Running Barefoot (32 page)

That night I tried to lose myself in Shakespeare and ended up staring at my Wall of Words. The writing had changed over the years, from the large loopy letters with heart-dotted i’s, to the neat script of a practiced hand. I quizzed myself absentmindedly, defining every word my eyes focused on.

fractious
:
tending to be troublesome; hard to handle or control.
insipid
:
dull, uninteresting
docent
:
teacher, lecturer
.
immanent:
My eyes stopped on the word, as a memory resurfaced. I remembered the day, many years ago, that I had discovered its meaning.

Samuel and I had been attacking some of Shakespeare’s sonnets for his English homework. I had been reading aloud and had come across the word
immanent
. I stopped, the usage not consistent with the word I thought I knew.

“You know.......
imminent,
meaning it’s about to happen ... it could happen any minute,” Samuel had volunteered.

“I don’t think that’s it . . . or it’s spelled wrong if it is. Look up immanent, with an ‘a’ instead of an ‘i’ in the middle.”

Samuel had sighed and opened up the dictionary, quickly skimming the pages until he found the word. He’d read it to himself and then looked up at me, shaking his head in wonder.

“You were right, it is a different word. You have a good eye ...or maybe it’s those elfin ears,” he said dryly.

Completely aghast, my hands had flown to cover my ears. I had absentmindedly tucked my hair behind my ears as I read, and I anxiously pulled the hair down again so it shielded them. I hated my ears! They weren’t big and they didn’t stick out from my head - but they were slightly pointed at the very tips. And to make matters worse, the tips turned out just a bit, giving me the look of one of Santa’s holiday helpers. When I was little, my mother had told me they made me look like a wood sprite. My brothers, of course, said they made me look more like a troll - and I had been hiding them ever since.

Samuel must have seen the dismay his words had caused. The blood rushing to my cheeks had made my face pound in concert with my heartbeat. I gripped the book in my lap tightly and asked him what
immanent
meant, eager to distract him from my crimson countenance.

He was quiet for several seconds, holding the dictionary, his eyes cast down. Then he reached up and gently tucked my hair back behind the ear closest to him. I froze, wondering if he was teasing me or poking fun at me.

But when he spoke there was no mischief in his voice. He said, “I like your ears. They make you look like a wise little fairy. Your ears help give you an
immanent
beauty.” His words were sincere, and I felt my curiosity peak. My look must have conveyed my question, for he quickly supplied the answer.

“Immanent: dwelling in nature and the souls of men.” His eyes met mine seriously.

After a moment, I slowly raised my hand and tucked back the hair on the other side, uncovering my other ear. I then continued on with the reading and nothing further was said on the topic.

When I got home from school that day, I wrote
immanent
on my wall and looked it up for myself. In addition to the definition Samuel had given me,
immanent
meant having existence only in the mind. I had laughed to myself and decided if the beauty of my ears existed only in Samuel’s mind it was good enough for me.

Smiling, I reached out and touched the word as I let the memory warm me. I was strangely soothed and suddenly very sleepy. I turned to my bed, climbed in, and fell instantly into a heavy and dreamless sleep.

17. Rubato

Samuel was waiting for me in front of my house when I slipped out into the rising sun the next morning for my run. Somehow I had known he would be. We hadn’t arranged it, but there he was. Today he wore sneakers and mesh shorts, his long brown legs muscled and lightly furred with dark hair. He wore another USMC t-shirt in soft grey. It fit snugly, clinging to his V shaped back and narrow torso. Yum. I walked towards him, not quite knowing what to say. Last night’s kiss was very fresh in my mind.

“Hi,” I said lightly. “Are you coming with me?”

Samuel looked me over silently, his eyes lingering on mine. He was never in a hurry to reply. I’d forgotten that about him. He always took his time when he talked, and I tamped down my urge to fill the silence. That was Samuel’s way. He might not reply at all. After all, he was obviously coming with me. The question was pretty rhetorical.

“I’m really hoping you’ll come with me,” he finally said softly, his voice deep and a little rough from sleep, indicating these were probably the first words he had spoken out loud since we’d parted the night before.

