The Bench

I’m not feeling especially good this morning, but no serious complaints, and at least it’s all from my own choices. My legs and arms are sore from carting those piles of slate, but not my back. All in all, totally worth it for the way it turned out looking all spread out under the eaves. My back is aware of where it’s pressing into the crisp edges of the boards of the back of the seat. The front edge of the bench is scoring into the backs of my thighs. It’s still chilly this early in the morning -- helping me stay wakeful. I’m working on rubbing the soreness out of my palms and each finger in turn. That one still tries to rotate across when I grip the bars tight -- I’ve tried to work on it from time to time since the break, but if that’s the only lasting consequence...
I should be letting myself settle in to the bench. Did sprints and hills this morning. Always better to get those done early before the trail gets crowded and the heat sets in. A few sighs, sink in, take helmet off, cool air runs through my spiky hair, and I start to settle: sides of ankles stiffening, thighs feeling acidic and leadening, that sensation just slightly different, and combining with the slate-work soreness. Feels good; isn’t that funny how that feels good today and it would be a hassle if it was a workday. Reach over back of bench to unfasten the notebook from the bike rack, taking an extra moment or two to stretch -- stretch turns into a yawn and a bigger stretch and almost a cramp. Feet wet, cold feet at the ends of burning steaming legs. The chill keeping me from dropping back in the spreading power outage throughout my body.
Sitting now with the notebook closed on the bench and my arms/hands slack at my sides. Closing my eyes and concentrating on feeling the bench. Mentally tired, not sleeping much recently. Doing too much probably, it’s such an temptation when the days get long. ("Not sleeping? Then how can you be dreaming?" Is this? "Well, did it actually happen?" Each part did... "Why are you keeping me out?" I’m keeping you out? I don’t see how I could be doing that. "Open up why don't you.")
An idea comes to me. I take the pen from my lips, open my eyes, and pick up the notebook. I skip through the first few pages at the rough starts and fragments, none of which are part of today’s. The top of a tall shadow moves in from the left and crosses the tips of my shoes. I look up and squint to make you out coming towards me barefoot across the grass, holding your shoes in your hand ("I don’t mind getting my feet wet." You don’t like getting your shoes wet though. "Well, not these shoes."). Your feet hold my attention. The way the nail color catches the eye. The gentle transition as the contour of your arch turns in to your ankle then the hollow of the side of your leg and blending up into your calf. The little bit of grass caught between your toes.
"Hey, I’m up here."
What? A guy can like looking at those feet approaching.
"Oh, really? You like this?" You start to exaggerate your foot movements with little kicks and points in your approach.
Slow down a bit, make it last.
"You don’t want me to get over there quicker?"
We’re not in a rush are we?
"Well, try this then..." Stretching out the length of each step, and exaggerating the reach with your toes, showing off your nail color. Toe extensors lift up under smooth skin. Contours of veins caress along the side of your ankle bone. Slight jumps and flexes of your leg muscles. Drops of dew run down your shin and kick up into the air.
"Is there any more room on that bench?"
It should work for two. I believe it was made for two.
"I brought the paper, we could do the puzzle."
This is early to be up for you isn’t it?
"Every once in a while for a special occasion."
Welcome aboard -- just let that bike fall. I grab a thermos out of the side bag and push the bike over to get the handlebars off your side of the back of the bench. Would you like some coffee? I hand you the thermos and you start to pour.
"It’s got cream in it."
Yes, yes it does.
"You don’t put cream in it."
No, but you do.
"I was hoping I’d surprised you."
You might not always show up, but that doesn’t keep me from anticipating it.
You finish pouring the coffee and look for a place to put it down. I start to scoot over to make room, but stop suddenly and suck a quick breath in through my teeth and let part of it out in a short snort. My leg pulls under the bench, and I close my eyes tightly. After that first moment, I go back to trying to scoot over, lifting myself up and pulling myself over with my hands, eyes still closed, lips tight.
"What? What’s going on?"
Nothing, just a little cramp, it’ll pass in a second. I hook my other foot under the first and try to pull it out.
"I’ll get that."
No, no, I’ll be okay in a --whoooahhh. Yikes.
"Yeah, you’ll 'be okay', right, now let me get that." I brush your hand away from my leg.
Just ignore it. It’ll stop. It’ll have to. Any second. Really. But I’m wrong, now my calf is joining in with my hamstring, and my eyes are watering. You look me straight in the eye, and I have no answer to the resolve there, and I let you take my leg to pull my foot out. It’s a bit of a tug-o-war initially, but the cramps finally start to melt.
"You can be so stupid, you really thought I’d just sit here and not help? When do you ever get to get helped?"
That seems like a silly question coming from you.
"How so?" (You have a mirror handy? "Maybe a magic mirror?" Yeah, that one’d work well.
Just needs a little more self-awareness that’s all. You give me a squinty look and we both size each other up seriously for a few moments until the smiles return.

