"What is going on with you?" Crystal asked her sister. Joanna sat on the couch in her apartment in T shirt and pajama bottoms, absentmindedly strumming her mandolin. The afternoon light streamed in the window.

"It's lunchtime, you're still in your pajamas, your hair's a mess, and all you've done yesterday and today is putter about and play that thing," continued Crystal. Joanna picked out a few notes with her right hand, then paused to adjust the tuning pegs.

"Joanna, you are ignoring me!

Joanna put down her mandolin. She'd found it several months ago at a garage sale and had bought it on a whim. It had been a joy to discover her small hands could manage the shorter strings and fingerboard much more easily than those of her guitar, which she'd played for years. She was hooked, but still learning about her new instrument and how to make it sing.

"I'm sorry, Crystal. I missed my mandolin, that's all. I should have brought it to camp with me." Joanna stroked the marred wood of the tear-drop shaped body and ran her hand over the four sets of brand new double strings that stretched its length.

"Well, if today's any indication, it's probably best you didn't or your campers might all have wandered off or got into who knows what mischief while you were playing," commented Crystal. Joanna had spent the last weeks working as a counselor at a YMCA camp up in the mountains.

Joanna laughed. "You're right. I have been kind of preoccupied since I got back." She reached up to touch her hair, which was pulled back in a haphazard bun.

"Is it really the mandolin?" asked Crystal.

"No. Yes. I don't know." Joanna sighed.

"What's the matter, girl?"

"Well, I've just been thinking about this ... guy." said Joanna.

"Now it's getting good. I knew something was going on. What about this guy?" probed Crystal. "Some guy you met at camp and have been hanging with the last month?"

"No, it's worse than that. This is 'some guy' I met my very last night there."

"Maybe he'll call you."

"He doesn't know my number. I don't even think he knows my last name."

"Do you know his name? Or anything else about him? And what happened your last night, anyway?"

"I know his name is Clay, but not much else. He's about my age, I'd say--20 or so. And he goes to school in Charlotte. Anyway, on my last night we were both out walking in the woods. And we, well, we had an ... encounter. I don't know what to call it."

"An encounter? Hmmm, that sounds pretty exciting. Vague, but exciting. What happened?"

"Nothing, actually. Absolutely nothing." Joanna remembered with a flush how, unknown to Clay, she'd listened to him sing to the moon out by the river and how she'd been mesmerized by his voice. He sang like an angel. They'd met, talked, and discovered they were both out for a walk to chase away bad dreams.

"Joanna, you wouldn't be turning that nice shade of pink if 'nothing' had happened," said Crystal.

"Nothing happened," said Joanna stubbornly. She didn't feel like mentioning to Crystal that somehow she'd ended up fainting in Clay's arms. Or that she'd had on almost zero clothes because she'd been for a swim. But nothing had happened, Joanna insisted to herself. Why, oh, why could she not stop thinking about him then?

"But you wish it had."

"Maybe." She remembered the next day when she'd seen him in the daylight and he'd given her a hug. She'd noticed the blonde-red hair on his forearms, and she kept seeing that image in her mind, as if it were a photograph, preserved forever.

"Call the guy. Just do it. You have his number?"

Joanna nodded. "But he's still up at the camp, helping close the place up this week for the Fall. So he won't be at home to answer."

"Just call, leave a message. You'll feel better. You know, like you took some action. Just do it."

"OK. I can leave my number. Then at least he'll have it. And if he never calls, then I'll know he's not interested."

"Sounds like a plan."

The first night after the campers--and Joanna--had left, Clay had gone for another walk. There was just a skeleton crew of counselors and others left behind to put the camp "to bed" for the winter. He'd worked this week at the end of other summers, and it was always a fun time. After dark they'd gather for talk and snacks. Or pranks, or music. Or whatever. They always had a good time. But tonight Clay had slipped away early and gone for a walk. He hadn't felt like joking or singing or being with the gang. He was remembering Joanna and the night before.

He walked out to the river, the way he'd gone last night. Tonight it was cloudy and he carried a flashlight. He wished for the bright moonlight of the night before. Joanna had been beautiful in the light of the full moon. The moonlight had colored her skin--and there had been a lot of skin, he remembered with a smile--a pale blue. As he came to the boathouse, he allowed himself to hear the sounds of the river, which usually set his heart pounding and his palms sweating, since he was deathly afraid of water. Usually, he would grab a life jacket from the boathouse--as he had last night--and put it on as a security blanket before continuing toward the water. But tonight he did something he'd never done before; he did not stop for a life jacket, and he did not stop to really listen for the river. He shrugged off the sounds and instead went back to thinking about Joanna.

Last night they had sat together in the moonlight, just feet away from the deep, still section of the river the campers used as a swimming hole. He'd had his arm around her as they leaned back against a boulder and talked, sharing the bad dreams that had awoken them and brought them out into the night. In his dream, a rare but recurring one, the ocean crashed around him, its waves deafening--he shook his head now to push away the memory. The dream's terror had jolted him into a wakefulness that made sleep impossible. But then he'd met up with Joanna. And been intrigued by her--he'd marveled at her casual ability to swim by herself in the river at night. Talking to her about her dream and feeling the touch of her damp skin on his own, he'd forgotten the water and its power over him. In fact, he remembered now that he had consciously pushed his fear away. The life jacket, after all, he realized, might be just a self indulgence. He was here tonight to see if that were true. And because he wanted to spend some time in the place where he and Joanna--the girl who'd magically allowed him to ignore his fear--had been together.

