We thought about going to the beach for nostalgia’s sake but realized the parking and people would hold us in the present so we drove to the mountains. A U-turn in a cul-de-sac and we were on an adventure down a dirt road directed by a wood sign. As we read more signs he realized this was the river he had been talking about as was the distant lake. The map was sitting on my living room couch but for sure this was it. We decide to wait to explore it and turn off to the lake beside us because it was too hot to drive any further and this lake was unfamiliar to us. The emerald water beckoned us to the rocky shores. We hiked along the edge until we found a shady spot to sit. He mentions the mountain where the surface seems to have sheared off. He asks if I can imagine baring witness to something like that. We both look flabbergasted and amused at the thought. We talked until the light filtered through the leaves differently then headed into town.
I had the best macaroni and cheese but was too full for pie; that should almost be a crime.
We wandered the streets looking for a house he stayed in for a month. He reminisced about waking up to the view of the mountains and wanted to show me. His descriptions were as vivid and the heat radiating of the asphalt. I felt like I was right there in the moment with him; I always feel right there with him. It is eerie as though his past and mine are somehow the same.
We wander the river and discuss everything that comes to mind. He tells me he repeated a story I told him to his friends and they didn’t get it. He realizes we are on the same wavelength and not everyone gets us.
He wants me to look over the maps and I promise I will. Where a finger traces and thoughts go our bodies will follow. We won’t need much equipment he figures. He says he will leave me behind if I bring a sleeping bag. It is too hot, just sleep in the truck. This will be glamping he says. We drive home and I sip my cool slurpee and we admire views and scheme.