It was my turn to study him in silence, not sure what to make of his comment. He met my perusal with steady black eyes. We were quite the pair, standing in the middle of the road, staring at each other for long stretches, not talking. I laughed suddenly at our owlish behavior.

I threw my hands toward the mountains. “Lead on, Super Sam,” I said gallantly. “Wherever you want to go, I’ll follow.”

Samuel’s expression lightened at the old nickname, but he didn’t smile. “I’m going to hold you to that, Bionic Josie.”

Samuel started off at a pretty brisk pace, and I wasn’t naive enough to think he was trying to impress me. I knew better. The man was fit, and he knew how to run. I kept up pretty well, finding a rhythm and settling in. We didn’t converse at all, just ran in quiet companionship - our feet drumming and our breath echoing their cadence. We ran east a couple miles, climbing higher and higher as we neared the base of the canyon, until the fat orange sun had shoved off its mountain perch and hovered heavily just above us in the early morning sky. Then we turned, with its rays nudging at our backs, and ran back towards town. We picked up our feet as gravity pulled us forward, gaining speed as we hurtled back down into the valley.

Fall was in the air. The light changes in the autumn. Even at sunrise the angle is different, the intensity softened, muted, like looking through a painting under water. The air was just a few degrees cooler than it had been on previous mornings. I felt a sudden weightlessness, a burst of joy, and I looked at Samuel and let myself smile with it, let it pour out. I felt better than I had in a very long time. I felt whole, I realized. Complete. How was it possible than in two weeks I could undergo this radical shift? Like somehow I’d discovered the key to the secret garden -- a place that had been there all along, but had become overgrown with neglect; I’d unlocked the door and stepped inside, and I was ready to pull weeds and plant roses.

Samuel must have felt it too, because his white teeth flashed back at me as his grin stretched wide in his strong golden face. My eyes lingered on his face appreciatively, and then I turned again to the dusty dirt road in front of me. I knew better than to look away from the road ahead for too long. I ran face first into horse butt when I did that.

As we neared the end of our run, my muscles protested the downshift in speed, having become accustomed to the flying sprint we’d maintained for the last mile of the homestretch. I needed to run with Samuel every morning; he made me push myself, big time. No more lazy morning jog for this superhero.

Samuel continued on with me past his grandparent’s house, and we slowed to a walk as we arrived at mine. My dad was sitting out on the front porch, feet up on the rail, a Diet Pepsi in his hand. My dad liked his caffeine cold. He called it cheap whiskey and claimed there was nothing better then the burn of that first long pull after he popped the tab. I was my father’s daughter, and I couldn’t agree more, though I favored Diet Coke.

“Looks like ya got yerself a runnin’ partner, Josie Jo,” my dad called out in greeting as we walked across the grass towards him. Like every girl does, I felt a flash of relief that my dad seemed fine with the fact that I had male company.

“Morning, Daddy.” I leaned over the porch rail and grabbed his drink, stealing a swig of ice cold fire.

“Sir.” Samuel nodded towards my dad and stuck out his hand. My dad’s boots fell heavily to the porch as he grasped Samuel’s hand in his own.

“I’m glad you’ve got someone to run with, for the time being at least, huh Josie? I always worry a little with you running all alone. Even in a little place like Levan, ya just never know.”

I shrugged off my dad’s worry. On my morning runs I’d never seen anything but chipmunks, birds, livestock, and the neighbors I’d known all my life.

“Samuel, come on in and I’ll get us something cold to drink, since I’m sure Dad doesn’t really want to share.” I smiled at my dad, and Samuel followed me, excusing himself with another polite “Sir” to my dad. I liked that.

“The manners, is that a Marine thing?” I said over my shoulder as we walked through the living room into my cheery kitchen. “Water, orange juice, milk, or caffeine?”

“Orange juice - and yes. Definitely a Marine thing. I couldn’t not say “yes ma’am” or “no sir” if my life depended on it. You live around it for ten years and it becomes pretty ingrained.”

I poured Samuel a tall glass of orange juice and handed it to him. Then I gulped down my requisite 8 oz of water before I let myself pop the tab on a cold can of caffeine. We leaned against the counter together, nursing our drinks in thirsty silence.

“So what comes next?” I propped my hip against the counter, turning to face him. “I mean, as far as the Marines?”

