for Matt
Because the most romantic thing I can think of is a riverbank, the smack of bare feet on cool, damp mud, the urge to roll up my pant legs and hobble in up to my calves. Because I know which bridge to jump from, which rock ledges, too. I've climbed the slick, mud path that curves around and up to the top, inched my way to the edge and screamed, legs kicking, all the way down, to impress a boy. Because the best view at the carnival isn’t from the Ferris wheel, but the tall ride in the back with the buckets that sweep near the canopy, reach over the water like they might dip me in. Because the next most romantic thing is the sound of cicadas between sets of a Skynard cover band near the VFW, the glow of carnival lights through a cup of draft beer, against the sparkling teal of a Scrambler carriage. Because I know the City swaps the planters on the bridge with the seasons, wave at the guy in the maintenance truck as he’s switching them out. Because my dad taught me how to skip rocks just over there, how to pick the perfect, smooth stone, rinse off the grit, and wing it just so it sails across the top of the water. My husband and I taught our boys how to skip stones on the same bank: the older one meticulously combs through rocks, while the smaller one hauls boulders into the shallows, squeals with joy. Because we got married upstream, could hear the river murmuring just over our shoulders, smell it as we said our vows, drank beer and danced, sweating into the July night. Because our house was a “starter home” ten years ago and we’ve filled it with wild kids and a good dog since. Because I can, because I want to tell you this: follow the gravel path there and step over the metal chain. Use the low branches to guide you as you walk down the sandy hill. No matter what time of year it is (just not after a big rain), walk out toward the water as far as you can and find a large, smooth stone, big enough to sit on. Wrap your arms around your knees. Be still. Listen to the water, yes, as it ripples over stones where the river curves here, but also the traffic on the bridge, the thrum of tires over expansion joints. Press a finger into the bank just to know how it feels. Take a deep breath and stay, even after the heron takes flight.
