"I'm detecting a subtle pro-Aquafina slant to this vending machine," I say as I insert two dollars into the tall monolith standing before us. We both silently pray that the thing won't reject our hard-earned money, because if it does, well, there's going to be hell to pay. Outside, the temperature has climbed to an unexpected ninety degrees or so, and of course, because this town was built on a swamp, the humidity is close on its heels. I punch one of the eight, count 'em, eight big buttons stamped with the Aquafina logo and ba-ba-ka-boom, two sixteen ounce bottles tumble to the slot and we both reach down greedily to scoop them up.
"I'm disappointed, I kind of thought mine would really be this size," I say, gesturing to the five-foot bottle pictured on the front of the machine.
"If it was that size, I wouldn't drink it, I'd just climb in," you say, and take a swig from your bottle. We step away from the machine and back onto the walking path, giving up our precious shade for the moment and strolling at a snail's pace down a softly curving hill.
We've been at the arboretum for about two hours, first checking out the bonsai garden with its rows of trees that look and act like old men, then moseying through a maze of trellises (or is it trelli?) festooned with overhanging vines and plants that strained down to touch us, then admiring the water garden. After a walk out to the gigantic stone columns that mark the most striking feature of the place (meaningless though they may be), we've started a long, leisurely walk from section to section in the afternoon heat.
This place is more like a vast, empty park than a tourist attraction, made up of vast stretches of lawn and footpaths and rolling hills broken up by smaller areas of gorgeous foliage. Most people don't have the energy to walk the entirety of such a big place, but most people aren't us. We've set a goal to do the entire circuit and by God, we mean to accomplish it. We just didn't expect it to be this damn hot. We're certainly dressed appropriately for the hike, me in my T-shirt and green shorts, you looking resplendent and fit in a similarly snug pink tank-top and black spandex shorts with a white racing stripe down the side which, you explain to me, increases your foot speed by upwards of forty percent. Indeed.
"Did I ever bore you with tales of my month in Northern California and the incredible climate there?" I ask you, fully aware that I've been harping on it ever since we got here.
"If you can't take the heat, go live in your hippie state," you say. "I love this."
"You Washingtonians are freaks," I tease you as we walk along, headed more or less toward a section where a large group of exotic elms promises a little respite from the sun. "There are only two temperatures here and you totally accept it: one hundred and ten degrees below zero, and microwave popcorn. That's it. There's nothing in between."
"My foot's going to be between your eyes if you don't stop yer whinin," you say smilingly, and reach out to hold my hand. Oooh, it's nice and cool, having been wrapped around your bottle of water for a minute.
"You're so considerate," I tell you, noticing how you switched the bottle from your left hand to your right just so I could feel that coolness. After that brief bit of delight, I get the pleasure of simply holding your hand in mine as we stroll, now crossing a bit of lawn and deciding to bypass the elms for something more promising up ahead: an expansive warren of budding trees, colorful bushes, what looks like a small pond, and a couple of gazebos. By the time we get there that shade will come in handy.
"Look at your legs," I say, admiring them as we go. You look down as if to make sure they're the ones I'm talking about. "Damn."
"Merci, monsieur. You might remember them from last night. You pretty much went over every inch of them."
"Yeah, I think there's still a four-inch area I didn't get, though," I say, and lean over and down to squeeze the back of your left thigh. "There, got it."
You take another sip from your water bottle and let go of my hand just long enough to lean over as well and squeeze my butt with over-the-top force. Then our hands clasp again and we walk along quietly for a moment, in mild awe at the spread that rises before us. This part of the arboretum is so far from the entrance that a lot of people don't even get to really see it. It's like a small park in itself, a place where the rosebushes lead travelers along small lawn paths amongst a beautiful series of hedges and small trees, which all surround the tiny pond. There's no one around, much like the rest of the arboretum. It's free, people--where the hell are you all?
We walk very slowly, in absolutely no hurry, down one small path, feeling a little as if we've just stepped into the pages of Alice in Wonderland. There's the occasional chirping of birds and the idle buzzing of bees who don't seem to be in the mood to do much work today. Every color imaginable is represented in the trees and flowers around us. We don't stop to eye the plaques that tell us what's what; we prefer to be overwhelmed
After a good fifteen minutes of passive strolling, the sun has begun to get to us and you point me toward the wooden gazebo coming up on the left, beside the footpath. Not until we step under it do we realize how smoldering it's gotten. What a contrast. We chug a little water and laugh a little at how sweaty we've become just during the walk from the soda machine to here. I drop the backpack I've had slung over one shoulder onto the wooden bench and we sit down beside each other, looking out at the splendid view. The gazebo is on a small hill overlooking the entire humanless area. The pond a hundred feet away is perfectly still except for the parcels of water divided and resettled by a family of ducks putting its way from here to there.
You decide that a nice lie-down is in order, so while I remain sitting, you turn, put your legs up on the bench, and lie back with your head resting on my lap. It gives me an easy excuse to touch your hair, so very warm from the sun, and run my fingers through it. You sip from your bottle of water in your lazy horizontal position, careful not to spill it on you, and close your eyes. I rest my hand on your forehead and feel the sweat there, wiping it away gently.
"Yeah, we'll be getting the tram back to the entrance of this place," you inform me. "I'm not so pro-heat anymore. We've lost enough pounds today, don't you think?"
"Agreed," I reply. You take a deep breath, rest your bottle of water on the ground beside you, and keep your eyes closed, looking very nap-oriented. I draw my fingers lightly across your forehead, then run them down through your hair, again and again, going more slowly each time. You make a small sound of contentment.
"You're spoiling me," you say.
"Damn, why do I keep slipping up and doing that?" I ask myself. Of course, you know damn well that whenever you lie back on me, I commence to pay extra attention to you. With my index finger, I softly rub the tiny space where your hairline meets your forehead, rubbing for many seconds until it produces an exquisite tickle. Then I brush my fingers across your ear and massage your earlobe a little. After that, I take both hands and work just a little of the stiffness out of your shoulders. You shift on my lap and sigh. A thin stream of sweat runs down from your hairline and I'm quick to place a finger against it before it can get down toward your eyes.
"Hot, heat, hot," you murmur. The gazebo is kind of small and cut off from the breeze that rose up once in a while outside of it, and it's gotten kind of muggy where we are.
"Shhhhh," I say. "In just four months it'll be tolerable to walk around outside. Only four." I brush my fingers along your legs, trace a path rising up to your knees, and then let them glide down the other slope toward your feet. I do it twice more. Your legs are slightly moist all over. Humidity, you're a killer. After your legs are tingled for a time, I stroke your inner arms, making simultaneous paths on both of them with my fingers, doing leisurely sets of ten before resting and resuming again. It can't even be considered massage; it's just one human being touching and soothing another in the lightest possible way.
