don’t even have to wear shoes,” he said, and then he ran down the stairs and was gone.
So now it’s one in the afternoon, and I’m waiting. Why am I so nervous? It’s only some muddy crabbing, right?
Later...
I think I need to pray. To go to church and kneel down and pray.
Levi came back exactly at two in the afternoon and took me down the path toward the sea with buckets and a clam rake.
“You be careful where you step, okay?” he said.
I just glared at him, and he laughed. “You’re the one who said I didn’t have to wear shoes,” I said.
It was good to be by the sea. I’ve been so cooped up in the house, but to feel the salt water on my toes...to lift my skirt up past my knees and dig in the mud? There’s no better way to revive one’s soul.
Until you lose it. Yes, I do believe I lost my soul.
Everything was going well. We had a bucketful of clams and we were talking about old times. It was a sparkling day.
And then I felt a sharp slice across the bottom of my foot.
“Ow!” I cried out.
Levi was at my side in a second.
“What is it? What happened?” His concern was almost amusing. You’d think I broke my leg.
“I cut my foot,” I said, hopping over to a large rock so I could wipe away the mud and take a look.
He dumped the clams out of the bucket and filled it with salt water.
“What are you doing? We worked hard for those!” I said.
He didn’t answer, just brought the bucket to me, knelt in the mud at my feet and carefully put my cut foot in the salt water. It stung.
“It’s deep, Glory,” he said, examining my foot. “I have to get you back.”
I don’t know why, I really don’t, but I started to cry. I never cry. Scraped knees, cuts, bruises, bumps. Nothing bothers me. Father used to tell me I was like a boy, and Mother told me that tears were only to be shed when they could be used to manipulate affections. My mother was a strange bird. But seeing as crying never helped me get my way, I simply don’t do it often.
But sitting there, with Levi soaking my foot, I cried.
He picked me up like a baby and began walking me back through the rocks and then up the path to my house.
“I’m sorry,” I cried into his shoulder. “I should have worn shoes.”
“No, you wouldn’t have been able to wear them in the mud anyway. It’s not your fault,” he said, soothing me.
I buried my face in between his neck and shoulder. He smelled so good. Like the sea, like wood that’s been in the sun...like Levi.
“But if I’d worn shoes,” I continued, sniffling, “then you wouldn’t have to carry me.”
“And that,” he said, “would be the worst thing of all. Because I’ve been waiting to carry you like this for my whole life. I’m sorry you’re hurt, and I’m sorry you’re crying, but damn, girl, you are an independent thing. Sometimes it’s good to need someone, to lean on them once in a while.”
We made it back to the front porch of my house. He sat me on a wicker chair and pulled another up close to me, bringing my foot in for closer inspection.
“I don’t think it needs stitches,” he said. Then he rested my leg down on his chair as he stood and went into the house. “Don’t move,” he said. “Are the bandages and things where they always were?”
“Yes,” I called after him.
Soon he was back, with an armful of first aid and a bandage trailing behind him. I laughed. “I’m not going to die,” I said.
“Never can be too sure with a cut, Glory. It might get infected.”
He sat back down, putting my foot on his lap again. My skirt, I’d noticed, had risen high on my thigh. I went to pull it down.
“Don’t,” he said.
How things can change with one word. Don’t .
And I should have pulled it down, but I didn’t.
I let him take care of my cut. Tenderly, he rubbed the ointment on it, then wound the bandage slowly around my foot.
When he should have let my foot down, he didn’t. When I should have taken it off his lap, I didn’t.
We
So now it’s one in the afternoon, and I’m waiting. Why am I so nervous? It’s only some muddy crabbing, right?
Later...
I think I need to pray. To go to church and kneel down and pray.
Levi came back exactly at two in the afternoon and took me down the path toward the sea with buckets and a clam rake.
“You be careful where you step, okay?” he said.
I just glared at him, and he laughed. “You’re the one who said I didn’t have to wear shoes,” I said.
It was good to be by the sea. I’ve been so cooped up in the house, but to feel the salt water on my toes...to lift my skirt up past my knees and dig in the mud? There’s no better way to revive one’s soul.
Until you lose it. Yes, I do believe I lost my soul.
Everything was going well. We had a bucketful of clams and we were talking about old times. It was a sparkling day.
And then I felt a sharp slice across the bottom of my foot.
“Ow!” I cried out.
Levi was at my side in a second.
“What is it? What happened?” His concern was almost amusing. You’d think I broke my leg.
“I cut my foot,” I said, hopping over to a large rock so I could wipe away the mud and take a look.
He dumped the clams out of the bucket and filled it with salt water.
“What are you doing? We worked hard for those!” I said.
He didn’t answer, just brought the bucket to me, knelt in the mud at my feet and carefully put my cut foot in the salt water. It stung.
“It’s deep, Glory,” he said, examining my foot. “I have to get you back.”
I don’t know why, I really don’t, but I started to cry. I never cry. Scraped knees, cuts, bruises, bumps. Nothing bothers me. Father used to tell me I was like a boy, and Mother told me that tears were only to be shed when they could be used to manipulate affections. My mother was a strange bird. But seeing as crying never helped me get my way, I simply don’t do it often.
But sitting there, with Levi soaking my foot, I cried.
He picked me up like a baby and began walking me back through the rocks and then up the path to my house.
“I’m sorry,” I cried into his shoulder. “I should have worn shoes.”
“No, you wouldn’t have been able to wear them in the mud anyway. It’s not your fault,” he said, soothing me.
I buried my face in between his neck and shoulder. He smelled so good. Like the sea, like wood that’s been in the sun...like Levi.
“But if I’d worn shoes,” I continued, sniffling, “then you wouldn’t have to carry me.”
“And that,” he said, “would be the worst thing of all. Because I’ve been waiting to carry you like this for my whole life. I’m sorry you’re hurt, and I’m sorry you’re crying, but damn, girl, you are an independent thing. Sometimes it’s good to need someone, to lean on them once in a while.”
We made it back to the front porch of my house. He sat me on a wicker chair and pulled another up close to me, bringing my foot in for closer inspection.
“I don’t think it needs stitches,” he said. Then he rested my leg down on his chair as he stood and went into the house. “Don’t move,” he said. “Are the bandages and things where they always were?”
“Yes,” I called after him.
Soon he was back, with an armful of first aid and a bandage trailing behind him. I laughed. “I’m not going to die,” I said.
“Never can be too sure with a cut, Glory. It might get infected.”
He sat back down, putting my foot on his lap again. My skirt, I’d noticed, had risen high on my thigh. I went to pull it down.
“Don’t,” he said.
How things can change with one word. Don’t .
And I should have pulled it down, but I didn’t.
I let him take care of my cut. Tenderly, he rubbed the ointment on it, then wound the bandage slowly around my foot.
When he should have let my foot down, he didn’t. When I should have taken it off his lap, I didn’t.
We
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