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Page 64.
 She jumped to her feet. “Goddammit, that’s about all I’m going to take! You’re trying to typecast me because you’re an insecure bastard! I haven’t pulled any airs with you! You…you…lawn-mower!” She whirled and ran past the motionless green pond water toward the cleft between pines and cliffs where an overview of gray and white rooftops hid.
He rose to his feet, cursing, and stood looking into the glowing emerald pond. Balling his fists, he grimaced and uttered a bellowing scream that echoed among the rocks. Then he sat down, nervously pulling out tufts of grass from between his legs and throwing them over the water. The first mosquitoes, bumbling, small, and blind, hovered over the surface. The emerald mirror stench rose into his sinuses. He looked over and saw Emma sobbing, overlooking the houses.
“Can I say or do anything?”
She turned. “It doesn’t matter.”
He threw more moss onto the water. He kept his mouth shut, remembering her bracelet.
She walked to him. “Did I say something I shouldn’t have?”
He threw up his arms. “God no. I’m sorry. It was my stupid thinking, that’s all. My emotions. I’m fighting this battle, you see, about losing you. The more I want to hold you, the more I know I’ll lose you.”
She knelt beside him. “Maybe we should just call it quits. We can divvy up the picnic lunch down there and say it was a day.”
He crushed his eyes shut. “No.”
Her hand stole along his ear. In a very soft voice she whispered, “Will you stay a while?”
He reached up and pulled her down so she rolled over him and came to rest with reaching arms on his left. He pelted her with kisses and she sought his lips with her teeth. He reached down and his hand stole under her panties to grasp her round soft buttock. “I’m going to spread your legs and shove inside you.”
“Yes.” She whacked him on the back alternately with each of her palms. “Keep an eye out.”
“Nobody coming.”
“Risky sex. I never thought I’d get off on it.”
He felt her kick her ankles asprawl, felt her muscles and flesh quiver as she did so.
As he took her, he knew she was taking him, and he delved between her long sprawling legs oblivious of all commitments to the contrary.
She bawled again, with her pink mouth wide open but no tears this time from her eyes squeezed shut. “I want you in me, I love you, forever, Léopold Montblé Poetry Fuck, I don’t want anyone to take you away from me, I love you so much.”
I am going to lose myself in you, the orgasm of life and death, as if I throw myself into that pond and drown, and you will be my last thought in this universe, I want you so much.
They clawed at one another, relishing the moment and the glory, turning anger into sexual energy while the afternoon sun began to glare straight down and irradiate the pond so its fronds and slimy surface became dimly visible. That sun was the driver of all life, the engine of existence for carbon-based DNA complexity, replicative and iterative processes of complex organic reaction chains and other explosive realities, like the intersection of Marc and Emma.
This is life: a love affair; something beautiful growing in a place it isn’t meant to, a doomed lovely flower we could cry over as it’s meant to wilt and die just when it is so beautiful and filled with life.
Crickets shrilled in the prickly bushes. Flies and other insects began a milling flight pattern more complex than that of an international airport. Bubbles fermented to the surface of the pond, and spider-legged insects walked on the surface in search of prey. A bullfrog chirruped mournfully in some shady glen of leaves.
Marc and Emma sagged sweatily at the exhaustion of their sex. Their skin stuck together in the heat. They rolled apart to let air between their steamy bodies.
Some brief thrashing noise in the forest startled her. He had not heard it, but she sat up, pulling her dress down to her knees. “You’d better put on your clothes,” she whispered.
He rolled lazily into a sitting position, listening into the forest, but could hear nothing. Clothing was scattered around them on the warm rocks.
She reached far to retrieve her panties, which she used to dry herself. He dried himself with his own and then dressed, feeling drained and finished and lethargic. The tension was not gone between them. Like the unmoving air, it hung between them. On a far ledge, he spotted a copperhead snake sleeping in noon sunlight.
I could start again, and take you, and again, and you would welcome me with open arms and legs. I would lose myself in you and never regret it for a moment. Except this is not ours to give or take. We are playthings as fate decrees.
He led her back downhill and into civilization amid the shadowy but hot woods, holding out a hand which she accepted wordlessly to help her down. As they approached the car, she stuffed her damp panties into his backpack. The secret of her nakedness under the skirt still excited him as it had during their ascent.
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