Floating on the River of Life

It seems strange to me to associate memories of Stephen with the Old House. After all, he never saw it. At least, not to my knowledge.

I met Stephen half-way through my Freshman year in high school. Like most people who I call friend, Stephen sought me out. For whatever reason I have been afraid to impose myself on those I do not know since I was very young. (However, once I do get to know someone I can easily become like cling wrap used to cover leftovers. I tend to drive more people away than I keep. Pity.) Anyway, the school year was more than half over when Stephen suddenly took a liking to me. At the start I was shy. Even then I did not have many friends, and several who presented themselves as such were merely setting me up for some big laugh with their real friends. But it didn't take me long to realize Stephen's affection was genuine. From that moment on, we were friends. Somewhere along the road the friendship became love. I've no idea when. It existed for years, I think, before I realized it.

There was absolutely nothing physical in our relationship. No hugs (well, the one time), no holding hands, no kisses and certainly nothing more. That wasn't what we meant to each other. Stephen and I were what I like to think of as "Complimentary Spirits", meaning we had enough in common to enjoy each other's company, but were different enough to provide balance to each other's life. Believe it or not, I brought humor and irreverance to Stephen. He just loved it that I could make fun of anyone and anything - and often right to their face. It's the big reason most of the school faculty and administration weren't that keen on me. Classmates, too, I suppose. But not Stephen. I think he had trouble with it early on, but he quickly realized that the teasing I subjected him to was inclusive. He learned to give as good as he got.

Stephen made me look at the world and consider the rules of etiquette - at least sometimes. I don't recall Stephen ever getting into trouble at school. I was because I couldn't resist straight lines, and nobody gives straight lines better then teachers and bosses. And it pisses them off to no end that they do. The ones with a sense of humor handle it well enough. Those lacking that gift become total a**holes.

I'm writing about Stephen today because I came across The Ballad of Easy Rider, by the Byrds, and it reminded me of how Stephen and I used to walk down Cedar Creek. Sometimes Randy and/or Chris would join us, or Stephen's younger brother, Glenn. Once, Helvie and her friends came. But mostly it was Stephen and me.

At first Stephen's dad would drive us to the drop off place on County Road 22. We would hop on inner tubes and begin the four hour float downstream to the place where his dad would come to bring us home again. Later, when we could drive, we would take one car and leave it at the destination. Then drive up to 22 and start our journey. That completed, we would then drive back to get the other car. What a waste of money and fuel? Ha! Stephen and I wasted everything. Time. Money. Youth. Love. We never really took advantage of any of the gifts we had. Pity.

I still remember one of our trips with amusement. It happened on one of those "What do you want to do?" days. Floating down the river wasn't our first choice, but we couldn't think of anything else. It was scorching hot, and Stephen wasn't keen on hot weather. Me, I loved it. One hundred degrees and humid was my kind of weather. I still like it, but I can't take it at all anymore. It almost kills me. That's a pity, too.

Anyway, Stephen had purchased this rubber raft a few years earlier and the bottom had become damaged. So, instead of tossing it as garbage, he cut out the bottom and used it as an oval inner tube. It was big enough for several, so that was what we took. But about half-way through our trek we tired of everything and just lay over the sides and let the current pull us slowly along. At times our feet would drag through the gravel river bottom. Others we let our legs and feet float just below the surface. Occasionally there would be a drop off, but these were few.

There was no conversation. Hadn't been for some time. We weren't even keen on each other's company. I was at one end of the oval and Stephen was at the other. We came to a huge bend in the creek, at least thirty or forty feet across. The far embankment had been eroded to a twelve foot cliff. The near bank was thick with willows.

I remember watching the willows transform into river, to sandy cliff, to river and back to willows. It must have done that about a dozen times or more before I ventured to say something.

I think we're floating in a circle.

What?

We're caught in some kind of vortex. We're just floating in a circle.

You sure?

Pretty. You can check it out for yourself, if you want to.

Stephen, who never liked being bothered when in thought, was annoyed and waited until we had completed two more circles before acknowledging my observation. Then, giving me a look which seemed to suggest this was somehow all my fault, said he would deal with it. He let himself down into the center of the tube, intending to reach the bottom and walk us out of the circle.

Unfortunately, Stephen wasn't much over five feet tall. I watched as he dropped down and out of site. All I could see were his hands, which still grasped the tube. Then he popped up like flotsom.

I can't reach the bottom.

You sure?

A look. Yes. You try.

Now everyone in my family is tall. Lynahr was the shortest, and she was five foot eight. My dad and my brothers were all over six foot, and I have two sisters over six feet tall, too. Helvie is 6'2" and Gayanne is 6'4". I am 6'6". So, laughing and making some rude comment about Stephen's stature I lowered myself into the black black water. I couldn't touch bottom either.

Well, the solution still seemed simple. We would swim out. Stephen was even willing to let the old raft be. He was in a pissy mood. But I wasn't so sure. I don't swim well, and Stephen wasn't much better. I thought we should hang on to the raft - literally. All we had to do was get on the same side and swim together with the raft under our arms. So that is what we did.

We kicked and splashed for the better part of five minutes before Stephen announced with annoyance (and a growing sense of concern) that we weren't making any headway. The current was stronger than we were. All we were doing was tiring ourselves out.

Always ready to panic, I asked him if he had any ideas, or should we just start screaming? I don't know how we managed it, but suddenly we were arguing over who's fault it was that we were stuck in the middle of Cedar Creek, a mere twenty feet - or less - from continuing on our way.

We tried swimming again, this time giving it our absolute all. No dice. We were caught in the current and the river was not going to let us go. Stephen was not one to normally panic, but he could get excited about things. I could tell his concern over our situation was becoming a problem. So, looking around, I came up with a new solution. I (who really could not swim a lick) would get on the outside of the tube's ring and pull the tube behind me.

Stephen thought this was a stupid idea and told me so. But he did believe I might make it to shore without him. Well, I didn't believe I could without the raft so we argued again. Then, throwing my head back in frustration, I saw something we had not noticed before. A willow tree had dropped some branches down not far above and beyond us. If I could only swim (thrash) a short way, perhaps I could use the tube to bounce up and grab it. That Stephen didn't argue with me told me it was worth a go. So I did it.

My first go failed. Too much water in the eyes. My second would have worked except the willow let go of its branch. Then, on try number three, I managed to get a good grip on a branch the willow considered important and pulled us away. From here Stephen was able to jump to shore (leaving me still stuck in the tube), find a large branch on the ground and use it to help me get myself and the raft back on track.

Our lethargy was gone. We enjoyed the second half of our trip much better, but we were exhausted when we reached the car. Stephen refused to bring the raft tube on any subsequent river journeys.

It wasn't really part of the House of My Youth, but it was from just after that time. Stephen entered my life even as the Old House departed. Milestones. They make our lives episodic, don't they?

I still wish Stephen were here today. There is something I would like to say to him. Something I never did when I had the chance. All of those chances. Wasted. And now that I can say it, he isn't here. I'll say it anyway. I love you, Stephen. I love you more than life.