Meet Me at Crooked River Bridge

When I think back, I remember running. I feel sweat and aching legs. I hear the cool wind intermingled with upbeat music. And I see him, standing on the pier. Looking back, everything begins with him. But to get to him, you have to go further back, to the very beginning- before him and the summer and everything that changed my life.

The real beginning was the summer after high school, when I was 18 years old, on the brink of it all. In the glorified movie version of my story, I picture myself standing on the edge of a cliff, wind whipping my golden brown curls, lightning flashing in my emerald green eyes, waves crashing on the rocks below. And then I'd leap, one single fluid movement, and my story would begin. Unfortunately, this is real life and it's not so glamorous. In the legit version, I was standing on a hill overlooking the lake in my neighborhood. My curls were pulled into a ponytail, sweat plastering my bangs to my face. There was no dramatic wind, and my eyes struggled to ignore the rising sun's glare off the water. There, panting on the hill, yanking my iPod headphones out of my ears, I saw him.

His name was Harris Fischer. He lived in a lake front house, and was standing out on his pier as I ran up. While I was getting over the shock of seeing another person in my rural neighborhood so early on a desolate Thursday morning, he was going about with a strange routine. He loaded two fishing poles, a Golden Retriever, and an acoustic guitar into a canoe and paddled out to the middle of the lake. Humming to himself, he rhythmically set up the poles with worms and bobbers. The Retriever had curled up on one end of the canoe, looking about, only semi- amused. Poles set up, Harris pulled the guitar across his lap and began playing. After a couple of twangy tunes, his canoe had drifted closer to the hill where I was still standing. Without looking my way, he called out to me.

"Hi. Beautiful morning ain't it?" My mumbled response was drowned out by the dog barking. Harris took off his shoe and tapped the dog lightly on the bottom. Then he shed his shirt and his other shoe, hopped into the lake and started wading towards me, pulling the canoe behind him. He gracefully walked out of the water, leaving the little boat on the shore, and ran up the hill to me. Standing face to face, he flashed a crooked smile and I noticed the slight gap between his two front teeth. "Name's Harris," he said and extended a hand.

"Emma," I said as I shook his hand. Before I could let go, he turned and started down the hill, forcing me to follow with flailing arms. When we reached the lake he lifted me by my waist and set me gently in the canoe. He hopped in, green eyes glowing, and shoved off from the shore, not saying a word.
That's how I met Harris Fischer. And that's how my story began.

The girls at school had told me all about Harris Fischer. He had a reputation as the soulful loner, the backwoods boy that every girl wanted but very few got. So I'll admit I was extremely surprised by his apparent ease at canoeing with a total stranger. Definitely not what I expected from a supposed introvert. Despite his boldness before, Harris didn't speak again until we had reached the middle of the lake, where he stopped paddling and looked at me expectantly. I gave him a look to remind him that he was the one who started all this. He flashed that smile again, putting me at ease.

"So. Emma. Enjoying your jog?"

"I was…when I was actually jogging." Even though my words and tone of voice implied anger and annoyance, my emotions were far from that. It was strange, but I felt excited, even exhilarated by my current situation, wondering what would happen next. Of course, that was when the Golden Retriever hops up, barking at God knows what and sends the canoe rocking. He leaps out of the boat, knocking out a fishing pole in the process.

"Riley!" Harris yells at the dog, jumping up and charging in after him, tipping the boat further to the side and sending water everywhere. Soaking wet, I try and steady the little boat, perplexed by what had just happened. Meanwhile, Harris has grabbed Riley and is headed back to the canoe, sheepish grin on his face. "He can't swim. Of all the Golden Retrievers, I get the defective one," he says as he hauls the dog back into the canoe. All I can do is laugh, patting the dripping dog on the head as he wags his soppy tail in Harris' face. "Sorry I got you wet. I guess I didn't plan this out very well."

"You planned this?" I asked, eyebrows raised.

"Well, not the meeting you part. Or the pulling you in the boat part. Or the Riley thing."

My eyebrows rose higher, still questioning.

"Look, all I know is I saw you standing on the hill and I just knew I had to meet you. Talk to you. Everything else just happened."

Stan walked into the room, smoothing his hair and straightening his tie. Muttering to himself about being late, he pulled the curtains open. Looking out at the grey sky, he declared "It's gonna storm today."

Ever since he landed the weather segment on the local news station, it had become his morning routine to tell me his forecast for the day. Satisfied with his prediction, Stan went about his business.

"No, it's not," I said.

Stan looked up from his tie, out the window and back over to me, eyebrows raised. "Sweetie, radar says at least 60% chance," he said slowly and emphatically.

"Radar is 60% chance wrong," I stated and rolled over in bed, wishing for five more minutes in dreamland.

Stan chuckled. "Your optimism is cute, Em." Rolling his eyes at my glare, he walked over to the edge of the bed and kissed me lightly on the forehead. "See you after work," he said as he grabbed his briefcase out of the closet and walked down the hallway. I heard the front door close just as the first ray of sunlight filtered through the window.

Suddenly, without warning, the memory came, blinding me more than the sun. Instantly I was ten years younger, laying in a canoe with a boy whose name it hurt to remember.

~The light was dim, too dark to be early morning. The sky was grey; a few wisps of clouds hanging in the air. The fog from above mixed with the steam rising off the lake, creating a wallof haze my eyes struggled to see through. They finally focused as a voice broke through the silence.

"It's gonna storm today" Harris said. He stared at the dull grey sky, as if waiting for a raindrop to fall that very moment and prove him right.

I scoffed at his idea. "No, it's not" I stated matter-of-factly.

Harris looked at me incredulously. "Oh really? And where's the sign that tells you that?"

"Not a sign. It's how the weather feels. And it doesn't feel like rain today."

Harris raised an eyebrow.

"The sun's gonna come out, the fog will clear, and it'll be hot and bright before you know it."

Harris sighed, wrapped his arm around me and said "Alright then weatherwoman, I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

So we floated along in our little canoe until the first beam of sunlight shone down through the haze. Harris stared in disbelief. I smiled because I was right, and we floated to the shore. We laid there a bit longer until we were starving and slightly Harris joked all the way home about how he'd never watch the weather report again.

The memory whipped out of sight, leaving me staring at the screeching alarm clock. I hit snooze, laid my head back down and tried to ignore the catch in my chest. Sunlight danced through the window where Stan had parted the curtains, and the tiny voice in the back of my head sighed Harris. And one tiny tear rolled down my cheek and dripped from my chin onto my hand where it was resting under my head. It splashed against my wedding ring, leaving a tiny trail of salt droplets. I closed my eyes, curled up my fist and let the tears flow freely.