God and Girl is my first novel, written in 2015. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.
It’s Friday, Algebra II is over straight up at 10:55 a.m., and the weather is glorious. Having packed last night, we are ready. Mentone, here we come.
Ellen’s parents let us drive on our own. Ellen had turned 16 this past July and developed into a very capable driver. Which, I shouldn’t doubt, since she was so responsible—an alert, attentive and obedient driver. To my surprise, Ellen had insisted that I drive. She said I needed the practice for my upcoming driver’s license exam.
We couldn’t believe it had been a year since our first trip to Mentone. Last year, my 15th birthday, and now Ellen and I are here to celebrate my 16th birthday. This has the makings of an annual event, a real Ruthie/Ellen tradition. But, more importantly, we are here together, to celebrate us, our lives. We are so blessed that the stars so wonderfully aligned to open the door for us to have met, and for our hands to have joined.
We followed last year’s routine and went to the Wildflower Cafe after checking in and putting our luggage away in our room. We both had the chicken salad plate. We didn’t see Chaz, so we didn’t linger. We returned to our room and started watching a Netflix movie on Ellen’s iPad but soon dozed off.
We woke up around 7:00 p.m., changed clothes and went outside to the porch and our swing. Last year we had sat here snuggling under a dark green woolen blanket after we had listened to singer wannabees, and watched couples, old and young, sit by the big roaring fire, roast marshmallows, dance and kiss and kiss and dance on the browning grass and piling leaves in front of the make-shift stage. Tonight, the music hasn’t started, but we see Chaz and his gang building a fire and lighting the grills.
We finally walk down off the porch and make us burgers, heaped with mayonnaise, ketchup, onion, tomatoes, pickles, and lettuce—just like we like them. Ellen grabs two slices of sweet-potato pie and we sit down by the fire. By now it has grown a little cool, so the heat of the fire is welcomed, and welcoming. We cut up with Chaz and listen for hours as three or four sweet, but terrible young boys and girls try to sing.
Finally, the Mountain Men (Chaz’ group) takes the stage.
The Mountain Men do an unbelievably good job of treating us to songs from the group Alabama, including “Love in the First Degree,” and
“There’s a Fire in the Night.” By the time they start ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ we are out of our chairs and bumping butts on the dance floor—for some reason I’m not as intimidated this year. We let loose in every way. Ellen moves her hips and her head pulling back her long black curly hair as she puts her all into looking sexy for me. We laugh and cry like never. But, it is ‘Touch Me When We’re Dancing’ that makes it feel so right, makes me feel like my heart, with victory flag in hand, has finally made it across a dry and lonely dessert and has reached the promised land. I see my heart pull Ellen’s up on a rock and plant our flag. We are victorious. We are in love.
Play us a song we can slow dance on
We wanna hold each other
Play us a groove so we hardly move
Just let our hearts be together
Oh baby ’cause it feels so good
When we’re close like this
Whisper in my ear
And let me steal a kiss
Come on touch me when we’re dancing
You know you’ve got that lovin’ touch
Oh, touch me when we’re dancing
I wanna feel you when I’m fallin’ in love
Tonight’s the night and it feels so right
What my heart’s saying to me
You’re the one and I’ve waited so long
So, let your love flow through me
Oh baby ’cause it feels so good
We can be this close
You’ve got me up so high
I could fly coast to coast
Come on and touch me when we’re dancing
You know you’ve got that lovin’ touch
Oh, touch me when we’re dancing
I wanna feel you when I’m fallin’ in love.
I wish the dance had never ended. Our hearts were together, the love flowed within us and between us, and Ellen’s sweet, soft fingers felt so good, so loving, as she touched me while we are dancing.
The dance did end. It was nearly 2:00 a.m. when we fell asleep in each other’s arms laying sideways across our big King Size bed with deep, soft covers, kissing with even deeper, softer touches.
