Joanna crouched in the bushes and listened to one song after another. If she hadn't been so nervous about the possibility of being discovered naked in the woods by a strange man, she would have enjoyed the impromptu concert. For his voice was beautiful and seemed so right for the deep shadows, blue glow, and magical rustlings of this moonlit night. If she closed her eyes, she was transported to a place where the air seemed too heavy to breathe and she gasped for breath as the voice resonated through her body.

Despite the warmth of the night, she shivered. Her legs began to cramp from crouching so long. She needed to make a break for it. If she moved quickly and softly, she might be able to make it to the boulder, where she'd be sheltered from him, pull on some clothes, and steal away further upstream along the path that flanked the river. Or once her clothes were on, she could step casually from behind the boulder and say, "hey, nice singing."

One, Two, Three, Go! thought Joanna to herself, and then dashed for the safety of the boulder. She snatched up her underwear and fumbled them on in an instant. Her hurried attempt to dress was interrupted by the singer's voice.

"Who's there?" called Clay as he moved across the open grass toward the boulder. The white shape he'd seen streak behind the boulder had been no deer. But his eyes, without their glasses, were unrealiable at this distance. As he came nearer, he asked again, "Hey, who's there?"

"Me," said Joanna, realizing he'd seen her. There was no use pretending she wasn't there.

Clay stopped at the sound of the girl's voice, which had quavered on its single syllable. "Who's me? Is everything all right?" he asked. It occurred to him that a girl might be scared of meeting a stranger alone in the dark, far from where anyone could hear them, so he tried to reassure her. "I work at the camp. It's OK." The moon moved behind a cloud and left them with only the stars for light.

"It's Joanna, from Hickory cabin." Yes, he recognized the name and knew the cabin well. He'd passed it just minutes before. She must be the replacement counselor who'd been there for only a few weeks. He'd not yet had a chance to meet her.

"Joanna, come out. I can't see a thing in this dark and I'm blind as a bat without my glasses."

Well, that was good news to Joanna. She stepped out tentatively until she was only partly shielded by the rock. Her long hair covered her breasts and shoulders. In the dark, who would be able to see anything? Clay squinted across the 10 yards or so that separated them.

"Well, Joanna. I can't really tell what you look like from here, but I think I know who you are. If my miserable eyes aren't lying, I'd say you have long dark hair and are wearing a white bathing suit. Been swimming?"

Joanna relaxed imperceptibly. He couldn't see a thing. "Yes." She gestured at the swimming hole. "Did you come for a swim too?"

Clay laughed. If she only knew that the only way he'd get into the swimming hole was if someone were to knock him unconscious and drag him in. He shook his head. "No. I didn't come to swim. By the way, my name's Clay." And he stuck out his hand and stepped closer. Joanna immediately backed up a step. Clay stopped.

"I know who you are," said Joanna.

"You do?"

"The talent show. I saw you at the talent show tonight," she said, remembering his easy banter as the MC and his playful ad libs that drew laughs from the crowd. His sun-bleached red hair had stuck up in front from either a cowlick or failure to use a comb. He'd reminded her of nothing more than a grown up Dennis the Menace.

"Oh. Yeah. I do that every year on the last night of camp." He paused. "I can't believe it's the last night already. Are you sorry the summer's over? You haven't been here long."

"Yes, kind of." Joanna paused. "Are you sorry too? Is that why you're out here by the river in the middle of the night?"

"No, I'm ready for the summer to end and to go back to school-I go to school in Charlotte. I came here tonight because. Well, to be honest, Joanna, I had this really bad dream and I just needed to get out and walk it off."

"You did? So did I! That's why I went swimming. The water was so still and cool-it helped to calm me down," said Joanna.

Clay smiled again. He could think of nothing less calming than a swim. He held out his hand to Joanna. "Come here, Joanna. Come here and tell me your dream." He paused. "If you want to." And he tried to make his voice as gentle as he could, as if she were the deer he'd tried hard not to frighten. He was rewarded by her steps toward him and at last he felt her cool hand slide into his. Looking down at her in the dark, he strained to see her features. He was intrigued by this girl who liked to swim in the dark all alone in the river.