I think my leg's gonna be okay now. You can quit working on it.
You'd been holding it absent-mindedly, but now snap back to awareness of it and let go of it, giving me a quick slap on the thigh. "You're impossible sometimes. See what happens next time you cramp."
No, wait, it might be happening again.
"Yeah, nice try. You got anything good going in there?"
How’s that? Oh this: I lift the notebook from where it fell off the bench. Knocking a few ideas around, not quite sure how they fit together yet.
"Where is it?"
No place this morning, trying some poetry -- it’s still just a big mess of pictures/feelings/thoughts waiting for a metaphor to fit them all into.
"Let me see?"
You know the rules: 'No Peeking'.
"I’m not peeking, I’m asking, and holding my hand out, and saying please."
Well, now and again you know I do like to know what you think. Here you go...
"I recognize this, this seems like you." ("Which reminds me, was there something else that reminded me of you?" Could be, it's been a busy time ghostwriting-wise. "Anybody interesting?" Now that brings up another rule... "Oh, come on." Was it something good? Did you like it? "Oh, yes, I liked it." That one was definitely me then.)
And what is it that I seem like to you?
"Now that would be some poem."
Ah, good answer -- you need some paper?
"You got another notebook?"
I’m a little blocked right now anyway, I need to get away from it a bit, let it percolate. You can use the notebook if you let me have the newspaper. You didn’t start the puzzle yet, did you?
"Please, I’m still barely awake."
Pen?
"You got anything less blotchy?"
Here you go, simple ballpoint stick.
"I like this little thing you scribbled in here, can I work off of that?"
Only 'cause you said you liked it. Best of luck with it, I think it could be something good if I could just figure out where to go with it.

Damn Post puzzles -- good thing there's two of them. The first one's not even a half a cup of coffee long. I go to put my coffee down on the bench between us, and you pick it up and hand it back to me. I give you a puzzled look and switch hands between paper and cup and go to put the paper down on the bench. You pick the paper up and swat me on the forehead with it. Then turning to the side, you sit lengthwise on the bench and scoot into the space to lean back against my side. I grin at my own unawareness and slide over to give you enough room for your legs to stretch out on the bench.
"Thanks."
You got it, just try not to wiggle around too much. I balance my coffee cup on my thigh and go back to the second puzzle. Oh great, lots of stupid puns. ("That's a problem for you?" Look here Smarty, would you just let me be crabby about the puzzle without taking a cheap shot? As it happens, it's not a problem...) That didn't take very long either, and not satisfying when they ask you play dumb. Still, changing gears has given me enough free synapses to see something of the connection..., hmmm,... might work. Wow, look at you going to town there in the notebook. Let me put a few notes down around the edges of the comics, close my eyes and just think for a minute...

"Hey Dreamer, it's getting a little warm out here. I'm ready to head for some shade."
You done with the notebook?
"For a while now. And then I've been listening to you deep breathing over there. Watching them mow the fields..."
What time is it?
"Why? You have to be somewhere today?"
Nope.
"Then it might be time to find some shade, quit with the coffee, find something cool to drink.
Juice + June, eh? I like the sound of that.
"July?"
Yikes, how long was I asleep? I better get started on another story.
"Why don't you tell it to me as we walk?"
Okay, let me start with what you put down there...