Mather Point

The four of us stood like mannequins at Mather Point, wrapped in wool blankets, staring a mile into the earth.  The full moon made a Rorschach of the canyon.

“Phantom Ranch,” June said, pointing to a cigarette spark of light in the deep black below.

“I want to be at the bottom during a full moon,” I said.

You said, “Not with me.”

Cliff and June passed a joint back and forth and talked of Havasupai.

You were already a stranger.

I sit in the sand at the riverbank, waiting for the moon to edge over the south rim.  Earlier, I flattened myself onto my back and watched purple bats spiral in a dusky ribbon of sky.  The coffee I made from river water has an ancient taste.

We had left the city with Cliff, who was free.  He drove us over the central mountains, through the Verde Valley, past the white cap on Humphreys Peak.  On the way up, he said, “I have a friend who works in the village.  We can stay at her place.”

You looked at me as if there was a conspiracy.

When we got there, he went to see when she got off.  We walked the rim, looking in.  I felt like a kid again.  You had seen it before.  Cliff came back and took us to the old uranium mine that clung to the canyon edge.  He introduced us to the silver-haired Swede who was caretaker there.  Kurt did oil paintings of the view from his front window.  He gave us beers and made us laugh, until we had to go for her.

When we met her at the hotel desk, I couldn’t hide my face.  Her smile went right through me, as if she knew my dilemma.  At first I had been tight, considering you.  But in the restaurant, over chicken, I laughed at her jokes.  I listened to her talk.  She had worked for a year at the bottom of the canyon.  She liked to backpack.  She loved music.  After supper, while we waited for them in the lobby, you said, “I saw the way you looked at her.”

Yes, I had looked at her that way.

A frog in the bushes sings the blues.  Wind snakes across the river, carrying the sound of water scrubbing rock.  The sky above the rim glows dimly, anticipating the moon.

We sat near the speakers in the cowboy bar.  Men looked at you and June.  It made you feel better.  The beers tasted good.  Later, we drove the rim road in Cliff’s van.  I could smell her scent.  She laughed like a woman in a dream.  Cliff smiled at her and smoked her dope.  You were rigid in the seat beside me.  She said, “Have you ever seen the canyon in moonlight?”

Cliff had blankets in the back.  As we approached the cold metal rail, I could hear the silence.  She monitored my face.  I couldn’t believe what I saw.  On the way back to the van, our blankets held close around our necks, you stood in my way.  “Fascinating, isn’t she?” you said.

At her apartment, we met her onyx cat and looked at old underground comics.  This time, I smoked grass.  Cliff fell asleep in a corner.  You were like a stone.  She and I talked about the past.  By then, I didn’t care.  Before we all passed out, she made the couch for you and the floor for me.  Then she and Cliff disappeared into the other room.  After that, you said one thing: “Think you have a chance?”

When it comes, it comes like a flood.  The light flows through side canyons, washes to the plateau edge, plummets into the inner gorge.  There is no escape.  I bathe in moonlight.  It makes me crazy.  Black and white walls recall an old photograph.

Something pawed my hair that night.  I thought it was the cat.  You nudged my head with your big toe.  When my eyes cleared, I saw your naked body.  You bent down over me.  For half an hour on the floor of her apartment, we made quiet love.  Then we crept cautiously to the bathroom.  Later, you lay on the floor with me, listening to coyotes sing in the woods.

In the morning, a jay knocked on the window.  He squawked when you opened the curtains.  During coffee, two hummingbirds visited the red feeder over the door.  You were friendly to June.  She had to work.  We were going home.  You smiled at the plants along the highway, as if, for you, things had begun anew.  On the way back, you said, “We should do this again.”

The river shimmers like satin.  Rock shadows make me see things.  Morning seems distant.  She said she would go at midnight to Mather Point.  She would stand, looking in.  Send me good thoughts.  But I think of another time.  I am in two places: here and with you at Mather Point.  Do you ever look over the edge?  Do you ever see me?