Ulota crispa
The water was beginning to run dry. There was no longer enough depth for even the youngest to dip their feet into the pool, and the gentlest hands could only scoop turbid water. Each person drank the last of what they could, doing their best to keep the silt of their last sip out of their stomach.
She was one among a party of nine. Five children, two men, and one fellow woman. They were all becoming tacked down by the lack of water, the sun a relentless force above. The children, with their smaller bodies and energetic tendencies, were the first to display signs of desiccation. The skin was always the first to go. It never cracked, but became very stiff, a red undertone beneath the texturing surface. Intuitively, the children knew they were meant to curl into tight balls, their arms and legs aching to be pressed together in comfort. The adults, while not yet immobile, joined the children in their fetal position. It was not long ago when the adults were the children, afraid under their own wrinkling skin, unfamiliar with the tides of life.
Soon enough the adults began to dry at the commissures of their mouths, the tips of their ears following close behind. Their breathing slowed. Their balled-up bodies became dense as their arms clasped their knees tight to their chests. Their metabolism drew to a halt. Shriveled, the nine bodies all became one sixth of their hydrated size. The dirt below them crackled into a gridwork of jagged polygons.
The wind did not need to be forceful; at the slightest push the bodies began to move. At first the group traveled as a pack, but as a bump came here and a hill came there, each body took a different opportunity. The whole became nine separate pieces, connected to each other only by the fleeting memory of one another’s faces.
When the rain returned, the first drop touched her softly on the shoulder, her pachydermic skin drinking it immediately. Each drop sank into her with ease until she was saturated enough that she could begin to work her arms loose. She sleepily wiggled them apart, allowing water to pour down her chest and onto her quadriceps. She yawned her body open, laying on her back, mouth wide to the world. She flexed a goofy, contorted smile as the drops tapped the back of her throat.
The rain was a long one. By the time she was completely rejuvenated, the world was drenched. Pools lay everywhere, the earth saturated favorably. There were many people, most of whom, like the woman, had been caught by the blades of long, luxurious grass that marked the fertile valley.
There were enough pools for every man, woman, and child to have their own, but few opted for such seclusion. Most gathered in groups of three or four, wading in the large pools, slurping to excess in celebration of their revival.
A pair of children laughed as they chased each other, trying to push one another into one of the bodies of water. She let out a small smile as she watched the giggling children.
“Hi.”
A voice came from behind her.
“Oh. Hi.”
The rain dropped to a drizzle, a peaceful mist that brought on a universal calm to all that lay beneath it. The two that stood in conversation, however, noticed no such peace, too focused on watching their conversational footing.
She had met him many migrations back. They were children at the time, although they did not know that then. They had told each other that they were in love, and their love seemed to be more passionate than any adult’s. That passion, intense beyond reason, may have been an unseen sign of immaturity in itself. They had met under a verdigris sky, the likes of which are only seen once in a lifetime.
They both looked older. Not old, but older. Their wet skin was still supple between periods of desiccation, but the creases of their features had hardened. The man had stubble, the woman a full figure.
If an entire lifetime had passed between their reunion, they would have no trouble holding a conversation.
“Wow! That's so different. I didn’t know that was a thing. So you go around digging for old remains, like structures and what-not? What’s it like?”
“We mostly find charred remains from fires, but it's not uncommon to find other bits too. The works fine. Good, actually. Really good. It feels good to find a piece of the past.”
“That's great. Made any discoveries? Anything big?”
“I’ve been finding things left and right. But everything I find tells me the same things, really. That people have been people for as long as they’ve been around, if that makes any sense. As a species, we don’t seem to change much.”
“You certainly haven’t.”
He wiggled a reserved smile along his lips as she asked her response.
“Haven’t what?”
“Changed much.”
The two went on, their chatter making its way to a smaller pool, away from the crowded mainstays. He dove in while she sat on the stone coping at the edge, her feet swaying gently from his aggressive swimming.
He would say things like I love this weather, or I’d love to spend the rest of the season with you, or I love the way the light hits your eyes. She suspected this was his way of saying I love you without knowing if he was allowed to say such words.
From there, the days went on more or less as they normally would. In between her excavations she made new acquaintances, some becoming close friends. She was not bothered, although she never failed to notice, that her old acquaintance would always seek her out. He was a second shadow cast by the sun. And he was quick to develop a certain way of speaking that usually began with the word remember.
