Picturing Maryanne’s sleek,
crossed legs in her black dress
kept me from drifting to sleep.
I dreamed wide awake.
This was our first camping trip.
We’d gone from childhood friends to more,
but I hadn’t told her I loved her yet.
I’d been in love before, but this was different
because Maryanne was different.
I’d consider her out of my league,
but she didn’t see it that way.
I interrogated the meaning of sensitivity
attached to a picturesque memory
painted in technicolor of camping
at Blue Lake in a tent.
Campfires waved a hint of pine.
People clanked bottles
and listened to hard rock;
their voices staggered.
I lay beside her,
brushing my hand over her pale cheek.
I studied Maryanne’s luscious red lips.
I moved damp strands of her long,
red hair from her face.
Maryanne moved but didn’t wake up.
I wanted to tell her I loved her,
but I haven’t had the guts.
I enjoyed our awkward silence
as we sat on the riverbank.
People hiked on the trail,
discussing the excuse they made
to slip away from their spouses
to be with their side piece.
Maryanne covered a laugh.
I laughed, too.
We skipped dense rocks across a creek,
moving soft ripples.
Evergreen trees and trails
etched a tapestry with weak
spring sun peeking
through white disembodied clouds.
Maryanne looked at me and smiled.
I could tell she wanted to say something.
“What is it, you nerd?” I nudged her side.
“I heard you last night,” she said.
“I was awake,” I said.
“No.” Maryanne shook her head. “You were asleep.”
“Did I say anything embarrassing?” I arched a brow, and my chest tightened.
Maryanne tilted her head and put her finger to her chin. “Embarrassing? No.”
“Then what?” I said, panic baked into my eyes.
“You said you loved me.” Maryanne blushed.
“I did?” I scratched the back of my neck.
“I wish you were awake.” Maryanne slid her hand to mine.
“Why?”
“Because I’d tell you…” Maryanne composed herself. “Because I’d tell you what I’ve wanted to say since we were kids. I love you.”
I leaned in and cupped her cheek. We kissed in weathered love.