The '49 Indian

by Craig Moody

  “Too bad the folks down at the community pool don’t agree.”

  He watched my face, anticipating a reaction before bursting into an authentic fit of his own laughter. I wasn’t sure if I was laughing too or simply staring, the enormity of emotion that surrounded me as sealed as the lake water’s seamless grip across every inch of my bare flesh.

  “So, my new neighbor, Dustin,” he stated, gathering his voice from the exhausted spiral of his laughter. “Tell me about yourself. Who is this mysterious person I am swimming butt-ass naked with?”

  For the first time in my life, I was truly speechless. I didn’t know what to say. The unbelievable reality of the present was so overwhelming and surreal that my brain seemed to have lost its ability to form words and thoughts, much less express a relevant and coherent understanding of who I was as a person. In truth, I wasn’t quite sure if even I knew who I was anymore. Alive in this moment, I felt born again. The sudden events of the past few days had ignited something within me that I was unfamiliar with yet soulfully aware of. It was almost as if that first encounter with Gauge had flipped some unseen switch, an inner gear that was shifted from a careful, casual coasting, to a dangerous, speeding acceleration.

  “Well,” I began, my voice cracking from the weight of my nerves, “I was born and raised here. In that house…the house you saw.”

  I felt myself growing more tense and red beneath the grandeur of the sailing silver moon.

  “I live there with my folks. No brothers or sisters or anything.”

  I watched as Gauge eagerly absorbed my words, the reflection of my face within the darkness of his eyes vibrant and three dimensional.

  “We don’t even have a dog or anything.”

  I felt so stupid. My words fell from my mouth as clumsily and uncertain as a baby giraffe standing and walking for the very first time. Still, I could feel Gauge’s interest pulling and tugging at my brain like a curious toddler, fully focused and present in the world that surrounded him.

  “Cool, man,” he replied cheerfully when my fumbling words ceased to continue. “I was born here too. Only, my folks didn’t stay together. My mom took off when I was just a lil’ tyke, and my dad bounced me around with him till the cancer took him.”

  His eyes faded into the shallows as the shimmering glimmer of the glowing lake water dimmed into the darkness. I felt his energy sink into the water below us.

  “Good thing for my aunt, man,” he continued, his voice solemn and heavy. “She really saved me. I was in pretty bad shape after Pop passed.”

  I could feel the stride of our legs slow in unison, the churning vibration of the water falling into a rhythmic sync that seemed to ease my nerves and calm Gauge’s self-conjured sorrow.

  Without thought, I felt myself inch closer to him in the water.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my kicking legs now centimeters from his.

  “Nah, man,” he replied, his voice lifting as the reflection of my moonlit face again filled the deep pools of his eyes. “It all happens as it’s meant to, right?”

  With that, he dropped below the surface and into the depths beyond. I felt his presence disappear from the sphere of liquid that surrounded me. Suddenly, the uncertainty of what lurked beneath us began to creep into my imagination. A laundry list of Everglades creatures began to scroll through the darkness of my mind like the opening sequence of Star Wars.

  Without warning, Gauge rocketed out of the water, his shoulders sliding between my slow- kicking legs, forcing them into a sitting position. I felt him stumble and struggle to find his footing along the slimy bottom of the steeply descending lake bed. With a few wobbled hops, he pushed his full height from underneath the rippled liquid mirror and stood with the water now level with his knees. His hands gripped my thighs, firmly securing my position around his neck. I felt blood rushing into my lower extremities as my brain realized that my naked crotch was pressed flat against the backside of his head. I tried to distract myself, as I knew an erection was imminent.

  Thankfully, before the vessels and veins of my body’s most sensitive piece of dangling flesh could respond, Gauge threw me from his shoulders and into the deeper water behind us. In a semi- somersault, I fell below the surface with my eyes remaining open. As I sank into the blackness, my vision cleared, taking in the water-jumbled sight above me. There in the moonlight stood a fully nude Gauge, his entire body lit from the reflection of the water. The milky paleness of his bare skin glowed as bright as the moon, the only darkness the shadowed blur of his inked arm markings and the thickness of hair that surrounded his manhood.