Walking toward Clay, Joanna wondered at her boldness. Alone with some guy in the middle of the woods, and her with no shirt on. Well, of course, he didn't seem to know that. His voice was just so reassuring-it seemed practically to sing the words-and she felt he really was interested in hearing about her dream. When she'd first awakened from her nightmare, she'd felt an intense need to talk with someone. Although the immediacy of the dream was gone, she still felt drawn to tell someone about it. And now here was her chance. She slipped her hand into Clay's and talked.

"I dreamt about my sister Crystal. Back home. We live in the same apartment building and we're very close. I dreamt that something bad had happened to her. I won't say what. Just something bad. I woke up all worried. So I called her and no one answered. And that worried me some more. I'll call her again in the morning. She's probably fine, but you know how it is with dreams. I just couldn't sleep so I came out here."

"You'll feel better once you talk to her. Why don't you call her again as soon as you get back to your cabin?" he suggested, squeezing her hand between both of his. While they had been speaking, the moonlight had gradually returned as the clouds continued their trek across the sky. Joanna looked up at this gangly guy who held her hand, dressed for the night improbably in a life jacket and plaid pajama pants. She started to smile as she realized he had more clothes on than she.

"How about you?" she asked. Clay didn't answer. "How about you?" she repeated.

"Uhhh, what?" he asked. He'd become suddenly unable to follow what she was saying because in the moonlight he'd realized that this girl was practically naked.

"Your dream, Clay. What was your dream?" Her long dark hair was the only thing that hid her breasts from him. She was beautiful in this light-he could see her very well now that they were close. He leaned forward involuntarily, dropped her hand, moved his own hands onto her shoulders, and began to pull her toward him. But then he stopped-it wouldn't do to take advantage of a girl caught skinny dipping in this isolated spot.

"You're cold, Joanna. Come sit with me and I'll tell you my dream." They sat with their backs against the same boulder that hid Joanna's clothes on its other side. Clay put his arm around her and she leaned back into the warmth.

"Now my dream will sound selfish compared to yours. My dream was only about myself. I've had this dream before. And I know it's going to sound, well trivial. I dreamt about the ocean." He was silent. He'd never told anyone his dream before and doubted he could communicate its terror. Especially not to someone who went for casual nighttime swims in the river. Just talking about the dream brought back a stab of fear that made him acutely aware of the sounds of the river: its gurgling, dripping, rushing, flowing. He realized his heart was beating much too fast. But maybe that wasn't because of the water but because of the girl, softly nestled all bare skin and silky hair beside him.

"And?" prompted Joanna.

"And, well, this ocean-it's so vast. It goes on forever. And there's no land. Only waves and sea. And I "

Joanna waited.

"That doesn't sound like much but that's more than I've ever told anybody and that's all I can manage tonight." Clay remembered how right after the dream he had wanted to hold a girl's hand and he smiled. Well, here she was. "It's no secret to anyone at camp that I'm scared of water. That's why I always wear this when I'm near the river," he said, thumping the life jacket where it crossed his chest. "It makes being here possible."

It was Joanna's turn to squeeze his hand. She felt strangely comfortable, sharing stories of nightmares with this stranger in the night. Earlier, at the talent show, he'd seemed like the class clown, a happy-go-lucky guy without a care in the world. Now his frightening dream and fear of water had revealed a vulnerability that drew her to him like a light draws a moth.

Clay leaned over and pressed his face into her hair and whispered "Thanks." He left his head there and inhaled deeply.

"Joanna, your hair smells like tangerines!"

She pulled away and laughed. "I washed it just before I went to bed," she said. They sat in companionable silence. "I heard you singing, you know," said Joanna at last.

"Tonight?"

"Yes. You know, Peace in the Valley, Blue Moon, and those other ones. The whole concert."

Clay rolled his eyes. "Hey, I thought I was alone." He shrugged apologetically.

"It was beautiful. Your voice is beautiful," she said.

"Thank you," he said solemnly. "You are beautiful, Joanna." Their eyes met and they smiled, both suddenly self-conscious and very aware of each other-the sound of shallow breathing, the touch of damp skin.

