Light wiggled its way onto the trunks of trees. Reflected from the water, it does its strip tease on grass or granite boulders, on anything really. Coyly, to celebrate the end of another day. The air settled, foamy and warm, around my feet. September on the Consumnes River. My bathing suit pressed cool to my body, still damp from my last swim.
Dragonflies frothed around the rapids to my left. A few bats, early to the night, were skipping stones above my head. I'd made my way up to our family cabin in August in search of some time alone and had spent every dusk at the water's edge.
I sat on the shore and hung my legs into the river. It was getting lower, warmer as fall ripened. I watched as a brave, pickle-sized fish swam toward my toes. It hovered closer and closer without ever making contact. A crackle of snapping twigs from the bank opposite interrupted. I jumped. My fish disappeared, becoming indistinguishable from the rocks that lined the riverbed.
I wasn't expecting him. He looked sun-messy and like he smelled how a cat does when it finally comes back from the garden. He was bulky and filled out a t-shirt that was worn so thin that my mother would have decided it was no longer wearable and cut it up to polish silver. It clung to him, but he took it off. He kicked off his shoes too, and jumped into the water.
A clean dive. I could see him through the skin of the water. Both of his arms outstretched and pointed in front of him. I took in his back, shoulders. Under water, they dissolved and twisted. He popped up not too far from me. I ached for him to come hover by me like a fish, getting closer and closer. Only thick, magnetic space left in between.
"Evening," he said as he dipped his head behind him, allowing the river to pull the hair from his eyes. His neck displayed like a gift.
"Evening," I said back, staying as still as I could as not to upset the balance of anything.
He turned and found his shore after two long strokes. I watched him walk out, water dancing down him. He picked up his shirt, slid on his shoes, and turned back to me, raising whatever fingers had the energy in a wave goodbye.
The water felt even lower without his presence to displace it. I felt the ripples he left make their way up and down my calf.
I thought about him the next morning. In the cabin, I made coffee. I lowered two scoops of the Maxwell House into the coffee pot. It gurgled, gave off steam. I wondered and re-lived. All day, I felt a string pulling me down to the river by my belly button.
I let myself go down to the water around five o'clock, sticking to my sunset schedule. The sand burned my bare feet as I made my way to my usual spot. I picked up my pace and dipped my feet into the water as soon as I reached the edge. My soles went icy from the quick temperature change. I took off my denim shorts and waded into the water. It was harder this way, a slower and colder-feeling entrance. My breath caught as the water reached my stomach. Unable to stand the slow entry any longer, I dove under.
I wound my way through the river for a while. Leaving my own breadcrumb trails and picking them up. I finally rested on my back feeling the current carry me toward the small set of rapids where the dragonflies liked to hunt and mate.
I felt him before I saw him. Picked up by the swell of a wave, I was brought closer to the rapids. I could feel their current pulling harder on my skin. I stood up in the water and looked behind me. His head was just breaking the surface.
"Sorry," he said. "Didn't mean to disturb you."
"That's alright," I said, wringing out my hair.
He submerged himself and popped up again, making his way over to my shore. He pushed himself onto it with both arms. I took a few strokes away from the rapids as not to stare.
"Nice night," he said.
I looked up at the tops of the trees, which were dipped in gold sun.
"It is," I said. "This place is something isn't it?" I added to keep things going.
"Yeah," he said. "As soon as I saw the river, I knew I needed to move. See it everyday. I'd been up in around Napa, you know, not city, but more city than this. But, in comparison."
"Can't be beat," I added. "What do you do up here, work wise, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Wineries," he said. "That's what I did over in Napa, but there are plenty out here too."
I nodded. Moved my fingers across the top of the water. A swarm of mosquitoes peppered the air to my right.
"What about you?" he asked. "What do you do?"
"I write," I said.
He nodded his head as he took this in. I took him in. The ends of his hair, which I remembered as messy, brown, and long-ish when dry, released droplets onto his shoulder and down to his forearm to his hand. I looked up. He was looking at me. His eyes moved up to my face.
"Is that what you're doing up here?" he asked.
"Trying to," I said. "Just for the rest of the month."
"Are you writing about this?" he gestured to our surroundings.
"No, but maybe I should be," I said. "It's a lot more interesting than what I actually am writing about."
"You know what you could write about?"
"Hm?"
