You awake in strange surroundings. It takes a moment for your eyes' and your mind' to focus. Just for that moment you can't really place yourself within the universe. You realize that you are lying in a bed. Surrounded by a sea of silky sheets. A light yellow with pale green flowered accents. But whose bed is it? It seems so unfamiliar. So alien.
As you sit up your eyes scan around the room, and you remember. It is a room – an open room – in a small Polynesian-style home. Woven grass mats cover a rough-hewn wooden floor. The fragrance of the wood fills the morning air. The air is moist and heavy. Warm but still new with the newness of the still emerging day. As you look around you begin to remember.
Saturday night. You arrived here late on Saturday – just at the time when evening begins to blend with afternoon. The long shadows of the sheer mountain cliffs were just beginning to stretch out like long fingers, clawing their way out across the blue Pacific. The storm had been awful. A winter storm. They didn't hit that often. At least not with such enormous ferocity. But this one did. The rain drove to the ground like tiny watery meteors. Driving against your skin. Stinging your face. Blurring your vision.
It was a new trail you had been riding. One that had drawn your for years. But one that had always remained untaken. Why you decided to venture out upon it when a storm was clearly brewing is something you may never know. Perhaps it was the fact that Sunday morning would soon be coming. And you knew you couldn't take it even one more time. Every Sunday morning he reached out for you. You lay and watch the ceiling. Hoping it will go by quickly. Feeling a hard stick poking in your back. Listening to his grunting. Noting once more that he has no concern for your feelings. For your pleasure. None whatsoever. Sunday morning hell. Every Sunday morning. Count the cracks. Wait for him to be done. Pretend you enjoy it. Try to smile.
No, you are not sure why you ventured out. But venture out you had. And within an hour you were lost. The forest was thick and the sky so dark. What had been lovely little brooks transformed into raging and threatening torrents. Water driving down from the mighty cliffs into the sea.
At first you thought of crossing. You had to cross to get back home. And with the gathering darkness your need to feel the warmth of home was growing. As the storm knitted its fury you began to think that at a time like this even John's arms would feel warm. Well, perhaps not warm. Not exciting. But at least safe. And if not safe, at least familiar. As you thought of him your heart began to shrivel. How long could a person live with not an ounce of passion. But with the water rising you realized that you would settle for safe. Or at least familiar. Why not? You had been settling for it for years. And you realized that maybe the truth is that there is nothing else. Maybe life has no passion. At least not for anyone beyond 16. Then you turned your mind to more important matters. Like negotiating the raging stream.
You realized within the first few steps that it was hopeless. Bonny knew it as well as you did. Probably better. You might be able to force her into the water but she would never make it across. But you knew that made no sense. As she clawed her way back up the soppy slope you realized again in just a moment that riding her out was a mistake. In a moment she has slipped. And you were both on the ground. Sliding across the mud.
In one more moment you were up and walking. You felt parts of your body for at least a minute. And nothing seemed to be broken. And a quick check of Bonny also brought relief. She was limping. Just slightly. But she seemed to be okay. It seemed that you had walked for hours. Maybe it really wasn't. But it seemed that way. You remember wondering if you would ever make it home again. A foolish thought you tell yourself. You ask yourself what you are worried about. There are hardly lions, tigers, or bears in Hawaii. But even as the storm begins to blow out to the west you feel the weight of the darkness on your heart. You wonder if the stream will have subsided enough to cross. But how far back is it? And in which direction? It is then that you came to grips with the fact that you were lost.
And now, as you look around the room and your eyes begin to focus on the objects in it, you remember. The light in the distance. The shape of the little home forming in the distant darkness as you moved closer. And you remember your first sight of him. The broad flat covered porch that stretched out in front of the house. The crude wooden desk that occupied a corner of the deck. At first it was hard to determine that it was a human being at all. But as you grew closer the lump began to form into a person. A man. Sitting at the desk. Soft light from twin torches drifted back and forth across the rough wood deck. And when his gaze rose to meet you it reflected from his dark brown eyes and danced within his flowing hair.
And as he stands you realize that he's been carving, using traditional Hawaiian tools. You blush inside for just a moment as you remember. Remember your gaze as it drifted down his body. Wood chips cover his upper body. You see the chips that are snarled within the dark course hair that covers his thick chest. Your heart skips for a moment as your realize that he is naked. Down to the worn blue jeans that cling to his long legs. Your eyes wandered over the deep muscles in his chest as he walked, step by step, closer to you. You remember was he moved closer and your gaze drifted even lower. You watch the steel buttons in his fly. You watch them as they move back and forth as he walks. You can almost feel the bulge beneath them. And you gasp inside as you realize how suddenly you want to know what lies behind them.
You watch his muscles, rippling as he moves. You watch so closely that you are startled when he speaks. "Aloha" he says as he reaches out his hand to you. His voice is rich and deep. And without thinking you reach your hand out to him. And your heart beats quicker as you wait for him to take it. You wonder what his hand will feel like. Big, strong hands, rimmed by deep calluses.
But you were shocked when he reached past your outstretched hand and took the reins from your other hand. You draw back your hand and thrust it in your pocket. Snakebite. You berate yourself for being so forward. For assuming. And you remind yourself that you aren't 21 anymore. Without a word he takes Bonny and leads her toward a stable behind the house. You just stand and watch his back as he slowly walks away. And your gaze collects on the tight muscles of his lower back. The end of a deep V that finds its way to his tight buttocks. You watch them for a second and then turn away. You told yourself that it was ridiculous. What would John think? What would your daughter think?
He shocked you when he finally returned. For you did not hear him coming. His movements through the night were swift and silent. Flowing through the darkness. He stood silently and you watched his eyes. Eyes that were so strong but still tender. You sensed that his eyes had seen many things. Had felt their share of life. Slowly he held out his hand to you and this time you realize that he really does want yours.