The Morning Side of the Mountain

(A Short Story)

        I used to watch you walk your certain way  toward school, intently observing  how apparently careful you were not to step on any of the stones - these stones that were wantonly scattered  along that dirt road we had back then . I don't know why but I just loved to watch you and every move you made whenever I could - from a distance.

        You see, I was one of the boys in the neighborhood, remember? Well, I was just one of them but it was I who seriously wondered what it was in you that definitely magnetized the soul out of me. You went to this all girls high school; I went to the counterpart  all boys school. You lived on the northern side of our street, I was on the southern part across. And while this same street led both of us to each our schools, this same pathway also led the whole neighborhood the opposite direction to this one creation God made for us - the river.

        Ah yes, the river.  The river  was the one other place that held secrets, maybe;  but for me, it spelled some kind of a wonderland that time put you synonymous with. You would enter that dream world of a river that welcomed the mystery of a soulful-eyed  girl that was you. On your knees, you would dig the river sands with your little fingers and watched as the water rose; then you would take this coconut shell of a cup and bail out the water, throw this  water to your side, repeating the act until the liquid was clear, sparkling that you could see the bottom of the pit. You would scoop the water with the cup and pour it into the clay jar; this, you'd do a number of times until the container was full.This done, you would then be ready to carry this jug of water on your head, your face showing a radiance of sheer accomplishment and anticipation of bringing it home as you start to walk away.

        Maybe you didn't know then that from my vantage point,  I would watch you, with that clay jug on your head, walk from the river toward home.  You didn't know then how much I'd have wanted to cart away that heavy thing from your head, do it for you instead, and save you the task I thought it was. Seeing you spritely taking the steps, however, with the air of a dance, it would shoot me a feeling of embarrassment to realize this was actually  fun to you - a love you nurtured which I had no right to take away from you. But then, also, from out of this realization stemmed the other realization that I was falling for you with a love that grew intensely by the moment. But it was just that.

        Well, in those times and circumstances of our adolescence, the closest I could come to you was through the touch of your Math test papers. You didn't know that your Math teacher then was my Mom? She would ask me to help record the scores of  her class test papers and more than often, it was your paper I would find on top of the bunch - the paper with the highest score, and  really very much more than often.

       . Perhaps, this was one of the reasons you were endeared to me.  I didn't only love  pretty girls;  I also liked them intelligent.. But certainly, this was a reason, too, that I  couldn't come close to you. Particularly in social gatherings, my Mom would always remind me with a stern "Now Fred, stop looking at Linda. You can't go near her, okay?"  So I would violently rebel against this traditional but inconsiderate conservatism of my mother but I was also brought up to negatively react just quietly, privately. I questioned our societal conventions and unwritten laws about this professor's family not allowed to get into intimate relationships with her students especially when they were good in class.... not even to just try... but I wasn't allowed to - notwithstanding!

        I wasn't going to give in to this demonic treatment of my heart any longer because I then decided to come to you, anyway, come hell or high water; but then it turned out that that was the very day your family also moved out of town. Just like that. And no one could say where you had gone as if on purpose they stole you away from me. And my world stood still for almost half a century.

        Well, it was really my heart that  went into limbo while my world went on spinning as surely yours went on too. But guess what, Linda, heaven came down to me today. As if by magic, this ice stored part of my heart melted to the discovery that somewhere along the internet highways is that morning side of life that has kept you from my twilight part of it but safe for me.  You had been there all the time and at last, I have found you.

        Time and space have moved in, my love, and if it matters at all,  to me, it's all that matters. Somehow, novelty can now happily outweigh certain so-called conventions. Vicariously, love can't violate anything, can it? There still can be a world of joy without having had met, right? And if I can start all over again with you from the river with that clay jug on your head, treading on all those moments up to this fascinating virtual moment, there can be no reason why finally, there can be a dream come true. So now as I half-whisper to you, "Hi Linda, I'm Fred.. you still remember me?", you might just say, "Fred, who?"  Then will I bring you back with me to the memory of the river where even in the distance, you did exchange glances with me. A love story can then revitalize as I take your hand, - and we move on blissfully to that morning side of the mountain.
        
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Thanks to Peter Julian