A Body of Water Invites All Things
As I step down a grassy bank in a slow backwards tango toward a canal, I stumble a bit, laugh, and am not allowed to fall. The breeze is insistent, making twinkling quivers on the surface of the water, which has been fattened by recent rain. All around us are the gray and brown trunks of trees, slender and thickly standing together, their bark silently watching.
He leans me into the water, and as he holds me, I float on my back and talk to a hawk tracing circles between some clouds. My arms smooth the current and my hair comes to life, swimming away from my scalp. His hand rests firmly on my chest, and I feel smaller. I will myself to sink, and holding my eyes open, I cross into a hushed space filled with inky gray and honey amber. The light forms a cool bright sphere above my face, and I feel a garment I am wearing begin to flutter.
I am held, suspended sweetly. His hand moves to my forehead, giving warm, reassuring pressure, like a child might feel as her father checks her for fever. We press me tenderly down.
The water becomes full of nothing but me, and I know that if it pleased him, I would try to live without air, or sound. My heart becomes thin and wide and flickers like silver. Tiny bubbles wiggle up from me like bits of hope, and I do not move. I feel him smile, and it makes me proud to affect him so easily, just by staying still, and waiting.
As I rest there, we watch a transformation. I lose all my edges, and turn into the shadow of a mysterious and beautiful siren, capable of chasing light and lost souls, and of feeling the language between words. My resistance sublimates. There is a long instant of perfect relinquishment, in which I imagine droplets of water plinking into my lungs in a slow, musical fashion, like icicles melting in a perfect cave.
I cannot stay under without him, and he has let me up without warning. When I wipe my eyes and look around, I think he is gone. The air spanks my face, and I need my hearing back, although I do not want it. When I finally spot him, he is in the grass, resting on his back, staring impassively at the sky.
He leans me into the water, and as he holds me, I float on my back and talk to a hawk tracing circles between some clouds. My arms smooth the current and my hair comes to life, swimming away from my scalp. His hand rests firmly on my chest, and I feel smaller. I will myself to sink, and holding my eyes open, I cross into a hushed space filled with inky gray and honey amber. The light forms a cool bright sphere above my face, and I feel a garment I am wearing begin to flutter.
I am held, suspended sweetly. His hand moves to my forehead, giving warm, reassuring pressure, like a child might feel as her father checks her for fever. We press me tenderly down.
The water becomes full of nothing but me, and I know that if it pleased him, I would try to live without air, or sound. My heart becomes thin and wide and flickers like silver. Tiny bubbles wiggle up from me like bits of hope, and I do not move. I feel him smile, and it makes me proud to affect him so easily, just by staying still, and waiting.
As I rest there, we watch a transformation. I lose all my edges, and turn into the shadow of a mysterious and beautiful siren, capable of chasing light and lost souls, and of feeling the language between words. My resistance sublimates. There is a long instant of perfect relinquishment, in which I imagine droplets of water plinking into my lungs in a slow, musical fashion, like icicles melting in a perfect cave.
I cannot stay under without him, and he has let me up without warning. When I wipe my eyes and look around, I think he is gone. The air spanks my face, and I need my hearing back, although I do not want it. When I finally spot him, he is in the grass, resting on his back, staring impassively at the sky.
© Grey Johnson 2011
Grey Johnson lives in a small town in northeastern South Carolina. Her garden is very important to her, and so are her dogs. She reads and knits rectangles, but seldom knows what to do with them. She doesn’t have a blog or website, but writes some on the Six Sentence Social Network. You can also check out her brilliant little collections on Issuu.
As a child, I remember submerging in a bathtub, eyes open and sensing that out of body feel. You have set forth a compelling scene- a baptism of sorts, a kinky relationship, complete surrender and trust? The words are perfect. Wonderful writing Grey
ReplyDeleteI was thinking in a baptismal way, like Paul, or a sensory deprivation tank. Perfect freedom from the physical forces that act on us constantly, no gravity, no sound, peace. Peace.
ReplyDeleteBorn and reborn. Born again, first in water, then in air. Letting go. This is trust, thrust outside. A great capture, a wonderful write.
ReplyDeleteI am so glad this wasn't a drowning. Oh, how I was hoping! And love that the air spanked her. You do so have a way with words.
ReplyDeleteI am not sure what's happening in this scene, but that doesn't matter because I accept it as a mood piece and go with the flow of lovely words. "My arms smooth the current and my hair comes to life, swimming away from my scalp" is yummy.
ReplyDeleteI think my difficulty is that, although I swim and float joyfully, being pressed down into water by another person is the antithesis of pleasure for me. Something about that comes too close to drowning. The one time I can't be passive is when my access to air is even remotely compromised.
I recall liking some of the early versions of this story as they appeared on 6S. Nicely polished here, with conflicting currents of submission and completeness. You work wonders with your words.
ReplyDeleteI'm glad I finally got the time to come and devour this. No, wrong word. Drink it is better. It's like a glass of Crown Royal, soothing with the tiniest bite. Your dreamscapes lower my blood pressure.
ReplyDelete