SUMMER RAIN

Do you know where I am?

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Sticky sweet, tangerine
Would you sit and keep me company?

honeybee by Olivia Rodrigo

A gentle, intimate story about getting lost, being searched for, and finally being found.

Could you find me, too?

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Vincent Giarrano (American, 1960), from Pinterest

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HIDE-AND-SEEK

I don’t know exactly what this feeling is...

I opened my eyes to the sound of my head hitting the window. After a few minutes of rabbit sleep, I realized we were passing through a forest. The hazy warmth of the sun filtering through my eyelashes burned against my face. Beyond the patch of glass my forehead had fogged, the tops of the pine trees disappeared beneath dark clouds. I had never imagined such a deep blue could shine so brightly.

Of course, for the festival, I had chosen the cheapest and longest way; the hot, low-ceilinged town bus. With its swaying seats, its patience in waiting for passengers at every stop. My arms folded, I would move the bag beside me to make room for the passengers getting on. I watched the bus fill absentmindedly, then put my bag back in its place. From somewhere came voices, very close and yet very far away; festival songs, people speaking in low voices. I leaned my head against the window: I was ready to lose myself inside the dark forest.

I liked getting lost. Walking somewhere without anyone knowing, lingering. Feeling, every time I looked up, that they were looking for me, and taking a cold joy in it. I would let myself experience all the excitement of that moment, all its mystery, without rushing. When I came back, they would ask where I had been, a few heads would shake without much concern. A moment later, life had already become something more than that.

I watched the darkness erase the rubber pores in the ceiling. As the bus turned into the gas station, I placed my bag on my swaying knee. When I got off, the cool, pleasant air touched my hair. I stood staring into the depth of the sky closing over us like a sheet of paper covered in writing. It was like night. Far away, the sun’s veiled brightness lingered. As if it were waiting to be rescued from the grip of a sorrowful abandonment. In the restroom, I washed my hands and wiped the back of my neck with the dampness that remained. Looking at the dark ring in my eyes in the mirror, I dried my hands.

Navy blue, veiled in dark twilight shadows. By the time I reached the middle of the market, it had already begun to rain. There was no bus left, no passengers either. Had they not seen me? Listening to the automatic doors sliding open and shut, I slowly ground my teeth together. With every opening of the doors, heavy raindrops skipped inside. Beyond them, a dirty yellow glow spread across the distance. It hovered above the pine trees. Beneath it, in the forest below, a walking path caught my eye, gleaming as though lit by an enchanted mirror. I turned around; everyone was talking among themselves, drifting off in different directions. I opened my phone and learned that the path led to a nearby village, one neighboring the town I was headed for. I looked at the falling rain, then at the light. Tightening my grip on my bag’s strap, I stepped outside.

Summer rain. It was a careless, mischievous child. There was no knowing where it would play, or for how long. I walked to the intermittent wail of passing cars. The pine trees stood stood out against the dark gray sky, drawn in deep navy ink. Then, not too far away, came a sound like a hiss. A shiver trembled at the back of my neck and spread through my body. I looked at the wet earth, already beginning to turn to mud, at the white drops striking the ground like needles stitching the soil. With a rapid heartbeat, I took one step after another. With the rain striking my face, I ran without faltering.

I kept running, staring at the damp, dark tree trunks. Once more. From a sound I couldn’t place, coming too close to guess, I suddenly turned fully behind me. Four or five bicycles sped past me in a row. Muddy water flicked from their wheels onto my shoes. With a wheezing rising from my chest, I looked up at the sky and saw light breaking through the dark gray clouds. I pressed myself against the base of the pine beside me and lowered my head. Swallowing, I looked at the wood shavings on the ground, at the short grass among the tangled shrubs. Until I began walking again.

I loved playing hide-and-seek. Especially in the blue of the night, looking up at the sky while counting. More than anything, I loved hiding somewhere no one would think to look. A secluded place to crawl into, a tree hidden deep enough to disappear beneath. Alone, with my back turned, I would listen to the echoing voices. Were they getting closer? At last, I would hear my name, and a few minutes later, their voices would echo among themselves. Then, all at once, I would spring from my hiding place and run for my goal. Behind me, they had only just opened their eyes; they watched me, unable to catch me.

The glow ahead had become like a nightlight someone had forgotten to switch off in the daytime. The rain had already stopped. The scent rising from the earth beneath my slow steps reminded me of the smell that comes with something newly bought, of the stained pages of an old book. Between the pines, fresh steam rising from the warm, well-traveled path brushed against my skin with a pleasant shiver. Before long, I entered the forest. The pines began to thin, giving way to a path lined with low shrubs.