Contrary to what we had planned, we slept late Saturday morning. It was almost 10:00 a.m. before we got up. We shower separately this year, dress for the outdoors, stuff some apples and oranges from the dining room into our backpacks and head out the side door. Since we had slept nearly three hours later than we had last year we decided to skip our stroll through the Antique Store and the many little craft booths set up all around Mentone.
“Hey, we are The Mountain Women, do you think we can sing like The Mountain Men? We could start off with ‘Touch Me When We’re Dancing.’” Ellen said to me as we biked next to each other as we headed to Desoto Falls Road and our Rock of Ages.
“No. You can’t sing. But you sure can dance.” I said as Ellen rode on ahead of me, her long, black, curly hair sexily dancing in the wind from under her safety helmet. I just can’t forget our slow dance. I just can’t stop humming: ‘You’ve got me up so high I could fly coast to coast.’
We finally landed at the trail head. We walked our bikes fifty feet or so down the trail, and then twenty feet or so off the side where we lock them up, return to the main trail, and hike thirty minutes or so to our rock, Ellen stopping us three times attempting to tease me into repeating her dance moves from last night. I refused three times. She is the sexy one, the one with the rhythm. She has all the moves, and her moves move me up so high.
When we arrive at our Rock of Ages, we set aside our backpacks and stand side by side and look out over the ravine. Once again, we are standing in the middle of paradise. We see nothing for miles and miles, nothing at all but an ocean flowing with various shades of gold, red, yellow, purple, black, orange, blue, brown, magenta, and pink. Fall has become, for both of us, our favorite time of the year.
The Fall season represents the harvest. A time when farmers gather their crops after spending months and months of care, of tender loving care. In a sense, Ellen and I are farmers. We planted a seed in each other’s hearts—well, somehow the seeds got planted, maybe it was fate, or, was it God? Those seeds sprouted immediately. Maybe the seeds had lain dormant many months, or many years, before in our hearts, before we met some fourteen plus months ago, all the time waiting for just the right rain to ignite life. Ellen and I had cared for our seeds so lovingly, so tenderly, so gently, ever since. We had used the best tools to nurture and grow our seeds. Time, touch, and talk had been the best ones. Each of these had been carefully oiled with just the right words. We both loved words. We both loved playing with words, even inventing new ones, ones that became vital to us, important to growing our relationship into a strong and vibrant plant. Harvest. Our investment in each other was producing a harvest. We were now reaping rewards of investing time, touch, and talk. We were today enjoying a fruitful connection, real chemistry, that overflows from the lab of love, erupting from those times, those touches, those talks that we had mixed so creatively and so spontaneously for over a year now. It was beyond rich to have someone in my life who I could share my innermost thoughts, no matter what they were, good, bad, ugly, beautiful. I was beyond wealthy to have a companion, a partner, who held my hand and spurred my mind, who set my spirit ablaze to know, to learn, to seek, and to sort truth from lies and lies from truth. Ellen was me and I was Ellen. We could be vulnerable with each other, the ultimate form of intimacy.
“Have you ever seen anything more beautiful,” Ellen said.
“Yes, but not quite as outwardly colorful.”
“Oh, tell me my love, about your crush.” Ellen said.
“You goofball. You know Ryan is much more than a crush.”
“I knew it. You have been teasing me, just faking it, all to learn of my secrets, my secrets for a happy life.” Ellen said.
“Seriously my darling, the trees, the leaves, and the wind we see and hear all around us are as beautiful as it gets, but they are darkness compared to your light. But, I do love you more when you are wearing your Thanksgiving sweater of many colors.” I said.
“Ha ha. How about an apple?” Ellen said.
“Sounds great but don’t be tempting me.” Ellen grabs us each an apple from her backpack, and I take out a blanket from mine, and a sheet of paper. We sit down, cross-legged on our blanket and share bites off each other’s apple.
After Ellen takes the last bite of my apple I say, “look what I brought.”
