Snapdragons
In the spring of the fourth
year of her post-graduate studies at the University of Arizona,
on a dazzling, chill Sunday morning, Judy Clements sat staring out the second
story window at the dusty, sun-bleached urban sprawl, sipping a double
mocha. The studio apartment, small to
her eyes when she’d first moved in three years earlier, was now closer to being
a warren as the walls were filled with sagging shelves of books and reference
papers, and the tiny kitchenette’s formica table was crowded with her notebook
computer. Her bed was still unmade, the
peach and green thin spread rumpled, the empty pillows looking tired.
Framed prints of lovely
climes, gifts from cyber friends tried to brighten up the warren’s stark white
walls: the Maine
coast in fall, a ranch outside of Boise
in December; the old villa outside of Milan
on a June morning, and a fishing camp just outside of the Hoh River
valley in Washington
State. Completing the clockwise review, she sipped
the thick brew, running the fingers of her free hand through her cropped blond
hair, glancing down at the form letter from the clinic that had changed
everything the day before, the day when she’d only focused on the demands and
schedules left to fulfill to see her achieve her PhD in Political Science.
Hepatitis C. The reality of it made her hands shake. She’d broken her leg last year, on her first
vacation since graduating from high school; an adventure to bicycle through Baja
that had seen her only remembering the blare of an air horn on the road from Oaxaca, waking up in a
tiny clinic with her leg in a cast. The
left femur had been snapped by the bus’s bumper as she was thrown clear. By the time she was taken to the hospital,
she’d needed two units of blood.
In black onionskin shorts and
a worn tee, she stood, her running shoes only needing the laces tightened. The welt of the scar ran about eight inches
along her thigh, and she rubbed it absently, reaching for her hydration pack
and her keys, checking her watch.
Six o’clock. Time to go, time to clear her
mind, time to stop thinking! The growing
weariness and chronic joint pain had finally convinced her to submit to the
doctors, and the pronouncement of the cause made her even more determined to
fight for her health; but the walls were feeling like they were closing in . .
.
She ran ten miles, her
self-imposed goal once a week, the intense run that purges the spirit, in
contrast to the easy three-mile distance she maintained Monday, Wednesday, and
Friday, working out in the gym and swimming for two hours Tuesdays, and
Thursdays.
Focused only on breathing,
only on the purity of the run, she was back in an hour and a half. Showered, the bed made and a breakfast of a
strip steak finished, she looked at her computer. Something about the jade world of the Hoh
rain forest tugged at her mind and wouldn’t let go. She admitted she knew perfectly well why!
In twenty minutes, she’d made
reservations to stay at Delores’ fishing camp, the girl delighted to finally
get to meet her. A plane ticket would
break the bank, so it would be time to get the saddlebags of her motorcycle
packed, and hit the road! The German
touring bike was her one luxury, her icon to sanity and freedom!
As the miles flew by,
counties becoming states, and hours seeing the lengthening day become night
that broke to a new day, she thought about Delores, Delores with her fiery eyes
and mane of black hair, Delores with the voice that came to mind whenever she
showered. They’d been the best of
friends over the internet for two years; the younger girl coming from old
family money, choosing to keep the fishing camp left her by her parents while
pursuing her degree in biology. They’d
talked on the phone at least twice a month, a constraint of a student’s budget,
and the pressures of endless scholastic responsibilities.
Hitting Olympia Monday morning, Judy stopped and got
a hotel room, to eat, shower, sleep, and then go running to stretch and get
acclimated. The sweet air was a delight,
and dreams of the raven-haired friend filled her with need.
She stopped in Queets Tuesday
morning and called Delores from a pay phone after fueling her bike, a little
embarrassed to have slept almost eighteen hours the previous night.
“Hey girl, are you ready for
me?”
“Judy! C’mon
in! I can’t wait to meet you!”
“I’ll be there in a flash!” She grinned, hearing the girl’s voice.
Rolling slowly west after
turning off at mile marker 202, the landscape evolved into a dream-like sea of
green, of moss on the maples, a thick carpet that softened the purr of her
motorcycle. The air was rich and
velvety-soft, moist and sweet to her desert lungs, caressing her skin,
soothing.
