If I Lose Her by Greg Joseph Daily Read Free Book Online

such great memories for me,” Jo said setting
her stuff down beside the water.
     I stood at
the water’s edge and looked in. It was surprisingly clear with a layer of
leaves covering the forest floor beneath it.
     “What do you
want me to do?” Amy asked.
     Jo lifted a
red, antique dress out of the box. “Put this on.”
     Without
hesitation, Amy began to unzip her jeans. I turned around to give her some
privacy. When I heard the edge of the water rustle I turned back around.
     Then Jo and
Amy walked out into the water.
     “Alex, can
you hand me the snorkel in the box?” she asked.
     I dug
around, found the blue, plastic snorkel, walked to the water’s edge and handed
it out to her. She reached for it, put it in her mouth and continued into the
water.
     Amy swam out
in front of her then turned over on her back so that her red dress and hair
floated out into the water around her. I lifted my camera and took a
photograph.
     Jo
disappeared under the water so that I could only see the tip of her blue
snorkel.
     Then she
poked her head out of the water.
     “Amy, why
don’t you try going all the way under so I can see how it looks,” Jo said
holding the snorkel to the side, then she put it back in her mouth and
disappeared again. Amy took a deep breath and ducked below the pond surface.
     I stood on
the bank watching an elbow breach the surface here and a foot breach the
surface there, listening to some birds in the trees above laugh at the
funny-looking fish trying to swim in the pond beneath them.
     A golden
praying mantis crawled down the tree next to me with careful precision and
stopped and looked at me. I raised my camera to my eye and leaned close. I
turned the focus ring on my camera as the mantis reached out with its barbed
arm and touched my lens. Click.
     Then Jo
stood up out of the water, and Amy came up for air.
     “I’m not
sure this is going to work.”
     “Why?” I
asked.
     “Because we
kicked up so much dirt and leaves climbing in that I can barely see.”
     A drop of
water fell onto my lens.
     I held out
my hand.
     Two drops.
Three drops more.  
     “It’s
starting to rain,” I told her.
     “Amy, why
don’t you come to the edge of the water and I’ll see how it looks over here.”
     Amy lifted
herself out of the water and walked to the edge of the pond.
     “I’m going
to go get back in the car,” I said putting my camera underneath my shirt as the
rain began falling more heavily. Jo didn’t say anything; she just focused on
Amy and kept taking photographs.
     I got back
to the car just as the rain became heavy.
     As I waited,
my memory wandered back to a time when I was a little boy standing, looking up
at my mother while she sat just under the awning on our back porch, sipping a
cup of something hot and reading a collection of poems by Sylvia Plath. She was
wearing a white dress, and her bare feet were propped up on a small wooden
table stretched out into the falling water. I can’t remember how old I was,
just that it was funny that she was intentionally letting her feet get wet.
     “What are
you doing?” I asked her. “Why are you letting your feet get wet?”
     She turned
and smiled and reached over to me, wrapped her arm around me and pulled me
close to her. “There’s nothing wrong with getting a little wet. It feels so
nice. Why don’t you try it?”
     I pulled a
chair next to her. I untied my shoes and pulled off my socks. Then I wiped the
white fuzzies off my toes, rolled up my pant legs and with toes splayed
stretched my feet out into the rain. She was right. The rain was not cold but
gently cool as it kissed my skin a thousands times over.
     As I thought
about this memory, I rolled down my window and let the rain fall onto my hand
and puddle in my palm.
     Nearly
half-an-hour later Jo and Amy appeared out of the forest, muddy and soaking
wet; both as happy as could be.
     

Nine
     
     
     Working on
the school yearbook was probably my first