
We eat and Dane sprays us both with some more bug spray.
“We should probably get going,” he says. “It’s going to be a bit of a hike to where we’re headed.”
“And where are we going?” I ask again.
I realize I’m pestering him, but he’s the one who set the alarm for the pre-break of dawn wakeup.
“Just trust me,” he says. “I promise it’ll be worth it.”
For now, I trust him, but this better be going somewhere. In case it’s not apparent, I’m really not a morning person.
He puts on a backpack and we walk down the dirt path a while until we come to a trail. As I squint to see what’s written on the sign, Dane covers my eyes with his hands.
“No peeking,” he says.
“You know that I’m probably not going to be able to hike very well if I can’t see, right?”
“It’s just until we get past the sign,” he says. “It’ll give away the surprise.”
I walk slowly and can only hope that there aren’t too many signs along our way. This is pretty ridiculous.
After what feels like ten minutes of walking—probably closer to two—Dane removes his hands.
We hike on the main trail for a while before the sound of water gives Dane away.
It’s not quite sunrise, and he’s taking me to a waterfall.
I want to kiss him and praise him for his thoughtfulness, but he’s so adamant that it be a surprise, I don’t say anything about it.
“How are you feeling?” he asks and my heart skips in my chest.
“I’m feeling great,” I tell him.
“You sure?” he asks. “You seemed pretty tired back at camp.”
I shrug.
“I woke up,” I tell him.
As the sun comes ever closer to peeking over the horizon, my pace naturally quickens. Not knowing exactly where we’re going, I grab Dane’s hand to give me direction.
Ahead, there’s a sign for Hemlock Falls, and I feel myself growing warm at the thought.
“Oh shit,” he says. “Don’t look.”
“Okay,” I say, covering my eyes.
“You saw it, didn’t you?” he asks.
I remove my hands. “Yeah,” I tell him. “Trust me, though, it’s still a wonderful surprise.”
“Here’s another one,” he says. “That’s not where we’re going.”
“It’s not?” I ask. “Then why didn’t you want me to look?”
“Well, the cat’s out of the bag on the waterfall part of it, but we’re going somewhere a little further off the main path,” he says.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I found it one summer when my family camped up here. I’ve never heard anybody talk about it, but I know I’m not the only person who’s found it.”
“How do you know?” I ask.
“Well, for one, I’m not that profound a wilderness explorer,” he laughs. “For two, there’s a little handmade sign near the plunge pool. It’s called Winterberry Falls.”
The sky is getting brighter by the minute, and both Dane and I are jogging now.
He leads me down a tiny dirt path that all but disappears after the first hundred feet or so, but we keep going.
I can hear the water in the distance, and my heart is pounding in my chest.
“We’re almost there,” he says, but I don’t see anything.
It’s light enough that I should be able to pinpoint where the waterfall is, but for the life of me, I don’t know where we’re going. I can hear the roar of the water, but it seems to be coming from a great distance.
“Just a little further,” he says.
We’re lost. This is just great. After the way I teased him yesterday, he’s probably going to drag us both deeper into the woods until we can’t find our way back before he admits he doesn’t know where…
Just ahead, the ground drops sharply. Dane’s pace slows and we veer to the left, avoiding the steepest part of the slope.
“Do you trust me?” he asks, stopping in his tracks.
“I trust you,” I tell him.
“How much?”
“Enough,” I answer.
“Close your eyes,” he says, taking my hand.
I close them.
He leads me slowly down the embankment, taking care to tell me what kind of terrain is in front of my every step.
My eyes aren’t closed very long before the ground levels beneath my feet and Dane steps behind me.
“All right,” he says.
I open my eyes, and there, directly in front of me is the waterfall. The pool at the bottom is rather calm as the flow of water is somewhat light. There’s a deep alcove behind the waterfall which seems to be the reason the waterfall sounds so loud from where we’re standing.
On this side of the current is a little handmade sign with the words “Winterberry Falls” scrawled across it.
“Get in,” he says. “I’m right behind you.”
The waterfall isn’t very tall, but it’ll more than enough for me to comfortably stand underneath it.
I step to the edge of the water and unbutton my pants. I take off my clothes, piece by piece and shiver a little in the cool morning air.
Naked now, I take my first step into the pool.
The water’s cool, but not freezing.
The rocks beneath my feet are smooth from decades of erosion, and I slowly make my way into the falling water itself.
Although it’s not a deluge, the water presses me down in a firm massage. It’s when I turn around and come out of the current enough to see that I want to cry.
Ahead of me is the stream issuing from the waterfall, and the trees are sparse around it. Directly ahead is the brightest spot on the horizon, the patch of sky where the sun is going to make its appearance, and the clouds above are already turning shades of purple and pink with the closing proximity of the sunrise.
It quickly becomes obvious that sex in the waterfall is going to be a bit much to handle with the force of the water itself, but only a few feet into the alcove is a mostly smooth, mostly flat rock.
I walk over to it and turn back toward the opening. There’s a good deal of mist, but the colors of the coming sunrise are bright enough from back here to fill me with a dual sense of peace and excitement.
“What do you think?”
Dane calls from the other side of the falling water.
“I think this would be a lot better with some company,” I tell him.
A few seconds later and he’s naked beside me, placing an already soaked towel onto the rock just behind me.
“It might be a little cold,” he says.
“That’s okay,” I tell him and, as the mist surrounds us and the sunrise grows more intense, I wrap my arms around him, saying, “I love you, Dane. Thank you.”
He smiles and I kiss him tenderly.
This moment is peace and romance and sex at once, and I lie down on the towel, wincing slightly until the towel absorbs my heat and Dane’s on top of me now, his hair dripping wet.
I reach down between his legs and feel him.
He’s already hard.
I’m dripping wet.
He slides into me easily and I’m immediately plunged into a new realm of existence where there is nothing but sensual pleasure inside and all around me.
He leans forward, kissing me softly and as he pulls away, I can’t hear the words, but his lips say, “I love you.”
I wrap my legs around him, pulling him into me deeper as the first glimmer the sun catches the water, forming prisms of light, casting colors in the spray of the waterfall.
The water is cold on my skin, but Dane is so warm inside me.
My arms are around him, his skin so fluid against mine.
His warmth fills me, and as the first half of the sun comes above the horizon through the translucent distance, I start to quiver.
With his body firmly, but gently pressed on and into mine, I gasp as my body becomes so incredibly sensate that every drop of water coming over the falls, every particle and wave of light passing through grows into me.
My breasts push tight against him with every deep breath, and my eyes are watering as the surge permeates my body, making me feel, for a moment, immortal.
I hardly notice when my eyes close, I’m so aware of every tattered piece of touch.
My own voice echoes in the alcove and is washed away by the rushing torrent so close I can taste it.
When my eyes open again, Dane is smiling above me.
I move my mouth, but can barely form the words.
He leans in closer.
“Pick me up,” I tell him.
My limbs encompass him so tight, so completely and he lifts me with ease. Being a true gentleman, he turns so I’m looking at the sky over his shoulder, and I kiss his neck as this beautiful man brings my fantasies to life.