“I’m not sure, I think they might be a type of finch. It’s hard to tell as babies. But I saw the mother a few times and she had a bit of a red chest,” he says, grinning at me.
I grin back, sharing his excitement. “Wow. That’s amazing. I’ve seen a few nests in the trees around my house, but I’ve never seen any eggs let alone babies!”
He nods, his green eyes glinting, reflecting the sunlight.
“I knew you’d like them,” he says. And I try not to die from the thought that he’s been thinking of me.
“I did. I do. Thank you. For sharing it with me.”
He nods again and we hold each other’s gaze for a moment, then he turns away, clearing his throat. I look away as well, giving us both a moment to work out what’s happening between us.
I walk closer to the edge of the lake, dipping just the very tip of my shoe into it. It’s funny to think that in those depths a whole different ecosystem exists that we can’t see from land.
“Do you ever wonder what’s happening down there?” he asks, moving over to stand next to me, watching the ripples from my shoe spread out over the water’s surface.
“I was literally wondering just exactly that.”
He doesn’t seem surprised to hear it.
There’s a rustling and we both whip our heads around, just in time to catch a glimpse of the mother bird arriving home. Those happy bird babies are safe now.
I scan the area around us and for the first time I notice a small tent set up about 15 feet from the water, in amongst some bushes.
“Oh, hey, look.” I point to it, and he looks in the direction of my finger.
“Oh, yeah,” he says, then looks away almost immediately.
“Is… is that yours?” I ask, before I can stop myself, before I realize it might not be something he wants to answer. But then why did he bring me here?
“Um. Yeah,” he says, still staring out over the lake.
“Do you… um, do you live here?”
He’s quiet for a moment and I’m not sure whether he’s hoping I’ll drop the questions or if he’s trying to formulate an answer.
It doesn’t matter if you do, is what I want to say to him. I don’t care. But I don’t know if it’s what he wants to hear.
“No, not exactly. I just… my house gets a little crowded sometimes. So, I come out here where it’s quiet. And I can just read or sleep.”
“Where do you live?” I can’t stop the questions. I want to know everything about him.
“Doesn’t matter. I like it here.”
I nod. “I do too. It’s just so peaceful, I can’t believe I didn’t know about this place. How did you find it?”
He shrugs and bends over, pulling a weed from the ground. “I like to look for things that other people can’t see. Or don’t take the time to, I guess.”
Something compels me to go into the water. It’s urgent. Wild.
My shoes go flying in different direction as I kick them off my feet and wade ankle deep into the lake. The water is cold but bearable. Something about the way it ripples around my ankles makes me laugh.
“Come in here!” I yell at him, and he laughs, shaking his head.
It’s the first time I’ve seen him laugh, and the sounds embeds itself into my sternum.
I kick my leg up and splatter him with cold lake water. He laughs again and lifts his face up to the drops, like I’m baptizing him. I spin around in the water, lifting my arms as I pirouette, the water splashing around me, flicking off my bare toes, as I lift one foot to my leg.
I do another, and another, until I’m almost falling over from dizziness.
I stumble out of the water and flop onto the grass, curling my cold toes into the dirt.
“That was amazing. Are you a dancer?” he asks.
“Well, I hope to be,” I admit.
“No, I think you already are.”
I shrug.
“You don’t sound so sure.”
How does he know that? How does he know something I haven’t even admitted to myself?
“Right now, I want to dance more than anything. And that I know. But I guess, I guess I think that I may not always want to be a dancer, does that make sense?”
He doesn’t pretend it does, but I know he wants to. I want him to understand it, understand me.
“Like, I want to dance, but… I’m discovering there are other things I want to do as well.”
“Like what?”
I stand up, and go back to the water’s edge.
“Like… that” I point out to the lake. “I want to make something as beautiful as that.” Why do I feel so comfortable sharing things with this stranger more than I do with my family, my closest friends?
“Well, I think you dance just as beautifully, if those pirouettes were anything to go by.”
“Thank you. I also love color. I see color when I hear music, you know. And when I dance, sometimes I imagine I’m painting with my movement onto a canvas. But it’s only something I can see, and fleeting. I want to make something other people can see with their eyes as well.”
“Do you paint? Draw?”
“Fuck no.” I laugh. “I cannot control these damn things,” I look down at my hands.” I can’t make what I see in my head come out through my fingers and onto canvas. I can’t explain it. My handwriting’s atrocious. You’d know that if you’d read my letter.” I poke my tongue at him.
He flushes.
“What about you? What is it you want to do?” I ask and I realize I want to know so bad.
He takes a deep breath. And I know that whatever he’s about to say, he’s never said to anyone else before. That seems to be the theme of our conversation.
“I just want to find where I belong.”