“What, a diamond ring for me, all folded up in that sheet of paper.” Ellen said.
“Not today, I’m sorry, but soon if that’s what you want, I’m game. You know we have been calling our rock, our Rock of Ages, since we first discovered it last year. So, I found the lyrics online the other night. I thought it would be neat if we read it, even sang it, here today.” “Oh wonderful, now she’s gonna make me love Southern Gospel. I feel a breakup coming.” Ellen said.
“No, no. This song can have wonderful meaning for us. For some reason, we named our rock after this song. So, put on your poetry cap and let’s see what it means to you, and to me. I unfolded the paper and began to read:
Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee;
Let the water and the blood,
From Thy wounded side which flowed,
Be of sin the double cure,
Save from wrath and make me pure.
Not the labor of my hands
Can fulfill Thy law’s demands;
Could my zeal no respite knows,
Could my tears forever flow,
All for sin could not atone;
Thou must save, and Thou alone.
Nothing in my hand I bring,
Simply to Thy cross I cling;
Naked, come to Thee for dress;
Helpless, look to Thee for grace; Foul, I to the fountain fly; Wash me, Savior, or I die.
While I draw this fleeting breath,
When my eyes shall close in death,
When I rise to worlds unknown,
And behold Thee on Thy throne,
Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee.”
“I actually like it. Rock of Ages is obviously referring to the Christian Jesus. He has come to take away our sins and save us with His cleansing blood. For those He saves, He is their Rock of Ages–rock solid, strong, eternal. To the saved, He is a hiding place and a bridge to the next world, the one after death.” Ellen said.
“You either are a fast learner or you know more about Christianity than I thought. Maybe you are not an infidel.”
“Well thanks. Infidel? If your Rock of Ages story is true, then I must admit it is interesting and kind of magnetic. I surprisingly am drawn to it. It has an appeal. I love the rhythm, the pace, the story. Can I have the sheet? I’d like a copy to read later. Who knows there may be something to that Christianity of your Dad’s—other than the stoning the homosexual part.” Ellen said.
“Here you go. I’m glad you’re interested because I am too. I just want to know the truth about life and love, our past, creation and evolving, our future, life beyond death. Let’s make this search an important part of our journey to love. Okay?” I said.
“Sure thing.” Ellen said standing up while holding the paper with the song, turning and looking to me, still seated, like she was my teacher. “As long as you don’t start evangelizing me. Now, listen to this. Here is a version, my twist on the song. I think we can love it together, love it here today, and all our tomorrows. I also have a unique twist that we can take with us beyond our lives here on earth, out into Always and Forever (bless their soul way over there deep in that cave), the great afterlife, if there is such a thing. Now, listen my love and make careful notes:
Let me hide myself in Thee.
Nothing in my hand I bring.
That’s the first part. That’s us, me hiding in you, you hiding in me. We have each other and nothing else matters. Just me and you, us and nature, hidden in this rock.
Now, when we can no longer come here to celebrate your birthday, that day far into the future if you must come here alone, please remember:
While I draw this fleeting breath,
When my eyes shall close in death,
When I rise to worlds unknown,
And behold Thee on Thy throne,
Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee.
Even in death I will love and honor you, cherish you. You will always be my special angel. I will always and forever be beside you.” Ellen said, and I cried.
“You know we have been studying a lot about human evolution. I don’t think either one of us believes that the story of Adam and Eve as told in the Bible is a true story, that it actually happened, but is there something more important than whether that is really history?” I asked. “Maybe, we are simply to use the Adam and Eve story, and all the other stories in the Bible as a source of meaning.” Ellen said.
“So, what should we learn from Eve eating that apple and sharing with Adam?”