“Remember when we’d stay up all night and make up constellations we’d see in the stars?”
“Remember when we got caught pissing in one of the pools?”
“Remember how you used to jab me in the stomach every time you teased me?”
Remember. Remember. Remember.
She felt something troublesome under it all. Sometimes she would meet his face at a certain angle, or catch his scent when he stood too close, and she could not help being caught in the undertow of time. She did not struggle to shake the specters off, wincing at her memory of how easily people could recklessly whisper sweet things into each other's ears. She was shocked, but not displeased, to find she had hardened some over the harsh seasons.
She was acutely aware that time healed all wounds, and she was oftentimes left wondering if he realized how much appeared to be written out of his remembrance. There were painful exchanges interwoven between the sweet scent of petrichor and midnight promises. Painful exchanges he either forgot or wanted her to forget. His continued omission became all the more obvious as the pools began to dissipate; as time went, murk had fewer places to hide.
Does he remember when they would scream at each other?
Does he remember when she called for him and he did not come?
Does he remember leaving that hole in her, the one that had healed long ago, leaving no room for him?
Remember; remember; remember?
The humid weather waned faster than even the pessimists among the party had anticipated. The earth drank what the sky did not take back. People began saying their farewells. The older among them made sure to hug extra firmly; nobody knew when they would catch their last gust. The younger mumbled see-you-soons, ignorant of the brutality of time and distance.
When the moment came to find placement, just before the Dry settled in, he was at her side. They were alone on the highest peak in the range, from which she could look down and see the others who were preparing to be sent off, set apart from those who were trying to burrow themselves into the ground’s lowest points in an effort to stay near the valley.
She allowed him to desiccate beside her.
“If only we could make sure we’re going to land in the same place.”
She had a sudden vision of him when they were younger, his arms wrapped around himself just as they were then. She could feel the lips of his former self breathing heat on her drying ear. I’ll be with you, always.
For a flash, she was hit with the thought of using her last drop of mobility to shift herself closer to him. She could show him what their young selves never learned. She could tuck her arm under his, conjoining the two as a set of tuns, lemniscate until a fresh rain broke them apart. Linked at the elbows, they could travel together. Just as they had promised each other they would.
She had learned this method from her time with another man. A man who had felt like a true companion on the unpredictable flurries over the earth. But partnership eventually gave way to accessory; whenever they linked arms, she felt like an ancillary part to the primary body that was this other person. It became clear to them both that their combination was weighing them both down. The wind was not always kind to coupled travelers. She was not ready to risk feeling that way again. Not yet.
Besides, it was clear to her more than ever that her childhood sweetheart was in love with a time and a place, and she knew if that was the case, the antidote was not her contemporary presence. The only possible way out would be for him to shake himself up from his own dream. She knew this because she too had been in love with a time and a place, and she too had felt the dry bite of such pain.
She did not shift closer to him. She did not even fold herself into a ball to mimic his form. Rather, she laid with her head bowed to the ground, her forehead in the dirt, her arms at length in front of her, coming to a point where her fingers overlapped. It was a comfortless position. As her ankles began to dry to her hindlegs, she could hear him whisper.
“I love you, Water Bear.”
A pet name from their days under the verdigris sky. She was too dried out to consider spending a tear. She felt confirmed in her suspicion, and sturdy with her decision.
She refused to spend her life as a ghost from this man’s past.
She hoped her shape was aerodynamic enough to take her far away. She wanted the winds to lift her high enough to reach lands unseen. Where there would be no fossils or tools or buildings to uncover, where it would be up to her to fill the land with her own remains. Out there, beyond the known pools and hills, maybe there was something she had not seen before. Out there, she hoped there were more than the countless iterations of what she already knew. Not far behind her she could hear the revving wind, another entity making promises she wasn’t sure would be fulfilled.
⌘ ⌘ ⌘
When he came to, he immediately felt the stinging need for air. He had landed dead-center of where one of the pools had begun to form and his body could not keep up with the accumulation of water. He kicked his feet out immediately, his tight chest about to force a dangerous inhale. He was struggling to wade as he fought for his first breath. He was reborn under his struggle with the rain. No matter how he felt, there was no denying he had made it to another day.
