Darkheart

The Past: Beginnings & Ends

At what point did water lose its translucence? In that liminality between shore and lake, the water was crystalline, absolutely pure, and when it was still, when the winds were faint and the water below slowed its continuous motion, gazing down at the water's surface was akin to looking through a window. Tiny minnows darted between the smooth, earthy-colored stones; bits of beach glass were visible, particularly those of dark rootbeer-ish color; if there were clouds or birds overhead, they were sometimes reflected, adding a bit of confusion as to what was above and what was below and where exactly the separation occurred. But as one moved farther from land, as the lake deepened, that pellucid quality diminished, bit by bit, not in any particular degrees but in some immeasurable, abstruse manner. A forest became less or more so because tall plantlife attenuated or proliferated; a town became more or less so because buildings and people divided or multiplied; a storm became more or less so because thunderheads broke apart or accumulated. But the clarity of water? Its beginnings and endings were nebulous. What exactly caused it to fade into gloom and murk? By what could it be evaluated?

Oh, surely there were some scientific reason for it, but what did science matter? It was summer, no time for textbook definitions and delineations. Crystal sat, bare toes in the chilly lake, her body perched on a boulder near the bank. She rarely swam. Contrary to the upbringing of most young people in town, Crystal couldn't remember ever being in the lake. She was sure she'd done it--that family-day-at-the-beach sort of thing--back when she was very small. But she didn't remember it.

Lake swimming was unnerving and uncomfortable. First of all, the lake was always cold, always! as if the sun couldn't quite ever affect it, however much it shone, and secondly, there was the knowledge that no matter what anyone said, there most definitely could be killer fish or snapping turtles in there. Jess had grown frustrated many a time over their disagreements regarding lake swimming, but Crystal was stubborn, and she'd managed to find plenty of other things to do during her summer days. Befriending Jeremiah had only vindicated her feelings: he'd told her all about freshwater amoebas that could get up in a swimmer's brain through their nose, and he'd talked about flesh-eating bacteria. Crystal hadn't needed much more reason not to swim in that lake, but that had sealed the deal for her.

In any case, sitting there now, looking out from her position over that calm, cool body of water, she found herself contemplating the oddity of it all, how strange it was that there were no clear boundaries in the lake, even at its permuting edges, and she wondered without having the terminology how many more things were like that, things whose demarcations were too vague, whose structural integrity didn't--could never--dwell in the binary. Were there aspects of the world, of her own self, like that?

As she wondered, Crystal became gradually aware of a certain feeling, a damp discomfort between her legs. Even though it'd happened several times since that day she'd started, it always came as a surprise to her. She was never prepared; she'd never had forewarning or regularity. And for as understanding as Jeremiah was as a human being, she herself couldn't overcome the mortification associated with it--with blood--from there--! It was always horrible, always humiliating. She hated asking her mother for products, even though she'd forced herself to do it. The only time Crystal had ever heard her mother talk of anything related to the female body was in those fleeting moments when the woman was angry or inebriated, when she'd mutter about wishing she'd used protection, bemoaned allowing herself to get "knocked up" too young, thanked God she'd had a hysterectomy after Jess.

Crystal never found the confidence to ask her for more information.

It was such an unwelcome intrusion, every time. That was exactly what it was--an intrusion, an invasion. Even though all of it was trying to exit her body, it shouldn't have been there in the first place. The stuff within that sought egress--that was the invader. She'd never asked for it! She'd never wanted the disquietude and forced concealment! She'd never asked for the implications of womanhood, the inconvenience and humiliation of something she was at an utter disadvantage to control. She'd not asked for any of it, and yet her body had not been made for her; it'd been made for primal reproductive purposes, with no regard to her.