“Maybe, to watch out for temptations. As the story goes, they were in a perfect place and had a perfect relationship. That was a pretty good spot to be in, don’t you think? Kind of like how I see us. They let something come into their lives—represented by the apple—that wasn’t good, that drove a wedge between them. I’m not sure what learning about their nakedness has to do with them, but they now had to deal with pain and hardship. It would be hard for Eve to dance with Adam if she is bowed over with pain while having little Cain and Abel. Also, Adam had to divert his attention to making a living.” Ellen said.
“We can apply their lesson and learning to us today. If we are not careful we might let children (don’t worry, I’m not ready for that), work, hobbies, friends, family, anything come in and crowd out our togetherness. We must be serious about continuing to invest in us, invest real time and attention into caring for ourselves, our relationship, kind of like farmers must do all year round in producing a crop, a bountiful crop. It takes more than planting and harvesting. It takes the cold winter of planning for the upcoming spring. It takes cold winter days in the barn, maintaining and refurbishing tools and equipment to be ready just at the right time, just when the seed needs sowing, the plant needs weeding, and the fruit needs gathering. Maybe Adam and Eve’s apple can be our symbol, our reminder that we need to always be alert to what can come crawling up beside us, inside our lives, to divert our attention from us as one, unto me as me, and you as you.”
“I think you are right. And, I know that is so much more important than folks, mostly Christians, getting bent out of shape over whether the Adam and Eve story, the whole Genesis creation story, took place 6,000 years ago. When it comes down to it, we are humans, the smartest animal ever discovered. We are not just humans, we are individuals, each needing special attention, each wanting and needing love. Love is the answer. If we all would just focus on that one thing and forget our differences, just take everyone for who they really are.
Stop judging.” Ellen said.
“Christians say they believe the Bible and that it is God’s word. But, the Bible has evolved. What people believe about the Bible has evolved. It’s funny that just as the Bible is against homosexuality and adultery, and it commands stoning for both the homosexual and the adulterer, we both know that the adulterer is given a free ‘get-out-of-jail’ card. Christians and non-Christians alike divorce and remarry, just about in the same percentages. But you don’t hear Christians up in arms over whether someone is an adulterer. It seems Christians, not all, but many, just believe what they want. They dislike homosexuals and want to stone them, maybe not literally, but figuratively. The hatred is evident. You know how my Dad feels, although I don’t think in any way that he hates homosexuals, but I do know that he has invested a lot of time in his “Take a Stand” program that really has just caused more division. Dad should have focused simply on love, and how to bring homosexuals and every other person into our church and stop judging.” I said.
“It seems we really haven’t learned a lot about love and caring for our fellow man since the dark ages.” Ellen said.
“Get this. You read my Biology paper about the Naledi’s. How much more backward could you get? They had no conveniences whatsoever. They didn’t have a car, a house, clothes, a grocery store, a Walmart. They only had what nature gave them, what was around them, dirt, rocks, water from a creek, trees, leaves, caves, and sticks. Yet, they showed real love to each other. And, we, modern man, have every convenience imaginable. All man-made. Maybe we have evolved into not needing love. Maybe, we have forgotten how much we need love. We sit alone, even though in the same room with a friend or family member, and read something on our iPads, even watch a movie, alone.
We do this instead of talk or walk or build a fire and sit by it for hours talking about the stars, the wind, the rain.” I said.
We continue to talk, continue sharing philosophy. Soon we are laying back, using our backpacks for pillows and our talking slows to a crawl and then to silence. I dream of little Ella’s body down deep inside the cave and I feel her spirit resting on my chest, her eyes, dark but tender, looking at me. She is smiling. I dream of her mom and dad, with no house, clothes, or pantry, spending every waking hour caring for the other. The hardships they faced everyday were their reminder of how important and beautiful they were to each other. They knew the value of their friends, family, neighbors—how they were all in this thing called life, in it together, interdependent.
It seemed I dreamed for hours. I woke up to Ellen’s kiss, soft, tender, genuine.
“Wake up. It is 4:30, and it looks like rain.” Ellen said.