Still chugging air, he slumped the upper half of his body over the waterline. He dragged himself away from the pool and found a knoll to prop himself with. Many people passed him, a few stopped to see if he was okay. He managed to get to his feet after the rain slowed. Wobbling up slowly, he began an arbitrary path, surveying his new home at random.
Without a single moment of uncertainty, he was brought back to a previous time and place, and found himself staring at the nape of his past future. He was hesitant to say the words, as though he was about to begin speaking to a specter, something that may have only been in his head.
“Hi.”
She turned to him. He hoped the rain washed out his watering eyes.
“Oh. Hi.”
His sense of being became warped below the misting sky. From that moment on there were no days and nights, only thens and theres. Sometimes he would emerge from a pool and he would be present, looking at her face for approval of his existence. Other times he would rise and find the softer face of the girl he wanted to follow to the ends of the earth. If he had been asked where he had been between his two encounters with her, he would be at a loss, unable to account for the years of intermediate time. All he knew then was that those years had been spent without her.
When he was worried she was growing tired of him, he would shakily gush something positive.
“I love this weather.”
He wanted her to feel like this was the place to be.
“I’d love to spend the rest of the season with you.”
He wanted her to feel welcome.
“I love the way the light hits your eyes.”
He wanted her to feel special.
But behind it all, he had an anxious feeling that he was priming himself to be embarrassed. They had not seen each other in many, many seasons. From their endless catchings-up he had learned of her vast network of friends and acquaintances. She did not need him to make her feel excited or welcome or special. He was trying to fill a gap that was not there. During their interactions he caught sight of her new mannerisms and heard new ways she thought of the world, and he was reminded that she, too, had lived intermediate years.
Days dripped by. Sometimes he would become suspicious that what he was seeing may not have been what was actually happening. Viscous air could feel like wading water. Thickening pools could feel like treading land.
“Hey, what color is the sky today?”
She gave a short laugh.
“I’d call it cerulean. What’d you think?”
But he did not dare to say what he really saw.
“Cerulean’s a perfect word for it.”
Looking past her, he did not see a cerulean sky, but a verdigris tarp stretched taut above everything he knew.
As it went, his calculated interactions became sloppy, his normal conversation intermingling with nostalgia. Vivid memories of her, of their late nights, of their mischief, of their bonding, became too intrusive to drown out. He contained them for as long as he could, and when one would spill out, he would wince at himself, feeling his overflowing memory putting his current position at risk.
He could see in her face she was not always amused by the off-hand wistfulness of the comments. He thought about bringing up the other half of their history. He wanted to apologize for his neglectfulness and his lack of sensitivity. He wanted to tell her any wrongs she had done him were long forgiven. But such proclamations crossed a line he was already flirting with. He had learned that the seasons of life came and went quickly, and there was no time to tear open the old wounds. He wanted only to help soothe the scars.
When the day came to desiccate, he found her alone on top of the highest peak in the valley. He made sure to approach her from the front so he could see if she would allow him or not. When her thin smile creaked across her face, he sat beside her, her drying skin a glimpse into what it would mean to grow old with her.
She looked beautiful.
“If only we could make sure we’re going to land in the same place.”
She responded by taking one last look at the horizon before contorting her body into a position he had never seen before. He felt microscopic beside her unconventional technique.
He wanted to touch her one last time. A hand on her shoulder, or a jab in the ribs. But when he went to stick his arm out, her shrinking body only a couple of feet away, he found his arms had lost all function. All he could do was hope he had made good use of his short time.
He had wanted the two of them to have the season they never had the chance to have. He wanted them to be a pair, as adults, just once. He knew that… No. He knew nothing. And that was the problem. All these years he spent wandering the plains, seeing valleys and pools and mountains and lakes, he never found what he was looking for. Even being in the verdant valley, with his old friend returned to his side, was not able to make all the pieces fit together. He hoped she had at least enjoyed some of the moments with him this past season. He hoped she would think back kindly. He wanted—
He, he, he.
The realization came to him as a mocking laugh. The last thought he had as he felt himself compressing under the unforgiving sun was that he had been selfish to the very end. His stiff mouth was nearly impossible to articulate.
“I’m sorry, Water Bear.”
His words barely escaped his throat.
He did not need to see above to know that the sky had given over completely to rust. Whatever palimpsest had been left from before was gone. There was only a blank slate and the mortifying feeling that he was the one to have wiped it clean.