(Excerpted from the forthcoming A Switchback Tale)
The road to the Switchback
place wasn't that long, but it took what seemed like ages to get
there. For the life of me I could swear that at almost every turn in
the road, and every driveway, and every crossroads I found myself
ponderin' what could be and what I wanted to be and what probably
could never be. And I felt as though the car was almost floatin' at
times, like it was almost on air and that there wasn't anywhere that
I couldn't go – like I coulda' driven that car right to the moon
had I wanted to, or like I coulda' made a right turn or a left turn
and shot right through the fencelines and skimmed like a bird over
one of them pea fields and the trees or nothin' ever woulda' touched
me and I'd be free like a spirit bird like I felt I was. Damn, but it
felt good.
It seemed like forever to
Peter Switchback's estate, but I got there and I pulled into that
long, long driveway that kinda' snakes its way around the house and
makes a long approach from one side. It was probably only ten in
the morning by this point and I didn't even know that I'd find him
home, but sure enough I could see him from the last turn of the
driveway. He was sitting in the little gazebo off the side of the
house and it looked like he was working on something.
I pulled up to the house and
parked, and I got out of my car feeling like I was on some kind of
pain medicine, almost. I felt like I was ten feet off the ground,
and I didn't even feel like I needed to hobble or limp as there
wasn't a bit of pain in my foot. I walked past the front step and
that strange door knocker and I even looked down to see if my blood
was still there, which it wasn't. I followed the pathway all around
to the side of the house, and as I got past the flowerin' dogwood, I
saw him sittin' there in the gazebo, talkin' on his cell phone and
typin' on his laptop. He looked up at me with a pretty surprised
look, but he smiled, and my heart just stopped and then leaped right
outta' my throat, I mean to tell you.
I heard Peter say “OK,
I'll call you later,” and touch his phone. He stood up, smiled,
and kinda' cocked his head a little and just said “Miss Ashley.”
I coulda' died.
I walked up to him and I
didn't know what I was doin' and I suddenly felt all kinda' dumb
standin' there still in my PJs this late in the morning. He noticed
that, of course. “You're into that 'driving in your pyjamas'
thing, too?” he asked. I laughed and I think I almost cried.
And I walked up to him, out
of my mind and not knowin' what I was doin', and I grabbed his pretty
silk tie and I got up on my tiptoes and I kissed him, and he put his
arms around me to lift me up to him and I coulda' felt our hearts
poundin' outta' our chests right together. And I mean to tell you I
was lost as I never been lost before in my life, but at the same time
I was found. I felt our lips together and it was hot and moist and
perfectly minty-sweet and I didn't ever want it to end, I mean to
tell you.
I don't even know what I
said, if I said anything, as I started cryin' so much and he held me
and I just was shakin' and cryin' and he held on to me and said he
was never gonna' let me go and I said I would never let go a' him and
would he hold me forever? and he said he would and I was just dyin'
and could hardly breathe. And the thing I felt was my heart just
burning right up as he held me and I knew that his heart had to be
burnin' just the very same way. I knew it, I knew it, I knew it.
Burn, a heart does,
sometimes.
The morning passed us by
right there on the gazebo. We sat on a wicker love seat with a big
white cushion. I curled right up, sittin' on my legs, and I rested
my head on his chest. He had some kind of music playin' – music
that I since have learned is called 'jazz', and he told me it was by
a man named Duke Ellington – a man he said was his brother, but
when I asked about his family he just kind of laughed and said “not
like that, though.” Peter held me and we talked about the strangest
things, but it was all like I imagined the best kind of dream should
be. Soft, dry, warm, safe. With a strong man holding onto you.
Ain't nothin' wrong with that.
For the second time that day
there were words that crept right into my mind without me really
doin' anything about them, and like before I found these were words
that just kind of burned themselves right into my brain and into my
memory and probably would never dare to leave.
Dropped and dropped and
dropped
like a potion of hope
and a drug of love
my heart-vein holy-hopeness
of heavy, heavy load
drained to weak and weaker
weakest drain of
knee-strength
saved for kneeling
and praying
and praying
and yelling at a god who
finally hears and knows
he knows what I need
I need this hope and this
holy-hopeness of heavy, heavy load
potion of hope
drug of love
the same old cliché
never bites or sucks or
rolls its tongue around and softens with the
softest word.
softest word
I thought my heart was
gonna' damn explode or burst and dry up and blow right away. I'm
sorry to use language like that, but I mean to tell you it was like
nothin' I ever known before, and there weren't a whole lot of words
that I could think about that were gonna' let me say what I felt that
day curled up in my PJs on a soft white cushion on a wicker love seat
in the gazebo behind the Switchback house with my head against Peter
Switchback's chest and with Peter Switchback tellin' me he would hold
me forever.
I told him I had always loved him.
He told me he had always loved me, too.
I told him I wanted to be at
his side forever.
He told me he wanted me to
live right here on this beautiful old plantation all the rest of the
days of my life. He told me there was no one else he would ever say
that to.
I reached my lips up to his
again. He kissed me ever so softly, and it felt like it lasted
forever.
I wish it would have.
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