  I allowed the sight to imprint onto my brain like a tattoo needle pricking the flesh. I sank into the darkness, the all-consuming vision above me fading into the distance as though I were returning to life after a near-death experience. The seconds passed as an infinite eternity. Finally, with the ache of my oxygen-depleted lungs signaling their despair, I rose to the surface, my body breaking the water slow and delicately. Gauge was laughing as my vision cleared and my hearing returned from the echoed hollows of watered encapsulation. I moved toward him in my liquid haze, pushing his shoulder with all my strength. He stumbled, though I was sure it was half on purpose, allowing his body to drop backward into the lake. He catapulted back through the surface, his laughter more excited and joyous than before. Back and forth, we wrestled above the knee-deep water, the moon our stage light, the chirping crickets and groaning toads our cheering audience. I no longer focused on the fact that the man who had dominated my every thought and fantasy for the last three days was fully naked before me. Instead, I found myself completely engulfed in the playful yet competitive show of masculine bravado. The world faded around me, the deafening, ambient symphony of the surrounding Everglades circling and droning my senses, my vision and hearing becoming a fused sensation. I wasn’t sure how long the tussled and splashed dance went on, but I experienced it in a very real and powerful sense of presence. Time was irrelevant, and thought was nonexistent. I simply lived in the moment, taking in its every detail as aware and focused as a cheetah observing the evening savannah.

  Eventually, we began to tire, finding ourselves crouched in the lake water, our knees sinking into the soft skin of the sand. I listened in wonder as I heard myself begin to fill the sphere of sound that surrounded us with an onslaught of words. Stories and recollections of my childhood filled the air as thick and present as the palpable humidity that shrouded us like heavy garments. My dreams and ambitions to become a famous actor detailed the storyline of my overflowing conversation. An embarrassing confession of losing my swim trunks at a church summer camp initiated Gauge’s infectious laughter, the dazzled movement of the water projecting onto his dark eyes like tiny planets absorbing the brilliance of a nearby star. I told him of how I dreamed of standing beachside at the Pacific Ocean, feeling the colder waters of the westbound sea replacing the salt-tinge left by my lifelong existence near its eastern sister, the Atlantic. I even detailed the event at the bathhouse, my words somber and automatic. I didn’t think before I spoke, I simply spoke. The truth and explicit accuracy of my story seemed to suffocate the world around us. I watched as tiny droplets of water peered over the rims of Gauge’s eyes. I wasn’t sure if they were a physical response to the emotion of my story or simply the remnants of the lake water or the dewing of the summer humidity. Either way, I completed my avalanche of self-exposure without agenda or hope of sympathy. Though I didn’t quite understand why, there was an intense need in me to share with Gauge, even that which could be considered private and shameful. Sitting naked in a secluded lake eased my self-consciousness into a broken levee of soul revelation.

  The mood was empty yet somehow comforting as we made our way back to the shore. Gauge didn’t speak. I could tell he was now lost within the confines of his own mind, the sudden outpour of information swirling inside his head like a bayside waterspout. The intensity of the bathhouse story silenced his reactions. When he initiated the move back to the shore, I
simply followed, somehow understanding his need for silence.

  With our crumpled clothing again stretched across our bodies, we boarded the motorcycle and cruised into the Florida night. My heart beat easily as I rested my face against Gauge’s back. At some point during the unaccounted hours of the evening, I felt closer to him. No friend or family member was ever able to get me to open up the way I had with Gauge, a man I had known no longer than a matter of days. Still, revealing myself to him was easy, both in soul and in flesh. It was as if I knew him already, his presence warm and familiar, as though we had shared many lifetimes together.

  As we glided onto our street, Gauge cut the engine and clicked off the headlight. We sailed in a zephyr’s silence as the momentum of the bike began to lull. Suddenly, Gauge squeezed the brake, halting the motorcycle in place.

  “You don’t deserve what happened to you,”

  he stated, his voice shaking. “No one does.”