"Here," said Clay. "Give me your hand and I'll sing you a song. And then we should go." He took her hand, placed it on his chest under the straps of the life jacket, and then covered it with his own. "Just hold your hand right here."

Clay chose another ballad, because what else do you sing on a moonlit night with a beautiful girl leaning against you?

Somewhere, out there
Someone's saying a prayer
That we'll find one another
In that big somewhere out there

Joanna leaned back and closed her eyes. He was effortless. He was effortless with his voice. Its golden tones warmed her. With her hand on his chest, she could not only hear but feel his voice. Its gentle vibrations made it seem that she was the song, rather than just a listener.

Clay looked down at Joanna as he sang. She'd closed her eyes and looked very peaceful. Her hair on one side had gotten pushed behind her shoulder and her breast lay there for him to see, its delicate curves accentuated by the soft blue light. He didn't think he was going to be able to make it through the song.

And even though
I know how very far apart we are

Joanna felt the power of Clay's voice building. It was getting harder and harder to breathe. She felt a wave of warmth envelope her. She opened her eyes and saw him looking down at her as he sang but it was as if he were a long ways away. And his voice seemed to come from off in the distance too, as though he were back downstream again. And suddenly, it grew darker.

As Clay looked down at Joanna, she opened her eyes. He felt guilty as a wolf in the henhouse, caught staring at her naked breast. He leaned forward to kiss her-he couldn't help himself-but suddenly her eyes rolled up in her head and she sagged against his arm.

"Joanna! Joanna!" Christ, she'd fainted. He lowered her gently to the ground. She opened her eyes immediately. "Joanna, you fainted. Just lie still. Are you OK?"

How embarrassing, thought Joanna to herself. And the word is 'swoon' not 'faint.' She had swooned in the middle of the woods with some guy she hardly knew. She'd thought girls only swooned in the movies. Or in old newsclips showing Elvis or the Beatles. She was glad it was dark; she must be turning beet red. She sat up hurriedly, wrapping her hair around her like a cloak. "I'm fine." Clay looked at her with concern. "I'm fine," she repeated. "The water was so cold and then I felt so hot sitting here and then, well, it just happened."

"You're shivering now, Joanna," he said. "Didn't you bring a coat ... or anything?" He could not imagine that she had walked all the way from her cabin dressed the way she was now.

"Yes, it's just right back here." She hopped up and quickly moved behind the boulder. She grabbed her fleece jacket, put it on, and zipped it up part way. She left her shorts and shirt sitting there. She didn't want to draw attention to a stack of clothes that she should be wearing and wasn't. She would come back early in the morning and get them. Her jacket was long, hanging to just above her knees. Its fleece felt warm and soft on her skin. She realized suddenly that she had been cold. She shivered.

Clay joined her behind the rock. "Here, Joanna. Zip it up all the way." He gently took the zipper and tugged it up to her chin, wishing a wistful 'good-bye' to what the jacket now covered. He pulled her hair out of the jacket and let it settle over her shoulders. "There." He bent down, took her by the shoulders, and looked her in the eye. "Are you sure you're OK?"

"I'm fine. Let's go."

They walked back in silence. What was there to say? As they neared the boathouse, Clay took her hand.

"I didn't get to hear the end of your song," said Joanna as they walked on.

"There'll be other songs," said Clay.

"But I just love songs about mice," said Joanna, and put on a mock pouting face.

Clay laughed. He'd chosen to sing her a love song from a cartoon about mice, An American Tale. Well, it was a pretty song. And it showed off the range and power of his voice. "A joke, Joanna. Good. Now I know you're feeling better."

"Well, here's Hickory cabin," said Clay. They walked to the foot of the steps together. Inside the cabin there was movement and they heard a child cry out.

"I'd better go," whispered Joanna. "Good night."

"Good night," said Clay. Another sound came from within. Joanna let go of Clay's hand and quickly moved up the steps and through the door. She looked back. Clay waved. She closed the door.

Instead of heading back to the boys' cabins, Clay turned and followed the path back toward the river.

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this story was written in April 2003; copyright Elena Felsig

this page was last updated 5/1603