Water, and the sign of water
was everywhere. Coming up to a brightly
painted sign that announced the fishing camp, she turned onto a raked,
immaculate gravel drive that spread out into a small, empty parking area in
front of a large log ranch house with a shake roof green with moss. She parked, and dismounted. Leaving her helmet and gloves on the cooling
bike, her senses swam in the ceaseless whisper of the rain forest. The smell of the sea was close, as was the
chuckle of a small stream. Stretching,
and unzipping her riding jacket she walked to the left and found a trail,
impulsively following it.
Past sighing trees and
carefully making her way down a gentle, boulder-strewn slope, she spied the
raven-haired girl coming to her feet by the banks of the creek. To her left she could just see the ocean, and
a driftwood-laden beach. Delores was
wearing olive-green cargo shorts and a faded blue denim shirt, the long sleeves
rolled up. Rinsing her hands in the
running water she looked directly into Judy’s eyes, laughter bubbling from her
lips as they curved into a smile.
In six steps, the younger,
taller girl was across the stream and in her arms, her hands slipping inside
the warm leather jacket, her mouth finding, kissing happily.
“Whoa, Hon! Let me look at you, will you?”
Delores’ cool hands weren’t
inhibited at all. . . She leaned back
and caught Judy’s eyes again, complying for the moment.
“Two years, one month, eleven
days and nineteen hours – that’s a long time to wait to finally say ‘hello’ to
your face!” She cocked her head, her
creamy, flawless skin catching the filtering light and shadows of the
morning. She licked her lips and
swallowed, nodding, seeing the shadows of pain behind her friend’s eyes.
Taking Judy’s hands, she led
her to the bank of the creek, pointing into the gently flowing water. “Look at my latest project!”
There in the creek, against
clean sand were some dozen small – somethings.
They reminded the blonde of nothing but living flowers, snapdragons
even, but these were individual mollusks!
Porcelain, feathery-shelled, with vivid hues of purple and green, they
seemed to be drawn to her presence, moving across the sand closer.
“I’ve been experimenting with
conch species, looking for a fresh-water adaptation that will fill a similar
niche in this ecosystem! Aren’t they
beautiful?”
Judy looked into the girl’s
eyes, startled. “You’re releasing a
genetically-manipulated species into the wild on your own initiative? That’s insane!”
The girl’s eyes seemed to
grow a little wider, gentler, completely untroubled.
“Why don’t you see if they’ll
come to your hand? They won’t hurt you –
I play with them all the time. Go
ahead. Trust me.” Her voice was soft, resistless.
Judy sat on the rocks by the
creek and looked into the water. The
flower-conchs, the snapdragons were close, so pretty, so delicate. . . She reached in and laid her hand flat on the
sand, close-by. Immediately two of the
mollusks moved into contact; a soft foot muscle emerging from each to help them
climb onto her palm. She couldn’t feel
their presence, couldn’t help but watch the lovely colors as the cold water
rippled over them.
She noticed the delicate
shells were changing from porcelain to a deep rose, and more of the mollusks
were crowding, as the now-darkened ones fell off and were immediately replaced
by others. Delores’ hands were deftly
undressing her, finishing with her boots, even her socks; and she eased the
entranced woman completely into the water, kissing her over and over, breathing
into her mouth, licking, biting, sucking. . .
Judy awoke the following
morning in an enormous bed, built of pine logs, almost buried in soft, snowy
cotton sheets. Unselfconscious and
uncaring that she was nude, she found her feet and made her morning toilet,
indulging in a long, hot shower.
Returning, she looked gratefully into the jade light of the growing day,
her hands lusciously stroking herself, luxuriating in the glow of health, the
creamy, smooth warmth and strength her skin seemed to barely contain.
Climbing into bed, she found
Delores already there, reaching out with open arms and parted lips for her
lover, her perfect teeth gleaming in the whispering, quiet morning.
As sharp fangs sank into the
blonde’s mammary artery, the raven-haired girl sighed in ecstasy, thinking, “Finally!
Success! After an Age filled with
pollution and disease, we have a way for all of us to enjoy clean food!”
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