Stinson

In the Cascade mountains, about an hour outside of Seattle, a road winds through a gray-green valley. The forest here is dark and cold. Trees reach for the infrequent sunlight. The infrequent traveler stops at the only gas station for 47 miles. He’s greeted by the beautiful oldest daughter of a local ski area owner.

***

Do you have peppermint candies? he asked.

I don’t think so, she said. She took gum out of her mouth and wound it around her finger.

He noticed that she was looking at the internet on her laptop.

Do you have wi-fi? he asked.

No. Why do you want peppermint candies? she asked.

They’re the only kind of breath freshener I like, and I’m meeting someone.

It’s getting late for dinner. She looked at the clock above the chip display. It was 8:30.

Is it a woman? she asked. He was surprised by this. He thought she was trying to get him to leave.

Yes, yes it is, he responded.

Are you taking her to the Grill?

The Stone River Bar and Grill was the only restaurant for miles. It sat on a rock ledge above a sharp bend in the river. As the sun set, light split the valley and filled the large windows of the Grill with orange blocks of color. The dark interior of the place glowed in the hour of sunset and the people who lived nearby gathered to talk about the news of the town. Below them, past hundreds of feet of evergreen trees, the river ran deep and cold.

Yes, he said. I’m from Hollywood and I’m meeting this woman for dinner. I think I want her to be in my next film.

Wow, said the girl. She seemed bored again. She looked at her computer.

Something stirred in heart of the director. He had been traveling all day: first from his house outside of LA, then to the airport, then to Seattle, and now far outside of down, into this little valley of darkness and beauty.

Have you ever acted? he asked her.

Never, she said, unwinding her gum and throwing it away.

You’re going to be late for your meeting, she said. He looked at her directly and leaned against her counter.

I don’t care, he said.

Do you want to see the river? she asked.

He nodded. She closed her computer.

Behind the gas station, she took his hand and led him downhill, into the trees. The night was dark. Enough light from the road came through the trees in yellow columns.

Soon, he could hear the rushing river. The forest was darker and damper. He tried to see her face, but he could only make out her moving limbs and her hand, rougher than he expected.

He looked up for the first time and saw ragged tendrils against the blue night sky, sifted by low clouds. He noticed a fading moon crescent, and shrived reverently.

I have come here for many years, said the girl, more to the forest than to him, it seemed.

He knew nothing he could say in response.

We’re here, she said.

The rushing water was somewhere below them. Forest seemed enormous and indifferent. The moon above smiled hopelessly.

The girl let go of his hand. He waited for her to do something. She sat down. He knew she might ask him about film. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to touch her.

She said nothing for a long time. Their eyes adjusted. They could see large boulders in the whitewater, erratics moved down-stream by glaciers.

This is what I was looking for, he said finally.

She said nothing.

What do you do down here? he asked.

I swim, she said.

In this water?

I’m used to it, she said. She started taking off her pants.

It’s too cold for me, he said.

I’m too cold for you, she said, and touched his cheek with her hand.

***

High above them in a dim dining room, a tall woman sits alone. Her second glass of Merlot is 1/3 full. He face is invisible behind layers of hope. All around her, faceless townspeople sip salty cups of clam chowder. The promising young director is nowhere to be seen.

graylight in
the clouds
above the beach
/
across the bay
there moves
a disturbance
in the low hills
like a razor
blade from
deep caves
/
i’m drinking
a beer and
watching SF
swell to the size
of a warzone
/
my friends are
in the dull sand
next to me.
their tattoos
seem funny,
for once