River Run
Copyright 1997-2002 by OldTom

They quietly, carefully, renewed their friendship. There was much they left silent; there were many questions they left unasked. They did not play together, ever, in any form, not even in teasing, not even in their Playground. He explained to her that any play at all, would mean too little... or too much. She assured him that it could never mean too little.

Here it was so many months later, and he was still trying to let go. His heart still looked for what might have been, even though his head knew what was not possible.

Someone else wrote a story that few understood. In the story, she symbolically gave up her dream of a collar. She knew the relationship she had longed for, and finally accepted it as not possible.

Perhaps it was coincidence... but in another person's writing, he found an answer for himself. He pictured finally having the chance to meet her just once, just for a moment.

He traveled south by car, crisscrossing the river, running through state after state. He lived for his time on the Interstate, for it gave him peace, silence, time to reflect, work things through in his mind.

He rolled on through the night, crossing border after border, silently wishing the troopers better luck next time. The moon was full tonight, and he finally broke through into clear sky. It brought the memory of an earlier run along the river, months ago. It had been his first time to see cotton in harvest.

Those who understood his need were so few and so far away. He continued his run into the dawn, stopping every two-hundred-fifty miles for gas and coffee.

It was early afternoon, and he saw her. She was not alone, but there she was... exactly as he had pictured her for so many months. He kept his distance, quietly watching, instinctively knowing this was not the time.

She was being walked to her truck, and her face had that look. She was in trouble - no doubt about that - but she didn't seem to care. As he watched, it seemed more like she was the one in control. She showed no fear of the spanking undoubtedly to come.

He watched her depart from his life.

He drove the old river route an hour north, for he knew a favorite spot of hers. He drove so very carefully, watching his speed, a lone Yankee in the deep south. How well he knew the war to not yet be over.

He found the toll ferry, and finally across the river, he found the lake she had once mentioned. He opened the trunk of his car, and pulled out the leather collar he had purchased on a whim, months ago. He then drew out a box of wooden matches.

He walked to where Earth met Water, breathed deeply of the humid Air of the swampland. He lit the match, evoking Fire for his little remembrance. He carefully held the leather over the flame, letting it be heated, changed, even as he himself had been.

He dropped the match, the flame faltering before it reached the water. He carefully buckled the collar, reflecting on what his heart knew might have been, binding his memories to the simple piece of leather.

He added a full-size padlock to the collar. It looked oversized on the collar, but would serve the current need well. He pocketed the key.

He kissed the collar, where it had been touched by the flame, then whispered to himself the promise he had made, the promise he would keep. His emotion left the collar spotted and stained with salt.

Still standing where Earth and Water met he sailed the leather touched by Fire high in the Air, the padlock pulling it quickly under the Water, to lay forever against the Earth, near her favorite place. Where she had found peace amongst the Four Elements months before, so now had he.

He returned to the Interstate, running the roads, following the river the long way home. Another sunset, and sunrise, and sunset, would see him returned to the north - where he belonged.

He mailed her the key.

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