The Reunion The sun had dropped below the Western horizon an hour or so ago. There was a small campfire flickering and it made the nearby chaparral appear to be dancing to an unheard melody. The silence was occasionally broken by the plaintive call of an owl, or the excited yips of a hunting coyote pack in hot pursuit of dinner. Two figures were sitting by the fire, seemingly engrossed by the glow of the cherry red embers and the fingers of yellow/orange flame. Suddenly one stood...the female...stretched and headed toward an unrolled sleeping bag about ten feet from the fire. The other...the male...didn't seem to have noticed the departure of his companion. He continued to sit, motionless, as if entranced by the burning juniper. She It had been 34 years since she had last seen him. They had clicked way back then. When they had finally gotten together again, he had left it up to her to decide what they would do while she visited. She had decided that it might be fun to go prospecting. After all, he had mailed her that little nugget, and it would be nice to find a matching one herself. She wasn't sure that she had made a wise decision. She hadn't really thought about the work involved. But...if this guy turned out to be a real dud, at least she'd have some gold to show for the adventure. She was bone tired and sore. It was a good tired, though, a deep feeling of contentment accompanied that weariness. She still couldn't believe that he had handed her the shovel, and with that smirk on his face had said, "I don't suppose that a college professor would need an explanation of how to use one of these things." There was just that fleeting moment where the thought of knocking that smirk off his face with the shovel had crossed her mind. However...the excitement of seeing the little pieces of gleaming gold in the black sand after panning was a wonderful rush. He had said that they had found about five dollars worth of placer. Placer, pickers, clinkers, nugies...these prospectors had a funny vocabulary. It was also unbelievable just how good a warmed-up can of chili could taste with a few pieces of sourdough bread. It must be the fresh, high desert air. The stars were starting to fill the sky as twilight's ghost ceded to the dark of night. She glanced back over toward the campfire and saw him rise and then head for the van. Was he going to bed already? Could he have possibly forgotten about his promise? He The dancing flames were mesmerizing. He knew if he didn't move soon, he'd fall asleep right here...at least until he fell face first into the fire. He was glad that she had chosen a prospecting trip. This way, if she turned out to be a bore he'd have some gold to show for his time, anyway. He had to laugh when he thought about that momentary look on her face when he handed her the shovel. For a second, he thought that she might hit him. She turned out to be a real trooper, though, she had moved a lot of material. No complaints either. He was going to try and make it up to her. He stood and walked over to the van, fumbled around for the flashlight and finally found it. He looked through his CD collection and made a choice. He then gathered his sleeping bag and pillow. She What was he scrabbling around for in the van? Ahhh...he's putting on some music, she thought. It's familiar...The Allman Brothers...Melissa...that's it. She watched him as he walked over and laid his sleeping bag next to hers. He sat down and said one word..."Well?" She knew what he meant. She rolled over onto her stomach and wriggled around in the sleeping bag until she was relaxed and comfortable. She felt him pull her shirt upwards and raised her torso to make it easier. The desert night air was cool to the exposed skin of her back, but felt good. He began running his fingernails lightly up and down her back, using both hands. She could feel the shiver start at the base of the spine and travel slowly up her back, neck and finally that wonderful tingle covering the entire scalp. He then began tracing spirals outward from each vertebrae. Then the fingernails were replaced by the palms of both hands being lightly moved in a downward direction. She could feel the tickling roughness of the shovel callused skin at the base of his fingers. After a few passes in both directions, he began to gently knead the muscles of her shoulders. Ahhhhh...she thought, this is well worth the time spent working that shovel. He sloooooowly worked his way down both sides of the spinal column, easing the tension in the tight muscles. When he reached the top of her jeans, he moved his hands outward a couple of inches and worked his way back upward. The second time he kneaded her shoulders she could tell that already the muscles were fully relaxed, but she didn't want him to stop yet. Maybe he could stop Thursday or Friday, but not now. He must have realized it also because he stopped the massage and rolled over onto his back. He did keep playing on her lower back with one of his hands, though, almost as if he was doodling. He When he had gotten around to massaging her muscles, he had been surprised at how tight they were. She really had gotten a workout today. He gazed up at the beautiful night sky. The Milky Way was so bright that it looked like a luminous cloud. He idly started tracing constellations on her back with his right hand. He kept this up until he noticed the change in her breathing pattern that told him that she had fallen asleep. He carefully pulled her shirt back down and her sleeping bag up to keep her warm. He then got into his own bag, turned toward her and put his arm across her back. He thought to himself, "It doesn't get any better than this." and then he also fell asleep.
Good style, grammar and spelling. Also, you have the beginning of a story line here. Let's see some more.
Thanks dirtydog. The "She" in this story was my sweetie in 1971 and I found her again in March of 2005 with an internet search. We're coming up on our 3rd year anniversary since the "reunion." She's an English instructor at a community college in CA. I'm a Dodge Dweller in the Outback of AZ. She's my writing "Nuse." (That's a fine blend of Muse and Nag.)
