Brown tips singed the ends of the marsh grass, standing still and green and muddy, like some kind of alien flame. It was the same colour as the crumbly dirt road, and the peeling paint on the town hall. To be honest, if this town were reduced to a single colour, it would be that warm grey-brown, so rich you could smell it. And trust me, you can. It doesn’t matter where in town you are, you can always smell the marsh.
It permeated the air now as I donned my scuffed grey pants and my faded blue button down. My hair dripped a little, still wet from my shower, as I stood alone in my modest house. Light slanted across the carpet, emanating in from the windows, while the furniture cast hulking shadows against the walls. The only sound was the whirring AC unit struggling to manage some echo of coolness. Taking a deep breath in the half light, I grasped the doorknob and stepped out of the air conditioning into the humidity’s hot embrace, immediately struck blind by the highlighter sun. I began to walk towards the center of town, where floating high over the entirety of Maple Hills, Georgia, was the church’s steeple.
My feet went on autopilot, knowing exactly where to go after years of perfect attendance every Sunday, and now that I’m older and have assumed the responsibilities of a deacon, most Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays too.
I saw Ms. Elaine Parker from down the street and called her name, jogging to catch up with her. She was a good twelve years older than me, a real sweet lady. If you asked her, she could bake the best pecan pie this side of the Satilla River. And if you asked anyone else, they would tell you that’s about the biggest lie they’ve ever heard. Unless, of course, Ms. Parker was listening. She may not be able to bake a pie, but Lord knows she can knock your teeth clean outta your mouth quicker than a hot knife through butter.
After church, there was a reception in the yard outside. The whole town was there. Just like every Sunday. I knew them all.
Little Anna May who only had two crooked teeth and pronounced my name “Msisther Mnthgomery”; Mr. Reese who owned a bakery and used to sneak me free cookies when I was little; Mrs. Stella, the elderly town librarian who published a book that never took off, that everyone said they’d read but never made it through the first chapter; seventeen-year-old Scott Haywood, who would play his guitar in the park and told everyone the minute he was eighteen, he would move to New York and get famous. And of course, Mr. Dudley, standing by the food with his wife and kids, who were home from college for the long weekend. Taylor Dudley. My best friend since we were born.
***
We both grew up in this town, population 1,000. It was the end of 10th grade, 1979. We were halfway through highschool, sixteen and almost convinced we would stay that way forever.
Back then, the road was still more dirt than pavement, and the paint was still cracked, but it was harder to notice, at least to Taylor. To him, this town was paradise, and he never wanted to leave. As long as he was here, I didn’t want to either.
Taylor and I loved looking out over the town, being above it all. Unfortunately for us, in a land as hot and flat as a fresh pancake, this was a challenge. That’s why the live oak trees in the park, our own version of a skyscraper, became our leafy haven. That’s where we were at 9:00 AM that Saturday, basket of fresh black-purple cherries between us.
“I bet you a dollar you can’t hit Mrs. Stella in the head.” Taylor laughed.
I looked over to the park bench under the tree where Mrs. Stella sat, scribbling furiously at her notepad. I bit my lip, it was a hard shot. There was a low hanging branch dangling over her head, it would be difficult to get around it. I glanced to the side and saw Taylor smirking at me. Oh it was on.
I popped a cherry in my mouth, crimson juice drizzling down my chin, staining my shirt. Clenching the seed between my teeth, I puckered my lips around it. Ready, aim, fi—AHHHH. My arms shot into my sides, and I gagged on the seed as I tried to fend off the dirty little cheater.
“Okay, okay! I surrender! Stop!” I was laughing so hard I couldn’t breath. I managed to spit out the seed before I choked.
Immediately Taylor ceased his tickling and grinned triumphantly. Not for long. I lunged forward but lost my balance and toppled over sideways, thick bark tearing at my thighs.
Taylor yelped and grabbed my hand, yanking me back before I fell completely. After staring at each other for a moment in silence, the only sound our ragged inhalations, we both began laughing again.
We didn’t come down for hours, and when we did, we were sticky, chipped teeth stained black with cherry flesh. He still hadn’t let go of my hand.
