By Leslie Kidder

I rose with the first crow of the rooster and awoke before Kate. As I put on my flannel shirt, I looked to our big ol' country bed, and Kate's head resting beautifully on the soft down pillow. Kate's hair draped and crisscrossed the pillow - like lines of our communication. Her bare back looks so soft, warm, and misleading. Truly, it was her dreams that were strikingly peaceful. I stood watching her breathe for the longest, watching the subtle up and down and in and out — the involuntary motions of life. I heard the quiet. Our quiet.

For a moment, I felt like crying, so I moved on with my country morning. I turned to Kate for one more look and see her hand reaching across the bed for me. She returns it to her side, empty-handed like it has been so often of late. It's so hard to know where I stand with her. I tie my tennis shoes and head for the horse barn.

Crash has become my favorite over the years. She is a bay with black socks and of thoroughbred origin. I know she has a fondness for me, too. I can sense those things. She greets me with a neigh and a bobbing of her head. I slip on her bridle and elect the bareback saddle for our jaunt. Crash goes for my pocket, knowing I always keep a few sugar cubes there. I guess my patterns are predictable. I stretch a final body wake-up and climb aboard my morning steed.

There are a couple of reasons I like spring and fall the best, and this annual trip to Kate's grandmother's farmhouse during the autumn ranks near the best of them. We've only been here a day and a half, and already the city, the phones, the bills, and the head games are fading. Our differences even seem to reduce in all this acreage. No, I couldn't live here, but my soul insists on getting its toes tickled in this dirt every so often.

Crash is frisky and it would be so easy to just let her go and leave all my pain behind. It’s too bad I didn’t pack a sack lunch and a sack of oats, we could have just kept going. Our current destination, however, is a clearing by a creek in the far back pasture. When Kate's grandfather was living, this little corner of his world had Kate's name on it. He took great pride in her place and perpetually kept it up. It is getting brushy, overgrown, and rugged these last few years because her grandmother couldn't manage all the acreage alone. Kate used to tell me that was her favorite spot in the whole world growing up and spending her summers here. Damn, I can see why, its picturesque beauty, and it's just as ingrained in my soul, too. Such innocent soil and unhampered growth. I remember a few sunsets we've seen there. A few even led into sunrise. Those were the days!

I don't know whether Kate will inherit this farm or not. I don't know that she'd be happy here. I don't know that she can count on me being here. There is so much acreage between us that I don't know much, it seems.

I do know that this horse is sure-footed. I know that the incessant clucking is getting further behind me and that Kate's probably awake now. This country air is wonderful.

I dismount at the creeks bank and let Crash off the bridle to graze. Her saddle comes off too, and it gives the air a smell I love. Horse. Crash puts her nose in my back, pushing me towards the water. I go. She follows. I sit by the water's edge, and she drinks. Her head rocks, her mouth wiggles, and her nostrils continue to breathe. She delights my heart. When she stops drinking, she drools over my head. I kiss her by the nose and her whiskers tickle my face. Then she walks off to start a morning graze. Even if she leaves me, it wouldn't be a wasted walk back to the house. I look at my reflection in the water, remembering that I forgot my coffee thermos. How long has it been since we made love? A month? Two? Three?

When we used to touch, talk, and connect, the world sang. Now, as I'm touched while the world sings, most times Kate isn't even around. I mean, I see her and I hear her, but where do I go to feel her again? Have we moved past each other so fluidly that we can never get back in sync? The water feels good to my face as I splash away the melancholy. I take off my tennis shoes and let the water wash through my toes. My hair is tickling my forearms as I lean back. I hear the sound of a motorcycle coming this way. Are you coming for me, Kate? Will you have my coffee? Am I what you need? Ah! Too, too much to think about. Over my shoulder I see the motorbike, it brings out the tomboy in her. I see her hair flying. I can't help but smile; she can still make me so incredibly happy.

“I thought you might like your coffee. You left it in the kitchen,” Kate chirps, thrusting the talisman. I sense that she is optimistic that I will invite her to sit with me. I do. She takes off her boots and socks, tussles her hair, and kicks in the water. Crash comes to inspect the intruder; she passes. Snorting, she nudges my hand to my pocket. I oblige; she leaves. “Grandma said she just had the bike tuned up for me. It's running great. Wanna go for a ride?” I read the excitement in Kate's face. But she never could read past a book cover. I'm riding Crash. I'm cherishing this fine country morning. Crisscross.

“Maybe later. We'll ride into town or something. Crash and I have some catching up to do. But don't let me stop you.” I focus on the ripples my feet cause and her abrupt halt.

“Well, I just meant around here. Rev the ol’ engine up; conquer new territory and all. Nothing special. Later is fine,” Kate trails off, not knowing what to do with herself.

