Two Hearts

We had been building an outdoor kitchen in February and March. The mornings were cold and there were many days we called it early because of hail and rain coming down from the coast over Hope mountain: the snow peaked monolith whose shadow we always stood in. When it was too cold to work and too cold to hike or fish Kip and I would just hole up in our little Dolphin mobile home and read or drink. The rain beat on the tarp covering the holes in the roof and the wind shook our little house back and forth. Sometimes after being in the rocking mobile I would step out onto the ground and still feel it swaying beneath me as if I was trying to sleep after being on a boat all day. There were two beds and small sink. We had no running water except from a tap outside we used to fill up our empty wine jugs. There was a small working propane stove and an electric refrigerator, a few drawers and small closet with a tv stacked on top of a toilet underneath the shower spout. We never opened that door.

The quarters grew tighter as the days got worse. Kip was working on preserving a four-year relationship. He was trying to mend it or at least be sure that he wanted to break it off after a hiatus they went on turned sour. She was still sending love e-mails to an old professor- more beautiful and poetic than she had ever sent him and she had given a blowjob to one of his friends too. But of course- they were on break. Kip was spending more and more time sitting on my computer, sitting on my bed. The typing, the staring and intensity of their predicament further compounded my claustraphobia.

"but I don't know if we want the same things anymore" he would murmur into the telephone.

"I know it was a break, I can't be angry at you for that- but" she would say something back. "It just shows that we aren't in the same place that I thought we were". Then he concluded: "Well, if you love me so much, the burden is on you. Come out here and prove it to me. Come to Oregon".

I would lay on the bed next to him and read or drink and listen to music faintly so as not to disturb them. I would toss and turn waiting for him to be done so that we could talk or drink together. He came to Oregon, we both came to Oregon to see each other. Neither of us really wanted this job. I was on my way to West Oakland to do carpentry and live in a group house of people who consider themselves in-this-world-but-not-of-it and he was going to New Mexico to read Cormac McCarthy and maintain trails. Now the walls were getting closer and closer.

We both were happy people- jovial even. Kip brought it out in me. But I knew that it was just calm waters on top and the dark sea floor was- well, dark. I could feel things moving about, churning and settling. But I was blind to the motions of my subconscious. It was the strange settling feeling that upset me the most. I could feel this time approaching for months now maybe. I knew I was going to have to take action and I had finally reached the tipping point.

To Be Continued . . . .