At 3 pm the following Sunday afternoon we were in a clearing in the woods surrounding Maple Hills. We’d been swimming in the pond with all our friends for hours after church and went here when everyone had decided to go home.
It was hot as Hades, but I was still wet from the pond, so I didn’t mind. I stretched out on my back, warm and sleepy, paying attention only to the sensation of water droplets rolling down my bare chest.
“HIYA!” In a flash I was on my feet, too shocked for a moment to register Taylor with a branch in hand, arms out in an awkward ninja pose. I looked around, no one else was here.
“Ummm, Taylor what do you think you’re doing?”
“Who is this Taylor? I am Sensei Pete. And now, you will die.”
“Okay, yeah, you’re officially the weirdest person I’ve ever met.”
Taylor tried to keep a straight face. “Okay, I can’t. I can’t” He laughed and dropped the stick, practically falling onto his back. I layed back too, our feet in opposite directions, heads side by side. The cross necklace he always wore was cool on my ear, the only barrier separating the soft tickle of skin on skin. “So,” I could feel Taylor smile even though my eyes were closed, “Are we going to talk about how scared you were of the algae?” I could feel him shudder with barely contained laughter.
Indignation rose up through me. “Okay well how was I supposed to know it wasn’t some kind of weird pond monster?! It felt just like one!”
“Oh yeah, because you’ve
felt a pond monster before.”
“Well,
‘Course I have. You haven’t?”
“Hm.” He chuckled. “Well, no, I guess I haven’t. What a shame.”
“Well I guess this just proves I’m cooler than you,” I teased.
“Soooo much cooler. I need a jacket just to be near you. In fact, I’m a little cold right now.”
“Again, you’re the weirdest person I’ve ever met.”
“Even if I am, you love it. Admit it.” When I didn’t answer he reached up and loosely flicked my forehead. “Admit it.”
“Fine, fine, okay, you’re right. I admit it. You’re right.”
“Aboutttt??” He stretched the word out for a whole ten seconds.
“I love it.”
Moist air sunk into the pores of our skin, leaving us both too hot and yet almost shivering from the damp. Muck clung to the bottom of our shoes at 10 PM that Monday night. We were out by the edge of the marsh, inhaling its murky tang, tasting it under our tongues.
“Come on, Mason. You can do it. It’s easy.” Taylor blew into his spartina grass whistle, and I winced at its shrill sound.
Irritated, I dropped the stalk I was blowing into into the mud and stood up from my crouch. My legs were sore from sitting too long. “Maybe for you. You’re good at
” I smiled, but I was only half joking.
“Yeah, you’re right, I am pretty perfect.” He smirked at me. “But that doesn’t mean this isn’t easy.”
“Shut up.” But I was laughing now.
“You sure you want me to shut up? ‘Cause to me it looks like I’m pretty funny.” He raised a single eyebrow, or at least tried to. “I mean you’re laughing.”
“Fair point.” I turned and looked at him in the face. “I guess you’re a little funny.”
He took a step closer. “Only a little?”
“Yup. Barely.”
“Hey!” He stepped forward again and flicked me in between the eyebrows, slowing his finger just enough so that it didn’t hurt. “That wasn’t very nice!”
I laughed. “Fine. You’re funny.”
He looked smug. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”
“You’re so weird.” I shook my head in mock exasperation.
“But you love it, remember?” We were eye to eye now, only a few inches apart.
“Yeah, I guess I do.” His eyes were the same color as the marsh that surrounded us, dark and endless and familiar. Talyor leaned in a little closer.
So did I.
***
I caught his eye now from across the church yard. He was walking away from the table, a plate of food in hand.
I smiled at him, and for a moment, Taylor smiled back, eyes crinkling at the corners, and all I could see was that warm grey-brown, the smell of the salted marsh stronger than ever.
I took a timid step forward, but I stepped on something round and hard and slipped a little. Glancing down, I lifted up my foot to find my sole stained with small red dots. In the starchy grass beside me lay two black cherry pits dusted in dirt like it was powdered sugar.
I looked up just in time to see his wife tap his shoulder and whisper something in his ear. He looked at her and laughed.. Taylor said something back and I watched her play-punch his shoulder and reply “You’re an idiot.”
He smiled at her, their hands intertwined, the silver cross around his neck glimmering in the sun.