A Sort of Ode to Joy
A Sort of Ode to Joy
I got home from work at nine o’clock and decided that I would go down, through the gate, across the creek–socks mushy all of a sudden in my Adidas sneakers–and into the meadow for a walk without stopping to see anyone. My brother was home, my parents were not, and the breeze felt too light to matter, as if there’d be no difference if I stayed inside or left for a walk, it’d still be hot. So I left for a walk.
Swish, swush. My shoes made squishy sounds as I walked up the road. Work shoes, unused to a long walk. Stiff. I felt my toes cramp as I crested a small hill, teeth digging into the skin of my cheek.
I walked a little ways until I passed the first few cottonwood trees, bare now that they had released what clung to their branches. The breeze raised a few pieces of bark that were barely hanging on, pushing them up until they waved like leaves. I took a few moments to watch how they moved.
One. I could see little lines of healthy green on the underside of the bark, bright even against the pink-white-orange sky.
Two. The trees all swayed a little, so it almost seemed like they were dancing, flyaway pieces of themselves like little pieces of thread on a sweater, pulling away from too much motion.
Three. Birds had made little scratches, almost grooves, into the trunks, and they made such perfect lines that I could only think of pleats, schoolgirl uniforms with starched skirts like in the movies.
“What’re you looking at?” I hadn’t heard him approach.
“The trees,” I said, eyes ahead. I wondered if they looked glassy. I could feel the tears gathering in the soft inner corners of my eyes, some sort of emotion heavy enough to make my throat burn. “They’re alive.”
“You’ve noticed,” he said, biting the skin of his own cheek to stifle what I believe was a laugh at my expense. “Paid attention in science class. Good for you.”
My lips tilted toward my chin–with my lips closed, my smile was switched, upside down. “Thanks.” Don’t ask me what I got on my ACT was on the tip of my tongue, but he knew. It was low.
We stood in silence for a moment. The breeze picked up a little, made itself substantial, and I shivered in my thin, black work shirt. I brought my hands up and crossed my arms, cupping each opposite elbow.
“It’s eighty degrees.”
“No, it’s not. You’re a walking furnace.”
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked it. “Seventy three. Same difference. Are you seriously cold?”
I bit down on the inner skin of my lower lip and nodded. “No. Maybe? You don’t feel anything?”
“Walking furnace, remember?” He glanced at me sideways. “You’re shivering. That’s crazy.”
I laughed a little. “I’ve been standing here, in the shade, for probably the last ten minutes without moving. Also, I spent a lot of time in the walk-in.”
“Like, the freezer?”
“Fridge. It’s like, forty degrees, though.”
“You could argue that that’s a freezer.”
I turned and looked at him fully. “Did you come here to argue with me about my body temperature and the semantics of electric appliances, or do you want something in particular?”
He grinned his long, slow grin. Lazy, like the cheshire cat in Alice in Wonderland. “Am I not allowed to be doing both?”
I groaned. “I was going to take a walk.”
He nudged me forward. “I’ll come with you.”
“You’re annoying.”
“You called me.”
“Two weeks ago. And I thanked whatever God shining on me at that particular moment that you didn’t pick up.”
“Oho. Who’s arguing now?”
I kicked him in the ankle. “Both of us. Fine, come on.”
We made a couple of strides forward, stepping over and around rocks and branches in our way, gravitating toward each other but not quite touching. His curls brushed against mine and they mutated into a mega-curl. When the strands pulled apart sparks tickled my neck, all static.
“How was work?” He asked, kicking a rock out of his way with accidental force. “You didn’t say anything specific about it, just that you were in the free–fridge a lot.” That grin again, looooooong and slow. “Anything memorable?”
“It was okay,” I said, the Claritin I had taken a day ago choosing that moment to wear off, making my nose run. I wiped the snot away with the back of my hand. “I got off early. Had to help the cooks put away the extra stuff, made a fifty dollar tip.”
His thick eyebrows rose. “Hey, that’s good–fifty bucks.”
“Yeah.”
We made it to the fork in the road. One way we could go led up, through a copse of trees, and back down to the path. The other way was more even ground, but narrower, with an edge you could tumble down, and meandered over to a little incline, at the top of which the two paths then met. In the middle, there was a pond, thick with gunk.
“Which way?” I asked. “Intruder gets to decide.”
He laughed. “Intruder? I have a name.”
I nodded, that heavy emotion back. “I know.”
I could hear the thick slide of spit when he swallowed, almost comical. “And?”
I said his name, quiet and gentle. It gave his big mouth some sort of pause, and we didn’t speak for about thirty seconds, just stood there while the air darkened.
After a moment, he spoke. “I’m cold.”
“I told you.”
He took my hand. “Warm me up?”
I shook my head, but let him pull me in. “Terrible line.”
“Two weeks away from you. I’m out of practice.”
“You’re an idiot.”
He pressed his lips to the top of my head. “I know.”
We stood like that for a few moments, holding each other.
One. I could feel his heartbeat, hard and fast through the fabric of his blue t-shirt.
Two. The breeze picked up enough that my teeth had started chattering.
Three. His hands slid under the fabric at my back and pressed against my skin, almost fever hot.
The Voice
August 2025
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