David Gastil
9/21/2011
rights
June
It was 8:15, but the setting sun still peaked between
postcard-perfect purple mountains. Across the sky, the fading light
cast gold and crimson shadows on the towering banks of clouds blowing
in over pine hills from the Atlantic somewhere beyond. Part of
Samuel thought it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Part
of him thought it looked like thunder. Whatever June thought, she did
not say.
June said very little. One of her slender hands held his own in her
firm drummer's grip while the other tapped arhythmically on the
bench's metal arm rail. Samuel had noticed this before. When she
played with her band, “Natty Britches,” she was like a freight
train pounding and sliding forward with angry momentum, but here her
tapping was listless and random.
What are you thinking of? He wanted to ask, but was afraid to break
the silence. Instead he looked out at the small town park in front of
him. Tiny ducklings followed their mother's wake across a stained
glass pond. Closer to shore, elegant water lilies shared space with
old beer cans and a bag of Cheetos. Then there was the blackish mud,
trampled young grass, and his own muddy white sneakers, old jeans. He
was wearing a vintage Pink Floyd shirt – still in good condition
except for a hole in the armpit he hoped June hadn't noticed. For her
part, June was wearing black converse, old jeans, and a Clash shirt.
Had they always dressed alike? When they'd met maybe she'd been more
of a punk or maybe he'd been less of one.
“A man fighting a walrus,” she said. He turned to look into her
ruddy oval face and followed her mascara-rimmed brown eyes back to
the clouds.
“There,” he said pointing to a big gray storm cloud. Spot the
cloud. It was a game they played, though it was getting too dark for
it. “Swordfish in a top hat.”
They went on like that until the sun was gone and the clouds had
become as dark and formless as black wool. Then they just made things
up. “Puff the Magic Dragon,” “Your brother's neckbeard,”
“sudden romance.” Samuel gave a little inhale of surprise as June
kissed him hard on the nose, then the lips. They went on like that
until the wind picked up and brought with it a sudden chill and the
smell of wet pines. Reluctantly, they gathered themselves and plodded
back to June's battered ochre Subaru.
They made it inside just as the first rain started and, wordlessly,
June began the winding drive back to town. June's warm face was tight
with concentration as she navigated the accelerating storm, but her
right hand tapped the steering wheel. Even as the radio moved from
Led Zeppelin's “Kashmir” to Duran Duran's “Hungry Like the
Wolf,” her rhythm didn't change. June and Samuel both hated Duran
Duran, but that night they didn't even notice it. They were listening
to the rain beating the windshield and the distant thunder of the
first storm of Summer.
