Brigits Flame, Week 1: "Clothes and all"
“Wake me when we reach the coast,” she says, popping the passenger seat back and curling up on it. She gives me a sleepy smile and it’s all I can do not to reach over and kiss her.
I pull out of the driveway and head towards the highway. It’s late afternoon and the descending sun washes the houses in pale orange light. Billowing thunderheads loom in the rearview, and I imagine I’m running from them and the storm they carry in their ever-expanding bellies.
She’s asleep now: tiny dreaming noises escape her nose every now and then. Some of her curls have become loosed from her bun and fallen across her face. My hand hovers near her temple for a moment, wondering if sweeping the curls away is too intimate a gesture from a best friend. I’m never sure. I clench my fingers into a fist and pull back, training my eyes on the road once more. Cars and exit signs whiz by and blur together outside in the weak amber glow of dusk.
I leave the radio off so she can sleep; my thoughts alone can keep me plenty busy while I drive, especially tonight. My mind races with equal parts anticipation and terror, and the two are fighting to the death. We’ve never spent an entire weekend alone together, and there’s always been this underlying tension between us that rages out of us, unstoppable, on drunken nights when no one’s watching. We confess our attraction for each other, kiss fiercely, and never speak of it again. What's going to happen when we're left to our own devices this weekend? I nearly giggle aloud as I ponder the delicious possibility of her reciprocating the feelings I try to bury so deeply within me when we're sober. Could it be?
The hours pass quickly in this fashion, my mind whirring along as she sleeps peacefully. Outside the sun has set and the trees look like giant silhouettes pasted to the indigo sky. I roll down my window and reach my hand into the night air; it’s cooler now, and I know the ocean and my weekend alone with her are only a few miles from here.
I pull off the exit and take the route that snakes along the coastline. The air is salty and moist now, and it wakes her before I can; the smell of home has a way of doing that. She inhales deeply, arches her back and stretches her arms. It’s adorable and sexual all at once. She sits up and I feel her looking at me. I give her a smile and ask her how she slept.
“Just fine,” she says, and I can hear the sleep in her voice. “Just a few more miles and we’ll be there.”
We ride in silence the rest of the way, my eyes on the road and hers on the ocean that glitters under the moon out her window. When we hit the dirt road that leads to her family’s summer cottage, she reaches out and squeezes my hand. I don’t pull away, but neither does she. We hold hands like this until I have to let go and park. My heart throbs in every vein as I look over at her and find her looking back. She reaches over and I meet her halfway. We share a kiss that is both soft and urgent at once over the stick shift and pull back smiling.
I can hear the ocean rushing in and receding a few feet away; the sound mobilizes us and we’re running now down to the shore, hand in hand and laughing like children. Breathless, we reach the sand and keep right on running, right on into the ocean. We’re knee-deep now and the black water laps at my thighs. Her white skirt bobs and sways like a giant jellyfish on the waves. I pull her to me.
“I’ve loved you forever,” I shout over the crashing surf, suddenly fearless and needing her to know this. I see her brilliant smile flash in the moonlight. We’re kissing again and she’s pulling me down into the crashing waves, clothes and all, holding me tighter than I’ve ever been held.
I pull out of the driveway and head towards the highway. It’s late afternoon and the descending sun washes the houses in pale orange light. Billowing thunderheads loom in the rearview, and I imagine I’m running from them and the storm they carry in their ever-expanding bellies.
She’s asleep now: tiny dreaming noises escape her nose every now and then. Some of her curls have become loosed from her bun and fallen across her face. My hand hovers near her temple for a moment, wondering if sweeping the curls away is too intimate a gesture from a best friend. I’m never sure. I clench my fingers into a fist and pull back, training my eyes on the road once more. Cars and exit signs whiz by and blur together outside in the weak amber glow of dusk.
I leave the radio off so she can sleep; my thoughts alone can keep me plenty busy while I drive, especially tonight. My mind races with equal parts anticipation and terror, and the two are fighting to the death. We’ve never spent an entire weekend alone together, and there’s always been this underlying tension between us that rages out of us, unstoppable, on drunken nights when no one’s watching. We confess our attraction for each other, kiss fiercely, and never speak of it again. What's going to happen when we're left to our own devices this weekend? I nearly giggle aloud as I ponder the delicious possibility of her reciprocating the feelings I try to bury so deeply within me when we're sober. Could it be?
The hours pass quickly in this fashion, my mind whirring along as she sleeps peacefully. Outside the sun has set and the trees look like giant silhouettes pasted to the indigo sky. I roll down my window and reach my hand into the night air; it’s cooler now, and I know the ocean and my weekend alone with her are only a few miles from here.
I pull off the exit and take the route that snakes along the coastline. The air is salty and moist now, and it wakes her before I can; the smell of home has a way of doing that. She inhales deeply, arches her back and stretches her arms. It’s adorable and sexual all at once. She sits up and I feel her looking at me. I give her a smile and ask her how she slept.
“Just fine,” she says, and I can hear the sleep in her voice. “Just a few more miles and we’ll be there.”
We ride in silence the rest of the way, my eyes on the road and hers on the ocean that glitters under the moon out her window. When we hit the dirt road that leads to her family’s summer cottage, she reaches out and squeezes my hand. I don’t pull away, but neither does she. We hold hands like this until I have to let go and park. My heart throbs in every vein as I look over at her and find her looking back. She reaches over and I meet her halfway. We share a kiss that is both soft and urgent at once over the stick shift and pull back smiling.
I can hear the ocean rushing in and receding a few feet away; the sound mobilizes us and we’re running now down to the shore, hand in hand and laughing like children. Breathless, we reach the sand and keep right on running, right on into the ocean. We’re knee-deep now and the black water laps at my thighs. Her white skirt bobs and sways like a giant jellyfish on the waves. I pull her to me.
“I’ve loved you forever,” I shout over the crashing surf, suddenly fearless and needing her to know this. I see her brilliant smile flash in the moonlight. We’re kissing again and she’s pulling me down into the crashing waves, clothes and all, holding me tighter than I’ve ever been held.