A gravel road stretched out before me, dry and dusty. It was so dry, so loud beneath my feet, that I found myself wanting to return to the forest. Above, the sun scattered crystal-like light through the last of the mysterious clouds. I left the gravel road and followed a strip of asphalt downhill. The moment the pale blue water caught the yellow light behind it, my eyes fell shut. Who would have thought I would find a beach here? Shielding my eyes with one hand as I walked along the dirt road, I looked over the small family-run restaurants. I made my way toward one with a coffee cup painted above its entrance.

Safe. The burning of your cheeks, the wetness of your hands. A heartbeat like thunder. Sometimes, when I suddenly ran into someone inside the house, I would startle. I took an indescribable pleasure from that feeling too. Here I was. And you had appeared before me at the most ordinary moment imaginable.

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Milt Kobayashi (Japanese-American, 1950), Partners, from Pinterest

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A quiet sea stretched out before the wall of interwoven stone. It was a small inlet, set apart from the open sea. I walked over to the seating area outside the restaurant, in front of the wall As soon as I sat down, I realized the sun had begun to sink to the level of my eyes. Who had stirred the steam rising from inside a jar and thrown me here? For a while, I lost myself in the sunlight that forgot not a single drop of water. Looking toward the shore, I noticed someone swimming breaststroke beneath the surface. Or perhaps it was a jellyfish. Though, judging by the hair drifting on the water, I suppose it couldn’t have been.

I turned my head and looked at the mostly empty tables. The waiter was having a heated conversation with the elderly men beside me: They kept asking one another where they were from, and I found myself listening to the surprisingly deep conversation that followed. I looked at the waiter, and when I saw that he still hadn’t lifted his head, I pulled out my chair and climbed down from the stone barrier. I looked at the hair floating on the sea; every movement drifted in harmony, as though it were part of the water itself.

One by one, the grains of sand shimmered without losing their order. I wanted to plunge my hand into them and catch as many as I could. The more I held, the more they poured through my fingers, like a storm rising from below. I wanted to hold on to more; more slipped away. I opened my hands and let the rest fall. Among the moss clinging to the stones, I noticed a frog. I watched its throat swell with every breath, just like a piece of gum you cannot resist popping.

As I was turning back, I heard you say it was poisonous. I noticed the long, steady shadow falling over me. When I turned my head, I saw you brush the hair away from your face, revealing your clean-lined features. You were standing before me; for a while, looking straight into my eyes, you said it could kill with nothing more than a touch. I kept shaking my hand and wiped it on my clothes. So kissing was forbidden. Through the shadow of your hair, I saw your smile. It was as light as a feather. You said your name. I said mine. You raised your hand. I raised mine.

You put a towel on the chair across from me and sat down. I touched my bag and hesitated at the table where I had been sitting. Did you know where I had been? You raised your eyebrows with quiet seriousness, as if to say, if you don’t mind. The innocent, childlike expression in your eyes was answered by my smile. I sat across from you and cupped my warm cheeks in my hands. You asked what I was doing here and waited. Instead of answering, I looked back at the road I had come from: “Long story,” I said. Hearing my reply, you nodded and looked toward the sun. I lowered my hands into my lap. I noticed your hair wasn’t that long. It was a lovely length. You turned to the waiter and ordered two coffees.

As I drew in the foam of my coffee, I closed my eyes at its bitterness. The smile spreading across your face was gentle, almost caressing; you wanted to hear my story. I watched you set your coffee down, watched the muscles in your face shift. What was my story, anyway? You listened quietly, with interest. You told me you could drop me off wherever I was going, if I wanted. I watched the bright ring in your eyes and realized the air inside me was no longer enough. We talked until the sky above us turned orange, then deep red. While the light behind you dazzled my eyes, I watched the shifting outline of your figure. You weren’t all that close to me, but the way your eyes looked straight into mine made it feel as though you were.

You closed your eyes and turned your face toward the sun. When I nodded, you did too. The sound of the waves began to fade, the distance between their coming and going to shrink, until it disappeared. At the moment the sun met the sea, there was only the sound of held breaths. You opened your eyes. You turned your head toward me; your gaze was still where it had been. I saw you smile. I smiled. When I turned my eyes away, whatever it was I had just witnessed, I stayed fixed on that point, enchanted, eyes full. We kept sitting there in the orange of the setting sun.

However long it would last, I wished it would last.

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Felix Vallotton (Swiss, 1865-1925), Coucher de soleil, Villerville (Sunset, Villerville), 1917

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