“I honestly don’t know.” Samuel face was contemplative. “I got back from Iraq three weeks ago-”

“Three weeks?” I yelped, stunned that he had so recently returned. “How long were you there?”

“All told, except for some leave stateside, I’ve spent almost three years in Iraq. Two 12 month tours, with the last one being extended by six months. It was time to come home, whatever that means.”

“Whatever that means?” I repeated, puzzled.

“I don’t really have a home to come home to,” Samuel said matter-of-factly. “I have been in the Marine Corp since I was 18-years-old. I’ve been stationed all over. I did two tours in Afghanistan after 9/11, and then did the two tours in Iraq. When I haven’t been deployed, I’ve either been receiving specialized training, or stationed at Camp Pendleton, or on a ship. Anyway, once I was through debriefment, my platoon was given a month’s paid leave. I’ve stored up more than that in the last ten years; I haven’t taken much. I borrowed that truck from a member of my platoon. I don’t own any wheels. No house, no wheels, all my possessions fit in a suitcase. Anyway, it’s been two weeks since I got here, and I have about two weeks more.”

“And then what?” I couldn’t imagine going back to Iraq for round three. I was exhausted just listening to him.

“And then I have to decide.” Samuel’s eyes met mine.

“Decide?”

“Decide whether I want something else.” Samuel was being cryptic again.

“You mean, something besides the Marine Corp?”

“Yeah.” Samuel set his glass down and pushed himself away from the counter. “What are you doing today?”

He changed the subject abruptly, as if his future was not something he wanted to discuss, and my brain spun with thoughts of his last ten years - wondering at his experiences, his losses and triumphs, his friendships…his life. Somehow, because his letters had dwindled after boot camp, I had always imagined him in the context of that environment, in the relative safety of a military base with drill instructors watching his every move. In actuality, he had spent most of the last ten years in very hostile environments, in very dangerous places. I shuddered a little bit, and shook my head in wonder. Even when his Grandma Nettie had marveled at his sniper skills and his prowess as an ‘assassin,’ I had not processed the fact that he had most likely spent the majority of his time as a Marine in different war zones.

“Josie?” Samuel’s voice prodded and I realized he had asked me a question.

“Hmm?” I found myself back in my kitchen, Samuel looking down at me with one eyebrow peaked, patiently waiting for my response.

“What are you doing today?” He repeated.

I glanced at the clock. “I go into the shop at 11:00 - work until 2:30, and then I walk over to the church and teach piano lessons until 7:00ish. What about you?”

“Kick around with my grandpa until you’re done at 7:00ish.” His eyes crinkled a little, hinting at a smile, and softening his assumption that I would be at his disposal as soon as lessons were over. My heart skipped wildly, and I resisted the urge to glance down at my chest to see if the skipping was noticeable under my thin shirt.

The back door off the kitchen swung open, and I jumped guiltily, although Samuel stood several feet away. My dad stuck his white head around the door frame, standing a few steps down on the back stoop. “Hey Jos?”

“Yeah, Dad?”

“I don’t think I told you, me ‘n Jacob are headin’ out to the Book Cliffs this weekend. Jacob drew out a tag in the bow-hunt out there. We’ve got some days comin’ now that shutdowns are done at the plant, so we’re gonna take the trailer and the horses and go see if we can get us an elk.”

The Book Cliffs were in Moab, about five hours southeast of Levan. They were named the Book Cliffs because that’s what the mountains looked like - books lined up in a bookshelf. It was breathtaking country, and every hunting tag in that area was hard to come by and highly coveted. The only thing my dad liked as well as horses was hunting, and I knew he must be tickled pink about Jacob drawing out.

“Are Jared and Johnny going too?”

“Jared hasn’t been given permission,” my dad grumbled, referring to Tonya’s position as head of the household, “and Johnny’s afraid to leave with the twins being so close to comin’, so it’s just Jake and me. I think Marv might come with us, though.” Marv was Jacob’s father-in-law who didn’t miss many hunts either.

“When are you leaving?”

“I’m thinking we’ll head out later on today and probably be gone til’ next Thursdee or Fridee.” My dad hemmed and hawed, as if I would complain about him being gone the six or seven days he was suggesting.