“It can’t be that late.” But it was I knew from looking at my watch. We had been here since before noon. “I hope you had good dreams as I did.” I said.
“Every moment with you is a dream come true.” Ellen said.
“Oh, you are so good with words. And, you know just when to say them, the order they roll off your lips is always perfect.”
“Funny, funny. Let’s get going. It’s starting to sprinkle.” Ellen said.
By the time we unlocked our bikes the sprinkling had turned into a steady rain. We didn’t have much choice but to ride as fast as we could back to the Inn. As usual, Ellen led the way.
We were about half way back when I noticed Ellen staying straight while we were coming into a curve to our left. I yelled out to her, but by the time I closed my mouth she was in a ditch thrown over her handlebars, never slowing down until she rolled into a big Rhododendron bush just beyond. I stopped and threw my bike down just at the edge of the road and ran over to Ellen. Her backpack had come off one arm but still was clinging to the other. I pulled the backpack out of the way and turned her over. She looked up at me with those darling blue eyes and smiled.
“What happened to you?” I asked.
“I guess I just kind of dozed off. I was so deep in thought I wasn’t paying attention. But, I’m fine.” Ellen said.
“You scared me to death. Are you sure you are not hurt?” I said as Ellen sat up.
“I was deep in thought trying to figure out a way to get you in my arms, in this rain. I just couldn’t wait until we got back to the Inn.” Ellen said.
“That’s lovely, but you didn’t have to scare me so and be so dramatic.”
Ellen took my hands and pulled us both up. “Look, there’s an old barn. Come on.” Ellen said as she started running toward an old red barn set back off the road behind the foundation of a house that looked like it had burned down years ago.
“Don’t we need to get our bikes and backpacks? I yell, over the roaring rain, as I run to catch up with Ellen.
“Spontaneity is a key fertilizer to real romance, real chemistry,” Ellen said as we ran inside the central section of the old fading barn. The wood stalls looked prehistoric, fossilized almost, like something from Noah’s Ark. The smell of mildew, and probably mold, hung heavy in the air. It was drier inside but drops of water plunked down on my head from above, from a leaky metal roof, worn thin from years of rain, steam, and sun.
“I guess down-pouring rain and soaked clothes is a necessary activator or trigger to make that fertilizer spur on love and kisses, romance and tenderness, dances and sexy looks. Right?” I said. “Oh, my dear sweet baby. You are learning the science of romance. I have full faith in you that I can mold and shape you for future spontaneity leadership.” Ellen said.
“Well, I do love the teacher in you. Do you have another lesson ready? Or, have you used up all your spontaneity for today?” I giggled.”
Ellen pulled me into her body, backing up against a dusty wooden and sagging stable gate. I loved that we were so equal in height, even though she was a little taller than me. Our lips touched, but we stopped, almost frozen, acting as though we were scared to kiss, scared to press our lips together. Our eyes opened, and the dance began. Without a word, I submitted. She toyed with my upper lip with both her lips. She sweetly and gently tilted up my head and kissed my neck from under my chin to under my left ear. She lowered my head and this time played with my lower lip with her lips. Our eyes locked again, hers to mine, mine to hers. Just as I thought she was about to speak, she pulled my head down to her shoulder and rubbed my back and stroked my hair.
We stood silently as the rain fell against the tin roof. The more I listened, the more I could discern a repeating pattern. I leaned closer into Ellen’s shoulder and imagined the rain was playing a newly invented song, one just for us. It, the rain, the rain’s brain, the rain’s owner, the new creature, the Rain, whoever, had woken to life as it had recognized the need for spontaneity. The Rain wrote us a song, maybe borrowing a little from Augustus Montague Toplady’s 1763 song, Rock of Ages. Story is, Toplady, a preacher, was traveling along the gorge when he was caught in a storm. Finding shelter in a gap in the gorge, he was struck by the title and scribbled down the initial lyrics.
