Tell me a story…

“Tell me a story,” she whispered. Her light voice glided through the wind, barely audible over the sound of her carmine red nails tracing the fabric of his tailored navy blue suit jacket. She huddled close to shield her porcelain skin from the brisk rooftop breeze, feeling the warmth in her heart pulling her closer, craving a bath in his tall stature. Her head tilted attentively, as much to listen to his response as to get another look at the five o’clock shadow framing his chiseled jaw. She couldn’t help but wonder what the texture of his short, bristling beard would feel like under her soft fingertips. She breathed in deeply, hoping he wouldn’t notice, and the cologne settled in her nose—a sophisticated blend of earthy cedarwood and rich amber. A subtle warmth rose through her chest, lingering under the surface of her skin, waiting to be set free. His pearl eyes set in motion, working the skyline far off in the distance, searching for some half-forgotten memory that now only lived in the confinement of his head. He peered inside the many warmly lit windows, harvesting pieces from here and there. Something clicked behind the veil of his eyes, making the woman realize she had been holding her breath. He turned to give her the dazzlingly crooked smile that without fail made the embers in her heart flare. Her face caught fire, and she quickly settled her eyes on the light scratches of the cold aluminum handrail they leaned against. She blinked and kept her eyes closed for just a moment, savoring his burning smile. The woman caught herself brushing her auburn hair behind one ear as a low voice gently carved out a story.

He told of a boy and his riverboat, how inseparable the two were. How he would spend the late winters mending the vessel’s reckless scars left by boyhood’s rough embrace. Spring through late summer were for flying through the water like a wooden trout, never tiring of ripping through the brilliant gleam of the lake, spraying the morning with golden dew. His sinewy arms commanded a pair of frayed oars that sliced the glassy blue surface and dipped alongside the school of colorful scales of the fishes to collect its green shield of algae, before they propelled the hull toward the falling sun.

But the freedom of the open waters was often short-lived. As the cool waters swallowed the sun, the boy’s father would shuffle along the shore, rattling through his growing knee-high pile of tin cans, slurring for the boy to come home. The blaze of the reddening sun painted the water with its fire, and on cue the boy would blink hard. He sank onto the bench and lazily turned the boat towards land, glad at the very least to turn his wet eyes towards the sea. The sand bank sighed as the keel cut through the rough sparkling grains, and would suck weary feet into the sand in farewell. The parched grass bristled as they reached for the drops of life that still clung to the boy’s feet, while he moved as if he still pulled the rugged craft behind him, finally shedding the lingering droplets of the sea from his eyes.

After spending the winter indoors, the boy’s demeanor finally took on the color of the snow. As the spring birds began chirping anew, his thoughts turned to his boat. Eager to set out to sea, he rose one early spring morning—earlier than usual. The waters greeted him with excitement, rippling with a lively shimmer. The distant howling of the winds fell on deaf ears as he shoved the boat into the cool water. Once he reached the middle of the lake, where it was at its deepest, he dropped the oars with a precise clack and let the boat glide. He sieved the cold water through weary fingers, savoring the aching sensation as it cooled him to the bone. A moving ring of ripples caught his eyes, and he soon spotted a green fin break the water surface before it dipped back down into its home. His gaze lingered on the spot as he pictured the fin in front of himself. After a prolonged silence, he lifted his gaze further and spotted, in the far distance, the outstream where the foaming water coiled around the jutting rocks that framed the entry’s maw. He clasped the oars and held them loosely in his lap for some time, before he finally let the notched edges dive into the water and cut their own slice of foam.

The sun clung longer to the pale sky these days, casting a glow to his red tinted scratchy arms. Even as fatigue crept into his limbs the excitement pumping through the boy’s veins cracked a smile on his face, and so he rowed towards the maw of the sea, catching its foaming crest. The stream was eager, and gave his tired arms a deserved rest as it carried the vessel onto new waters. Metallic groans murmured from the rowlocks, drowned out by the rolling waves, as the frayed oars played their worn metal strings. Each wavelet began folding over itself, spraying a thin mist that formed a meek rainbow for the boy to scout. Through this kaleidoscope, he glimpsed secrets only the waters would ever show him.

A loud scrape tore at the keel, and the boat lagged, jolting him against the frame of the boat and pressing starboard deeper into the water. The relentless waves clawed at the gunwale, water dripped over the edge and darkened the bottom boards. He threw himself down at the bench and grabbed the oars, shoving them into the surging stream. The hissing waves mocked him and shook his weary arms, threatening to snatch the oars unless he kept them steady, and only steered the boat against their relentless pull. He cast a flash of a look down, and spotted the gash in the boards allowing water to heavily seep into his beloved boat. With a cry, he reached for the bucket that was clattering against the soaked boards, nearly dropping both the oars into the cold water. Head down, he missed the jagged rocks that soon smashed against him, sending him and the oars flying through the air.

For the first few moments he couldn’t understand what had happened. His limbs grew stiff, the chill of the water seeped into his bones. He tilted his head backwards, towards the blinding light, where cedar planks bobbed together, painting a sorrowful picture of his wrecked boat.

The stream carried him through its underwater road, and tumbled his tired body this way and that. His lungs burned in his chest, threatening to burst if he soon didn’t draw breath.

For the first time in his life, he wanted to go home.

At some point, his lips parted, though he couldn’t say when. Stinging water filled his mouth as he relaxed his throat, sating his need for a deep breath. The pain ebbed, the drumming in his ears faded, and the fire in his lungs cooled. Heavy eyelids brought warmth. The water no longer felt as cold. He found peace.

By some force of nature, the stream carried him upwards. He caught sight of something first—a shimmering light playing through the water, where reality blurred between up and down. As he reached out, blood pounding in his arm, he felt a cool breeze teasing his fingertips, a breath that fed the fire in his heart.

He clawed at the air, and scraped against something solid. His fingers found purchase on a jagged rock, splitting his hand open. With a desperate pull, he hoisted himself up, clinging to the rough surface that drew his blood. Gasping for air that refused to mingle with his heavy lungs, he forcefully coughed it out in violent spasms. Clinging to the crimson rock, his shattered boat flaked around him, bobbing on the foaming surface of the cold water. Locks of hair clung to his face, while he shakingly tasted sweet air.

A light tremble at his side closed his tale, and brought him back to the rooftop.

The man slipped off his jacket, and wrapped the woman with it, brushing her shoulders gently to warm her up. With an entertaining smile, he began working the buttons on the sleeve of his right arm, and rolled it up. He turned the arm around and she could feel the muscle in his shoulder tighten as he revealed a pale jagged scar that stretched across his open palm from the root of his middle finger, down to his wrist where it dipped under a slim silver bracelet.

He tilted his head backwards, and a gray silken veil covered him, but she could tell his calm, inviting smile was resting just beneath, ready for her at a moment’s notice. With an understanding, curious gaze, she traced the veins covering his forearm, her fingertips floated over the scar before they landed lightly, like a cardinal’s touch. He twitched no more than a sturdy branch swaying in a delicate wind, soon relaxing as her hand danced back up the green branches of veins. Her mind briefly wandered to the distant sound of clattering tins on the beach, a fleeting clamor that faded as her arm brushed against the cold aluminum rail.