  I held my breath in silent suspense as he turned his head to face me.

  “But especially not you.”

  This time, it was clear that the sudden arrival of water along the lower rims of his eyes was initiated by emotion. I felt my own vision begin to dampen as I realized the enormity of his reaction. It was obvious that he was deeply upset by what I had revealed to him. Regardless of the fact that we had only just met, it was transparent how much he cared for me.

  Before I could reply, he restarted the bike and accelerated toward our neighboring houses.

  In the shadows between the streetlights, I unfastened the helmet and handed it back to him. He nodded, his dark eyes reflecting the faint light of his aunt’s living room window in the distance.

  “Thanks for riding along with me, Dustin,” he said gently over the idling grumble of the motorcycle’s engine. “I had a good time, new friend.”

  Without waiting for a reply, he lifted his leg and twisted the throttle. I watched in the darkness as he rounded the side of his aunt’s house and vanished out of sight.

  My mind remained still as I moved along the side of my parents’ house. Reentering the kitchen door, I slid through the dimly lit dining room and bounded up the stairs to my bedroom. Falling into bed, I slipped into an immediate, restful sleep.

  Tonight, there were no dreams, no fantasies, for it was impossible for me to imagine anything more wonderful and surreal than what had just taken place.

  ***

  Unsurprisingly, my mother gave me hell the next morning. Sitting alongside my father at the breakfast table, a stack of overcooked pancakes before me, a streaming pile of what I assumed was oatmeal beside it, I kept my eyes fixated on the plate as my mother detailed the relentless, torturous state of worry that kept her up half the night. Apparently, it was just before I returned home when she finally drifted off to sleep, her stomach in knots, her imagination in shambles.

  After apologizing and agreeing to never again leave the house without both notifying her and seeking her approval, I bounded back up the stairs to my room, slamming the door shut behind me.

  I spent the next several hours flipping through old books and magazines, scribbling nonsense onto paper, and avoiding my mother at all costs, all the while peering obsessively out my window.

  Just as the sun began to set and the streetlights flickered to life, I saw what I had been anticipating. There stood Gauge, the same denim jeans hugging his legs, a plain white T-shirt snuggly adorning his upper body. My pulse accelerated as I watched him take several long drags of a cigarette, the faint glow of the burning tobacco illuminating his face. He looked out over the street, his eyes roaming the distance of endless lawns and asphalt before taking a final pull of smoky air. Flicking the butt into the freshly cut grass, he turned toward the house. Just as he neared the side of the garage, he paused, gazing up at my window.

  My heart stopped beating as our eyes locked.

  He smiled, nodded, and then motioned for me to come outside. I smiled back, an instant, instinctive reaction, and then stumbled backward into the middle of my room. I scrambled to change my clothing, realizing I was still wearing the same crumpled garments I had worn to the lake the night before.

  Locating a pair of off-white tennis shorts and a maroon polo shirt, I tossed them on and excitedly rushed into the hallway. Deploying my perfected stairway stealth skills, I tiptoed downstairs and bounded out the front door.

  Thankfully, my mother wasn’t within seeing or hearing distance of my escape.

  My heart drummed louder in my ears as I neared the side of Gauge’s aunt’s garage. He smiled as I approached him, my entire body reacting to the sight of his expression.

  “Hey, man. Long time no see.”

  I could only smile as his booming voice draped over me like a thin nightshirt. Within seconds, I was standing face to face with him.

  “I want you to meet my aunt,” he said, a hint of excitement in his voice. “I’ve told her about you. She’s anxious to say hello.”

  Before I could respond, Gauge began to lead the way alongside the garage and toward a side door. Without thought or hesitation, I followed, my steps falling in unison with his.

  The garage smelled of rubber tires and gasoline. The tower of boxes I had seen through the living room window now dominated this area. I watched carefully as Gauge led the way through the labyrinth of cardboard and through a second doorway that led into the house.

  Immediately, the smell of some sort of baked goods overpowered my nostrils.

