She was seated on the hammock, holding a book in her hands. The book was upside down. I knew not to ask her why, we’d had that conversation before. “It’s more challenging,” she would say, and “I’m practicing for my upcoming trip to Australia.”
The wind blew through the trees, causing a chorus of rustling in the pine needles all around us. It carried cool mountain air that pushed against the late summer afternoon, the touch of autumn was well on its way at the higher altitudes. The hammock swayed gently, and in that moment she caught my eye.
“Oh, hey!” she said. “You wanted to talk, right?” She gestured for me to join her. I climbed awkwardly into the hammock and nestled up close to her.
“We’re like peas in a pod,” she said, giggling. She set the book down on the ground. Her hand found mine. It was cold.
“You’re so warm,” she said.
“Yeah,” I replied. “It’s sunnier up by the house. I was just… waiting around.” She turned to look at me, the concern obvious on her face.
“Are you nervous?” she asked. “About talking, I mean.”
I felt words boiling up, but something stopped them from escaping. I managed a meek nod. She snuggled closer to me.
“You know you can tell me anything, right?” she said. “It’s just me. You know me. I ain’t gonna hurt you or anything.”
“I know,” I said. “It’s just…” I paused. It felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff, and that the words forming behind my lips would cause me to lose my balance. But maybe this was a fall I needed.
A breeze carrying cool mountain air blew across us again. She shivered and moved closer to me. Part of my brain said “fall is coming,” as if providing metaphor-appropriate justification for making the leap.
“What are you most scared of?” I said, finally.
“Giant spiders,” she said, not missing a beat. I groaned softly, but made sure it was loud enough for her to hear it.
“No, but like, actually. What kinds of things make you worry? What anxieties are impossible to shake? What terrifies you?”
She fell silent, lost in thought. A woodpecker sounded off somewhere deeper in the woods. The wind died for a moment, and I could faintly hear the water lapping against the shore before it picked up again.
“Torture,” she said. “Or I guess, incredible pain. But that’s not quite what you’re asking about, I don’t think. And I think what scares me about pain is what it would do to me. Would it change me? Break me? Would I lose myself?”
She paused again. I started running my fingers through her hair and scratching her by her ear. She closed her eyes and smiled, moving her head so my nails dug into different places on her scalp.
“I think I’m most afraid of not being me anymore. Forgetting who I am, forgetting the people who matter to me. Losing my memory, like I’m dead even though I’m still breathing.”
“Shit,” I said. “Uh, I guess I need to change mine. Damn.” I let out a halfhearted laugh. She nudged me.
“Actually,” she said. “You have to go now.”
“Ugh, fine, fine,” I said. It was my turn to fall silent, but it was only for a moment. The words had already formed, I just had to muster the will to utter them. A few painful seconds passed before I spoke.
“I-“
I stopped, my speech harried by my emotions. The air of summer afternoon pressed in on me. Tears bubbled up from beneath my skin, heavy and bitter like the lime-soaked waters of an artesian well. I became aware of her arms around me, locking us in an embrace. I couldn’t remember when she’d reached out, but it didn’t matter; her contact was the footing I needed to continue.
“I’m afraid of letting people down,” I said. “I’m scared of hurting people. I’m worried that no matter how hard I try, I won’t be good enough for the people I care about.” I held her tighter as I said it, as if the words would blow her away or send her running off into the woods. “I’m so scared of it that I sometimes do things that hurt me, or make me uncomfortable, just because I feel like I have to be good enough. I have to seem good enough.”
The wind stopped again, as if nature itself agreed that I’d said my piece. A few small sounds could be picked up in the background.
The gentle sound of water on the lakeside.
A bird chirping somewhere in the trees.
The creaking ropes of the hammock.
Her breath.
My heartbeat.
The wind returned, and her voice rose with it.
“Do you think you’re good enough for me?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I… I don’t know.”
She reached up with her hand and brushed it along my cheek, her fingers meandering to my jawline. She lifted my chin up, causing my gaze to meet hers.
“You are,” she whispered. “You are.”