Twice October

Almost a full year ago, on October 8, a few friends and I hatched a crazy idea to go swimming in Ten Mile Creek, which drifts half-polluted along the edge of Waynesburg, PA. It was one of the last warm days of October, we went for coffee at the then-new Waynesburg Press, kidnapped a table and four chairs and took it around the side of the building, where a grassy lot had replaced a rundown, main street business. The side of the Press is raw brick and mortar, the chairs and table faux-wrought iron. I felt like we made a typical sight, a hipster post card. The four of us writers, coffee on the table. I was wearing a dark blue corduroy blazer and rectangular, red framed glasses. We talked about what a nice day it was, how Elias and Ian had gone on adventure through fields, climbed hay-stacks, and stayed up most of the night watching the sky. We were talking about having our own adventure, and then someone mentioned swimming, right now, let's go. We sat there for a moment and considered swimming in the last of the warm weather; considered how unaffected the creek was by a single day's increase of ten degrees. But somehow we were making plans to meet up again, making sure everyone had everyone else's number, that we'd bring all the right stuff.

Right Stuff:
Bathing Suits
Towels
Dream Songs by Berryman
Wine, Woodtipped Black & Milds
Lighter

We trekked our way to the creek, stripped down to our bathing suits, and stepped to the bank. Elias was the first in, barely testing the water before pushing his body in, submerging his head. I remember the way his breath sounded when he came up for air. It sounded cold. Ian went next, cursing, shouting out into the quiet woods. They pulled themselves onto a slick log protruding from the opposite shore, shivering, skin colored by cold water. The sediment was loose and fine around our feet, stirred easily. The water was clouded as Julia and I stepped up to face the challenge. We held hands and attempted a fast and brave entry. The current was faster than I anticipated, the water colder than I imagined. There were a few nearly breathless moments before I began my best doggy paddle over to the log. Elias offered his hand to me, smiling brightly as I hoisted myself out of the water. My skin was splotchy and red, covered in goose bumps. We sat there as the air warmed us, sun filtered weakly by fall leaves, speaking occasionally. The realization struck that we were going to have to get back to solid land, and so we all plunged in again. I followed their firm forward strokes with my shivery doggy-paddle. We were on the bank laughing, smiling about the cold water, splashing it onto our legs and feet to get rid of the mud. We passed the rest of the day among those trees, reading poetry, smoking cigars, being the typical hipster postcard.

I'm remembering this day fondly for a few reasons, not the least of which is the good company I was in, and the fun we had. It is also nearly the anniversary of that adventure, which I unwittingly celebrated by doing something pretty damn similar. Except colder. Because Alaska.

On Friday I did my first grad-school reading. I was so nervous that I barely ate (though I enjoyed a piece of quiche, topped with smoked salmon). I found out that I was reading first and attempted to be positive about it. Get it done and over with! Which I did. I am actually really happy about doing it, because everyone really seemed to like my poem, and another MFA that I really respect came up and touched my arm, saying, "That was a really great poem." People wanted to shake my hand. It was very positive feedback and I'm glad that I did it (though during the reading I could feel my heart pounding, my chest and arms were red from the pent-up heat of feeling the need to pass out). The other two readings were really good, much lighter and funnier than mine, and afterward several of the MFA's wanted to go bowling. As we were all deciding who was going to ride in what car, I stood shivering a little in the cold air. It was around 40 degrees and I had forgotten a jacket. Eric turned to me, "Jones, take my jacket." Not an offer, a command. I had been refusing it all day, "Take this one, or," he tugged his hoodie from beneath the thick leather jacket, "or this one. Take one." So I took the cool one, the leather jacket with a rough collar and the feel of unkempt suede. It dwarfed me, my fingers barely showing from the cuff of the sleeve. Kathryn was going to drive us (remember ANDE?). The last thing to do was confirm directions. On Cowel street, inside the Korean grocery.

So we went bowling. I think it might go without saying, but I'll make the point in case anyone isn't aware: I am awful at bowling. Nearly everyone I've ever met bowls better than I do. I go to give other people morale boosts, and because I think it's loads of fun. The alley was just starting open bowling, so we put our names on a list and went into the bar. (Just to clarify: A bar inside of a bowling alley inside of a Korean grocery.)  The beer was over priced, but good. A needed stress reliever. We were at the bar for a few minutes before the MFA's decided they needed a cigarette. Luckily for them it was a smokers bar and was outfitted, amazingly, with a cigarette vending machine. I bought a pack just because I could. Although it was also overpriced.

Quentin (think tall, reedy, clever, tries to be charming, big overwhelming glasses) gave everyone ridiculous names. He was nominated for his own insulting "Shit Haircut" while I opted to do disservice to the moniker "The Business." We had Club Foot, Whose Shoes, Broke Sandwich, Stupid Clue, and Mrs. Beard. I started out strong, seven gutter balls in a row, to make a total of three points by the fourth frame. I had a bit of a comeback and scored a total of 51. Round two served me little better, making only a two point improvement, but we all had a great time.

We planned to go back to Eric's cabin to hang out, but Kathryn needed a walk around the block to make sure she was good for driving, which I had full confidence she was, but she's the careful sort. So we took a walk around the block. Chilly rain and cigarettes.

We got to Eric's cabin after a taco bell run, harassed another MFA, Danny, into joining our party, and sat around drinking in a circle on the floor, talking about whatever passed through our heads. I was a bystander in a firesauce packet throwing battle, and a lot of giggling went on. Eric had been planning on going swimming, had mentioned it earlier, and now again. We had made a deal. If we went over to his cabin we were going swimming in the Chena River. Danny and Kathryn had gone outside to smoke when Eric looked to me, "Are we going?" So I took off my socks and we went, the four of us shivering in the night, a single towel between us and no bathing suits. The ground was cold and wet, and my toes were numb immediately. The path down to the water was rocky and I worried about accidentally cutting my feet. But we were committed. It was a bit chillier than earlier, our breath was foggy, our skin tightening for warmth. I walked down the shore a bit and looked back to see the other three in a loose cluster, Eric the furthest away, pulling his shirt off. I looked out into the dark water. Nothing was visible. When I looked back down Eric was entering the water, skinny dipping. None of us wanted wet underwear to sleep in.

Eric was in the water for about a minute. It was freezing. My feet were almost completely numb. I took off the zip up sweater I had borrowed, got goosebumps from the fresh air on my arms, and lifted my shirt off. Danny had now been into the water, and was so cold he was for a moment frozen, unable to respond or move, doubled in a shaky-breathing crouch. I stripped the rest of my clothes as fast as possible and stepped into the water. Eric was bargaining with Kathryn, "I'll go in again if you do." She was indecisively half-dressed. He waded back in to match my progress, and then dipped his head under. I couldn't bring myself to be totally submerged, but I stayed in for about two minutes, waiting to see if Kathryn would enter. She immersed her ankles, standing naked on the edge of the river, and turned back. She went to her clothes and reached down. Eric got out again too, breathing hard, joining Kathryn and Danny. They formed a pale constellation on the shore, bodies white in the distant dark. I went back to shore.

Once we'd mostly put our clothes back on we went back to the cabin and filed into the bathroom together. Eric drew hot water and we all perched on the edge of the tub. We were laughing, feeling alive, creating our own little river together, down to the sediment settling to match the pattern of the swirling water.