He went to sit in the same grassy clearing and leaned back against the same boulder. And closed his eyes. He heard the river, but paid it no mind; his thoughts were of Joanna. He'd even sung a song to her, a love song, and as he had leaned over to kiss her, she had fainted in his arms. He wondered what would have happened if .

"There you are, Clay." His thoughts were interrupted by K.C., a junior counselor from the camp who had also stayed behind to help this week.

"What's up?" asked Clay. "How'd you find me, anyway?"

"I saw you head out this way. And your flashlight is the only light in the woods for miles around," said K.C. "C'mon, the camp director wants us all to meet to go over the plans for tomorrow. Some of us will be going up the mountain for trail restoration."

"By the way, uhhh, if you don't mind my asking, what are you doing out here without your life jacket?" K.C. and Clay had lived together all summer long in the same cabin with a new batch of campers each week. He knew well Clay's fear of water.

"I just didn't need it," said Clay. "Someone helped me to see that."

Joanna dialed the number Clay had given her. She'd thought about what she would say when she left the message and so was speechless when she got a static-laced, live response.

"Hello?" said Clay. He quickly looked down at his cell phone. They were up in the mountains now working on the trails and the signal came and went. He didn't recognize the caller's number and prayed it was Joanna. "Hello?" he said again.

"Clay?"

"Yes, hello?"

"Clay, it's Joanna."

He could not help grinning. But the signal was poor and might cut out at any time. "Joanna! Hey. Hi. How are you? Can you hear me?"

"Not too well. You're breaking up."

"What's your number?" he asked. Joanna gave it to him and he repeated it back to her. "Can you wait by your phone for an hour or two? I'll call you back when I ..."

The rest of the sentence was lost. "OK," said Joanna.

Clay walked the short distance to their campsite-three tents, each set back a ways from a fire ring. Shovels and tools littered the area. Their crew was there to repair some trails before the cool weather arrived. Sheila, who like Clay and Joanna had also been a summer counselor, was gathering and stacking firewood.

"Hey, Sheila. I'm hiking up the ridge to get better phone reception. Got to make a call. Be back in a couple of hours."

"Everything all right?"

"Yep. No problems. Just got to make a call." Clay kicked off his sports sandals at the entrance to the tan and yellow tent and rummaged around inside for his socks and hiking boots.

"Hey, Joanna. It's Clay. Can you hear me better now?"

"Yes, much better."

"I'm up on the ridge now, way above the Y camp. A few of us are camping up here doing some trail restoration." He looked down from his vantage point onto the stands of red spruce forest covering the slope below. This was a great spot--good for more than just phone calls.

"Hard work?"

"Not really. We have a good time. Sheila's here. You know Sheila? And K.C. And a few others."

"I was surprised when you answered the phone when I called," said Joanna.

"I was hoping you'd call."

"You were?"

"Yeah, I was waiting like for two whole days."

"You were?" Joanna said again. She was sure she was sounding like an idiot. She didn't know what to say.

Clay hated talking on the phone. Everything seemed so distant and you couldn't look into the other person's eyes and guess at what they might be thinking. "I've been missing you, Joanna. Well, not really missing you but maybe missing the chance to get to know you." What a mouthful, thought Clay. She would think he was an idiot. He decided to just go for it, so before she could respond, he asked, "Why don't you come back up here for the rest of the week? We're shorthanded and could use your help. It would be fun." There, he'd done it.

"OK," said Joanna. Why could she not think of something more intelligent to say? Or at least more enthusiastic. Her heart was beating so hard it seemed ready to thump on out of her body. She pictured the red hair on his arms. Slow down, heart. How could she not go? "OK," repeated Joanna. "I'll come."

Clay had been tired from the day's trail work and the hike up the ridge, but now he felt ready to hike up a ridge twice as high. "Where are you now? " he asked. "I don't even know where you live."

"Asheville. Pretty close."

"Great. Can you come about noon tomorrow? I'll meet you down at the main camp. Bring your sleeping bag and some shoes for hiking. See you then."

On the way back down to the trail crew's base camp, Clay turned off on a side trail. Rhododendron branches overhung the path and slapped at his sides. They'd have to do some trimming here before they left. He could hear the waterfall up ahead. The splash of the water on the rocks reminded him of the sounds of the wider, faster river down below. But way up here, the water was just a stream. It cascaded over the rocks above, splashed to the ground, and made a pool just inches deep, and then disappeared into the ground. The mist from the waterfall created a haven for wildflowers. Late summer sprays of red Bee Balm decorated the slopes. After an underground journey, the stream emerged again much further downhill, well below their camp. This place served as the official bathing spot for the gang. Although Clay did not like standing under the sheet of water as it fell to the ground, the others loved to come here and rinse off. Joanna would like it here, he knew, and he looked forward to showing her this place.

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this story was written in May 2003; copyright Elena Felsig

this page was last updated 5/16/03