Laura Miller - By Way of Accident

I get from my grandpa’s house to the creek’s bank in record time. I stop first and breathe it in. It’s a combination of dirt and mud and weeds and trees and clear, tricklin’ water. And there’s nothin’ like it.

After I’ve filled up my lungs, I start to unlace my work boots. The leather is full of hay and dust, but that’s what boots are for — gettin’ dirty — I guess. Once I get them undone, I kick ‘em off. Then I toss my baseball cap to the ground and tear off my long-sleeved shirt and toss it onto a tree branch. It dangles there while I start unbuttoning my jeans. And I just barely get them undone when I hear a branch break across the way. I look up, and I almost damn near lose my breath. I’m expecting to see a squirrel, maybe even a deer. But that’s not what I see. When I look up, I see a girl — the most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes on. I freeze and drink her in for a second, a minute, a day. Who the hell knows how long my eyes are glued to her? She’s got this beautiful long, brown hair and light eyes and the longest legs I’ve ever seen on a girl. She slowly makes her way toward the creek’s bank on the opposite side. There’s a certain, strange grace in the way she walks — as if each step isn’t just any old step but a new adventure or somethin’. Her eyes are splittin’ time between the creek water and the weeds and brush under her feet. I can tell she doesn’t notice me, but it does look as if she’s thinkin’ about somethin’. I watch as her hand reaches up and tugs on a chain dangling from her neck. Her fingers follow the chain downward until they stop on somethin’ at the end of it. Whatever that something is, it sparkles when it catches the sun just right. She sets her eyes on the sparkle for a second. Then she takes the chain and tucks the necklace into the little top she’s wearin’. I have to force myself to start breathin’ normally again and to tell myself that this ain’t a dream because it sure as hell feels like one.

All of a sudden, she stops on the opposite bank and faces my way. I think I stop breathin’. I’m so still I wonder for a second if I’ve passed out standin’ up. But after a few moments, her gaze leaves my direction. Then I slowly lower myself down so that I’m kneeling on my heels. I’m not sure what to do yet and besides, I might have fallen over if I hadn’t rested my ass on somethin’—fast. I’ve never found myself in a situation like this. And it gets me to wonderin’. Of all the dumb shit I’ve ever done, what on earth had I done right to deserve this — her? If my uncle were here, he’d remind me that Mercy is a strange creature. He’d tell me to just keep my mouth shut and roll with it before the devil can realize Mercy’s mistake. So that’s what I do, I guess. I ride on the coattails of Mercy, hopin’ she doesn’t find me out.

My eyes follow the girl as she carefully steps along the bank. Her gaze rotates from the water to the path in front of her still. Every once in a while, she stops to step over a tree branch or around a big rock jutting out of the ground, until she stops for good. I stiffen up and think about sayin’ somethin’, but when I open my mouth, nothin’ comes out. So instead, I watch her turn and make her way down the grassy embankment to where the dirt meets the gravel at the bottom. And when she gets to the gravel, she slips off her shoes one after the other and lets them lie where they fall. I’m not sure what kind of shoes they are because they aren’t tennis shoes exactly and they definitely aren’t work boots. Barefoot, I watch her take a step toward the water. Her face grimaces in pain for a moment, but then she takes another careful step, and she’s back to normal. It looks as if it’s the first time she’s ever walked on gravel. Besides the fact I’ve never seen her before, it’s the first sign I get that this girl ain’t from anywhere around here. You live this close to the creek; you ain’t a stranger to anything about it. I laugh to myself and then quickly notice my mistake and cover my mouth with the inside of my hand. She doesn’t seem to notice. I’m directly across from her now — pretty much in plain sight — and she still doesn’t even bat an eye at me. It makes me not feel so bad for spyin’ on her. It’s her fault she ain’t seen me yet.

I keep my eyes trained to her as she gets to the water and slowly drops a toe in. Everything she does makes her look as if she’s made of honey. Her movements are calculated and smooth. And I guess she doesn’t think the water’s cold because she leaves the toe there and then slides the rest of her foot in. She’s wearing these little cut-off jean shorts that hug her slender body in all the right places. And she’s got a little top on that, I think, shows more skin than it covers up. God, this has got to be the best thing I’ve ever lucked into. I tilt my head back and mouth thank you to the heavens. And I think about sayin’ somethin’ again. But what do I say? My heart races. I feel my darn palms getting sweaty. I didn’t even know your palms could get sweaty when you weren’t doin’ any work. I think real hard for a second, until it comes to me; I’ll ask her a question. My uncle says a question is always a good place to start. I hope he’s right. I take a sharp breath and then force it right back out again. Okay. Here goes nothin’.

“You thinkin’ about takin’ a swim?” I ask. The words come out a little squeakier than I wanted them to.

She doesn’t look up at me, but I can see every muscle in her body stiffen. Much to my surprise, she doesn’t turn and run, though. I can tell she thinks about it, but in the end, she doesn’t even move an inch except to lift her head. Then, a look — a look that, if I’m not mistaken, says a million different things and nothin’ at all, all at the same time — catches on me. And I feel my heart skip a few beats.

“About time you said something.” Her voice glides to my ears faster than a water bug can skate on water. I’m not sure if I actually jump or if I just imagine I do.

“How long you been here?” she asks before I even have a chance to say anything else.

“Long enough,” I say. Long enough to know that I’m not leaving this creek without findin’ out who this girl is.

She keeps her light eyes on me. She doesn’t seem at all startled or angry. Who is this girl?

I don’t really know what to do next, so I just stare back at her. It doesn’t hurt me none to stare at her. But I have to admit, there’s a part of me that’s thinking about turnin’ and runnin’ myself. I’ve never met a girl like her before. She’s just as terrifying as she is breathtaking. And I’m bound to screw this up somehow.

“You from around here?” she asks with an off-centered smile.

Even her half-smile is beautiful — albeit terrifying, but still beautiful. I can’t even imagine what the whole thing looks like. I didn’t even know I had a weakness when it came to girls necessarily, but I swear I just found one — a girl with a pretty smile.

I nod. I want to say I live over yonder, in a house not too far from my grandpa’s on his 300-acre farm, and I want to point to the land behind me, but neither my mouth nor my movements cooperate, and I just end up standin’ there, noddin’.

She just wrinkles her brows at me. What’s she thinking?

“Detmold, Missouri,” she recites out loud, almost as if it’s a proclamation or somethin’. “Detmold’s a funny name.”

I shrug. “I didn’t come up with it.”

Suddenly, a laugh falls off her lips. And with it, a funny pride washes over me. I’m proud I could make such a terrifying creature as herself laugh.

“What about you? You from around here?” The pride seems to feed me a little courage. Though, I already know she ain’t from anywhere around here.