I did things like I went out of the gate and followed a boy named Bart or whoever he was on the trail and he was riding fast so I was riding fast even though usually I’m careful and I don’t want to crash and my heart was thumping and my hair was flying and people were looking and Bart was laughing and I was laughing, too.
I was laughing.
I did things like ride along the river and almost hit a family with bike helmets and knee pads and the dad yelled, “Watch where you’re going!” And Bart yelled, “Sorry!” And I yelled, “Sorry!” but I didn’t look back.
I did things like follow Bart to a spot in the trees and stop and throw rocks in the water and try to hit the old canoe on the other bank and Bart missed so bad and I hit it right on. And he said, “Whoa,” and I said, “That was easy.”
And then he looked at me one second too long like we were in a movie. Him with a Mohawk, me with a-a-a-a nothing. But it didn’t matter.
I did things like listen to Bart when he told me that his cousin once drank the water in the river and he got cholera and had to be in a hyperbaric chamber for months and I said, “You can’t get cholera from the Provo River,” and he said, “You can and he did,” and I said, “Is he okay?” and he said, “He sells used cars, so no, he’s not okay.”
I did things like go with him, go with him all the way to the end of the trail, just the two of us. And then watched as he kept going, off the paved trail onto the gravel toward the beach and I yelled, “What are you doing!” and he kept riding, right into the water of Utah Lake. Right into the crystal clear blue water until he was up to his knees and then up to his chest and then he kept on going until he disappeared, his whole body, everything, buried down down down into the deep and should I follow him?
Do I follow you Bart?
“Be brave,” said the whisper. “Be brave.”
And so I did.
I rode right on into the water like it was nothing.
And he was waiting for me.
He and me, under the water where the fish said, “Hi,” and a gigantic purple octopus had set up a table and chairs and there was a Big Mac for him and an apple pie for me and he said, “I’ve never brought anyone here before.”
And I said, “I’ve never been brought anywhere before.”
And he said, “I love you.”
And I said, “Don’t love me.”
And he said, “Why not?”
And I said, “Please don’t.”
And he said, “I can’t help it.”
And I thought maybe he couldn’t. I thought maybe there was nothing I could do to stop it because I thought maybe I loved him, too. And maybe there would never be another him and another me that went together so well in the whole universe.
Is that how it happened, Dad? Is that how it happened, Mom? You couldn’t help yourself?
You couldn’t help yourself?
And if that’s true, why can they help themselves now?