The Rain needed no further help from Toplady. ‘Today, right now, this very moment, has been planned, it has been written in the stars for always and forever, since the beginning of time. This moment is for you Ellen and you Ruthie. Take your time, touch each other, talk to each other. For, neither of you will ever forget this time, the time in the rain, in the shelter of this old red barn, the one the house-fire couldn’t reach for it had a destiny. No matter if you ever learn the truth of where you came from, what your life’s purpose is, or where you will spend eternity, you do know, right here, right now, that you are one. The two of you no longer exist as individuals. Ellen, you are hidden in Ruthie always. Ruthie, you are hidden in Ellen, forever. When one smiles the other smiles, when one is happy the other is happy, but when one is sad, the other spontaneously pulls her close and looks happily into her eyes, and when one is hurting, the other spontaneously throws down her bike and runs and pulls the hurting one in her arms and loves the pain away.’
The rain finally begins to fade, and I opened my eyes for the first time since Ellen pulled my head down on her shoulder. We had stood there for over an hour, silently, lovingly, our hearts joining hands committed to never letting go. I raised my head and looked at Ellen’s face. Her eyes were still closed, and she was smiling.
“We better get going. I’m glad we have reflectors on our bikes.” Ellen said as she took my hand and pulled me out into the darkness.
We slowly made our way back to the Inn, stripped down naked and both spent thirty minutes in the shower, giggling and listening to each other’s stomachs growl for food.
This year we were less formal in our attire for the Saturday night dinner, each opting for jeans and dark flowing blouses with pink collars, standing on three-inch stiletto heels. We were giants and we were gorgeous, at least according to the many eyes that tracked our every move, as we followed Mrs. Bradford to our skinny little table against the back wall by the fireplace. “Not again this year.” We both said out loud as she walked away. We someway ordered. Then, we sat silent for what seemed an hour, of course, it wasn’t. After our food arrived, we willed ourselves to love a plate of shrimp overlaying cuttlefish noodles, with cauliflower and smoky ‘duck ham’ on the side.
Afterword’s, we went outside and sat in our swing for a couple of hours before returning to our room and watching ‘The Best of Me,’ by Nicholas Sparks on Ellen’s iPad while cuddling in each other’s arms. As the movie ended, Ellen fell asleep first, with my left arm across her side, and her back touching my stomach, my legs nestled into the back of hers. As I listened to her breathe I thought of the song playing on top of the old red barn. I thought of the burned-out foundation that once was a house, filled with children and loving parents. A couple who once lay back to front, one asleep, one awake, with her listening to her partner’s breathing and hoping and praying that life would continue and forever remain the same. At some point, I too fell asleep but feeling the heat from the roaring flames engulfing the house while standing with my children in the hallway of the old red barn watching the clapboard and shingled flesh of the house disintegrate while the weakening and glowing trusses and sidewalls crumbled to the ground finally melting into a pile of ash.
Sunday morning, we took our time getting up, showering, getting dressed, and eating a full southern breakfast while talking with Mrs. Bradford about the creativity involved with our clothing choices. After breakfast, we loaded up our bags and our bikes and drove to DeSoto Falls Road and parked. We had decided during the movie last night to come here and make some pictures of each other standing beside the trail-head and Ellen’s car, and hoping we could flag someone down to make a few pictures of the two of us together.
Our photo shoot was perfect in every way inspiring Ellen to take a thousand more snapshots as I drove us home. “You definitely need the practice.” Ellen kept saying.
I drove us straight to Ellen’s and spent the rest of the day swimming and sitting by her pool. Mom and Dad even let me miss church and stay until they picked me up.
“See you tomorrow. I had a great weekend. Our weekend could not have been better.” I said walking to Dad’s car, turning around to make sure Ellen had heard me while she stood by her front door. I could see her smiling. And that was the perfect ending to the perfect weekend, my 16th birthday, spent with Ellen, spent with my once in life love. It didn’t seem life could get any better.
The Pencil-Driven Life 