Later is always fine. We've put off so many things because we knew we'd be spending our futures together. Too bad we never reminded ourselves to pick up the things we put off. Maybe then we wouldn't be at the stage we are now. We desperately need filler. I've grown accustomed to our distance. Now it makes me slightly irritable when she invades my time. Did I get to this place all by myself?

“How 'bout some coffee?” I ask, raking my fingers through my hair, watching the water slip past. Feeling so many things slip past.

“Grandma said she'd rent us a movie when she goes into town if we'll give her a title.”

“A movie? Here?” God, we are opposites! The words are out of my lips before I can soften them. “A movie is fine; I don't care what we get. Something you've been wanting to see would be good,” I back peddle. My eyes peel the sky, rummaging our complicated layers. Who would want to stay inside, and when this day pulls its shade to night, who would want to miss the brightness of a universe of stars in a country sky? Nights made for lovers to hum their heart songs and for dreams to wrap words of possibilities. Nights when innocence can be lost in a lover's hand. Nights to renew a floundering and echoing heart. Kate catches these transitions of prayer and feels uncomfortable.

“Maybe I'll just tell her to skip it. Maybe I'll just go back to the house and wait for you to come back,” shoving her feet back into her boots.

Am I really doing something wrong here? Am I cold? Embittered because we feel more and more like strangers? Am I the only culprit that can see what we have become? “No, please don't go yet. Show me where that rope swing is again. The one you used to play on as a kid.”

“It's down the creek a'ways, do you want to take the motor... let's walk there. C'mon.” She reaches for my hand and dusts off my butt as I stand. Crash takes notice of our movement and starts towards us. We splash in the water's edge and surface-chat about how well her grandmother looks.

Crash follows, plodding through the water. I love the sound of a horse. I slip her a sugar cube for constancy shown. She swishes her tail. There's a small bend in the creek, and as we turn with it, we see what appears to be a new rope hanging from a limb.

“That wasn't here the last time was it?” Kate questions. “No. I remember you saying something to your grandmother about it finally rotting off; I bet she had it replaced for you.” Things rotting off the limb. An unused extension of one's self cannot sustain life without food. If the sex never comes back, will it kill her? Would it fall off and rot? Ah! Too, too much to think about.

“Let's try it!” she pipes out, with investment.

My God, there's life in the ol' girl! I shouldn't be surprised though; this is her magic. The substance that never gives me the chance to leave. Always, inevitably, she comes back with something I love about her, before she slips away again, like a magnet pulling me near only to repel me away again later. If she could just remain consistent, perhaps we could find the strength.

I swing the rope to her as she waits on the shore. “Something's missing,” she says and looks at it like a lost puppy. I study this confusion and should be the master of this state by now. So many things go by her. I figure it out, ask for the rope back, and tie a huge knot in the end. Her face seems so pleased at the simplicity of the solution. I wish I could feel better about saving the day, but that heroine left ages ago during a previous chapter of our romance. I feel so empty.

Kate's walked away from me while in mid-emotion and abandoned me there, while on the forefront of some self-awakening. She's left me to stuff and tuck my near revelation away in my caged soul, resulting with my intensity corrupting itself into shame. I have to distance myself if only to stay alive. In that water seeks its own level, surely, I must do the same to her. Some shrink once tagged it passive aggressive, but it's actually just trying to stay afloat in a chasm of indifference.

How did we get to this point when we promised only to bring laughter and fulfillment? When did the transition happen? Is it linked solely to sex or the absence of it? Is there ever any going back, or have we plodded the course of separation without a physical division? Ah! Too, too much to think about. Kate swings on the rope, letting out a banshee scream. Crash raises her head and follows the motion above the water. Kate hollers again to win my attention and flies off the rope, doing a spread eagle only to belly flop on the hard water.

A rush zips through me. I panic as she sinks like a rock. Surprise! No matter what processes in my head, I love her. I plod over to her. Crash clomps along too. Hi-ho Silver and Tonto. I prepare to hold her crying body on my shoulder. I prepare to say overly nice things if only to make her feel better. I prepare to sell out my inner thoughts of leaving her to make her pain go away.

Kate swooshes out of the water, laughing. Not mild giggles, by any means, but a wild brouhaha. I'm alarmed. Now Crash is the one confused. Kate drapes her wet body over me laughing with such intensity. I can't help but get caught up in it. Before I know it, before I can stop it, our lips meet.

Her tongue seeks the depths of my mouth. This kiss is just one of those themes of what have made us survive the years and our differences. Her hands push my shoulders down, taking me to the water's bed. She rolls me over, soaking me in the cleansing cool. Urgency. Passion unleashed. She's crying and kissing me. Her tears are distinguishable from the water. She feels the loss. She wants it back. She wants the colors. She wants the play. She wants the heart songs.

But Kate rides a Honda and I ride a horse.