Uncharted Waters

Uncharted Waters
© Jamil Ragland, 2005. All rights reserved.

I had talked her into going back to one of our favorite places after school. It wasn’t far, only about a quarter of a mile. As we walked, a cool breeze brushed softly across our faces. It ruffled her hair a little, causing her ponytail to dance about on her shoulders, as if pulled by the strings of a rhythmically challenged puppeteer. I watched her hair bounce up and down for a while, pretending to be looking at something behind her. Her light brown highlights shimmered in stark contrast to her nearly raven-black hair. It was mesmerizing, and I found it hard to look away.

“What are you looking at?” she asked, turning to look at me.

“Nothing, just thought I saw someone I knew.”

We continued down the sidewalk, the sun peeking playfully at us from behind the thick cover of foliage that lined the streets. It was the beginning of October, and the opening salvos of fall had caused the trees to explode in a diaphanous array of color. Normally I would have made a remark about her being as yellow as the leaves on the trees, but I wasn’t in a sarcastic mood. Our pace was a relaxed one, but not lazy. It was mid-afternoon, and the New England evenings still packed a punch at such an early date. We didn’t have much time to reach our destination, but I knew that whenever we got there, it would be enough.

“I haven’t been here in a long time.” I said softly.

“Me either. The last time I remember coming here was to play with my dog, and that was a long time ago.”

The low growl of traffic began to subside as we turned off the sidewalk and onto a narrow dirt path. It winded around the base of large oak trees and through thickets of shrubs and bushes. Overgrowths of grass shot out along the edges, choking the path along with piles of fallen leaves. In front of us, the large trees gave way to smaller, less imposing birch trees. The earth was covered in small ferns and plants, all fighting to receive the few hours of precious sunlight that fall allotted them. We could hear the dull, soothing sounds of rushing water as we continued down into the woods.

She walked in front of me, leading the way. She’d always been a leader, ready to take charge and get the job done. Yet her usual confidence had waned in the preceding weeks. Many different things had been building up, and she was about to reach the breaking point. I suggested that we come down here, to the place we’d spent so much of our time as children. Back then, it had only been us and the river, talking between the three of us for hours. Now we carried so many other things with us; broken relationships, college applications, work schedules and family commitments. If only for a few minutes, I wanted things to be the way they had been. Not just for her sake, but for mine too.

“This place looks like no one’s used it in years.” she said, stepping over a large branch that lay across the path.

“Yeah, kids used to come here all the time. But now we’re grown up, and I guess the kids now have found better things to do.”

“Yeah.”

We were right on the edge of the river banks now. Birds chirped loudly, singing in chorus with the melodic ramblings of the river that flowed calmly behind the scenes of civilization and progress. While the rest of the world moved forward, time stood still here, as unchanging as the slippery rock faces that bracketed the river on each side.

“It’s funny,” she said, looking into the clear water. “The river looks the same as the last time I saw it, but I know it’s different. The water itself causes the changes, and you’d never notice something as small as erosion. But it happens. Things change, even if we don’t notice them. The little things add up to something bigger over time.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, realizing I’d been wrong about time standing still. No matter how much I wanted to go back to the way things were, I couldn’t. I walked over to stand next to her, looking into the river. I glanced up. The sun was easing towards the horizon, but sunset was still a while off. Thin, wispy clouds seemed to connect the sky and the earth in a delicate balancing act. I’d never taken the time to look at the sky when I came to the river before, and it looked different than it usually did. I didn’t know if it was because of her or if it was the river itself. Little things, she called them. I was noticing the little things about her as well. “I buried a time capsule down on the river banks a few years ago. Let’s see if it’s still there.”

“Okay.” She stepped down onto the rock face. The rain from last night hadn’t dried in this area hidden from the sun, and she lost her footing. I knew if she fell, she wouldn’t get hurt. She would get pretty wet, and I didn’t want anything to ruin this moment, where the sky and the river met. I reached out to grab her, and slipped myself. We tumbled down the river banks together, rolling over each other. I couldn’t help but laugh a little, brought back to the days of rolling sideways down a grassy hill. I heard her giggle as well, soft as the mud we finally landed in, inches away from the river.

I looked up, and instead of seeing the sky I saw her eyes. She’d landed on top of me, and the smile was still there on her face, along with something else. I smiled back, my head lying in the mud. All thoughts of the time capsule had fled, and there was a strange emptiness in my mind. I couldn’t see or hear anything else, just our breath as our chests rose in unison. A small wave crashed up next to us, washing away a small part of the riverbank. Things had definitely changed.