  “Aunt Mert!” Gauge called, his deep voice now light and boyish. “Aunt Mert, I’ve brought Dustin over.”

  A tiny woman appeared in the distance, her auburn curls piled carelessly above her head, a torn pair of bellbottom jeans covering her legs, a multicolored smock flowing with her movement.

  “Well, hello, our dear new neighbor!” she exclaimed cheerfully as I neared her.

  “Hi,” I replied, my voice stumbling over my heartbeat.

  “Gauge has told me all about you. I look forward to getting to know you myself.”

  Up close, I could see the age in Aunt Mert’s eyes, her dimly lit baby blues sparkling in the faint light like the variety of crystals that hung loosely around her neck on a silver chain.

  “Perhaps you could bring your parents by sometime,” she continued, allowing her eyes to journey over every facet and feature of my face. “I always insist on getting to know my neighbors.”

  She paused, her eyes locking with mine.

  “Especially kind and handsome neighbors such as yourself.”

  I felt myself blush, the heat from under my skin rivaling that of the nearby kitchen.

  “Well,” she stuck out her hand, some sort of powder substance covering one side, “it was a pleasure to meet you.”

  I clasped my hand with hers, the tender softness of her touch instantly easing my shy nerves.

  “Thank you, Miss,” I replied, allowing my eyes to stay connected with the glimmering glow of her gaze.

  “Oh, now, call me Aunt Mert. I insist!”

  I laughed with her, more out of politeness than actual humor. She winked at me as she spun on her heels and returned to the kitchen.

  “This way,” Gauge chimed in, gripping his fingers around my forearm. His touch was gentle yet sturdy. I followed his lead through the shadows of the faintly lit house until we came to a half- opened door.

  Gauge dropped my arm and ventured into the blackness. Fumbling blindly, he murmured to himself as he struggled to locate a lamp switch.

  Finally finding it, the darkness retreated, leaving behind an open space of complete disarray.

  Stacks of cardboard boxes aligned the walls, piles of clothing and books littered the blue shag carpet. My eyes spied a stack of Playboy magazines just next to the disheveled bed.

  “Sorry for the mess, man. Unpacking is a

  bitch.”

  He dropped onto the bed, his carefully combed hair spreading over his white pillow like dark grass blades over a fresh snow.

  He patted th
e open space beside him, signaling for me to join.

  “Take a look at this,” he stated, lifting himself into a sitting position. He pulled a large leather book from the cluttered nightstand that hosted the lamp. “This was my pop’s.”

  He peeled open the book, a photo album, the plastic sleeves squeaking as he pulled them apart.

  My eyes toured a collage of yellowed photographs. A handsome man, resembling what I imagined Gauge to look like in a few decades, filled the space of each square paper, the photos a mix of prints and Polaroids.

  “Here’s the Indian,” he said proudly, his finger tapping a small print in the lower-right corner of the book.

  The handsome man sat on top of the bike, which was far cleaner and newer-looking, the same crooked smile I had seen on Gauge etched across his face.

  “Dad loved that bike, man,” he continued, his voice drifting with his eyes. “I know he’d be proud that I’ve been rebuilding the engine again.”

  I watched quietly as he stared at the photograph.

  “Still have a ways to go with it.”

  Several seconds passed before he spoke again.

  “We will get it there, though. Won’t we?”

  His eyes met mine, a tinge of wetness twinkling between each set of lashes. I swallowed in nervousness as the mood of the room suddenly became heavy and emotional.

  “Hey,” Gauge broke the silence. “Check out these puppies. They were my dad’s too.”

  He leaned over the side of the bed, lifting the pile of Playboys into his arms.

  An endless spread of magazines slid over the photo album as he dropped them from his grip.

  “Dad loved the ladies,” he laughed, flipping the pages of one of the issues.

  “I mean, come on,” he continued, holding up one of the centerfolds. “Who doesn’t love this?”

  I blushed as he dropped the open spread onto my lap.

  “Look at those tits, man. Just beautiful.”

  My eyes absorbed the site of a busty female, her dark hair shining in the sun, her eyes heavy with blue makeup.