Hidden Gems: Stories From the Life of an Outsider

It was our day off, well, it was a day off. Jud had been fighting with a cold the day before, so there were no plans to do anything specific on this particular day.  

We slept in a bit and when we finally did decide to get up, I asked Jud how he was feeling. He felt better! Woohoo! Time for an adventure. We decided to just drive for a while and explore a direction we hadn’t yet gone.  

We got dressed, had some breakfast, Raisin Bran Crunch with some added crunch and jumped in the car. We decided to splurge and got a coffee on the road from Dutch Bros. I hadn’t realized how much cheaper they were than Starbucks. We got two 16 oz iced specialty coffees for $6! What a value! 

Instead of taking the bigger highway (5), we took 99 out of Ashland toward Medford. Without a plan for where we were going, we turned the GPS to map with the compass and just drove. About halfway to Medford, we decided to turn down a side road in Talent. Left. 

We drove for a while, through the suburban/urban landscape, passing a mobile home park, then some small houses nestled close, but not as close as the mobile homes had been.  As we continued on this route, the houses got a little newer and a little prettier. They were also spread farther apart. It was still not in the country, but it was close, bordering on rural. 

We took another left as we entered an area with sheep ranches and vineyards… the transition from outskirts of a city/town to rural America was blatant. We kept going. 

Soon, we were on a county highway with miles between houses. We took another left on a small forest road and ended up on a dead end gravel road. Had to turn around.  That’s one of the aspects of a true adventure – the unknown. So, we went back to where the county highway had forked with this road and took a … drum roll please… you guessed it. We took a left. Hardee har har. 

This part of the road was less cared for than the previous part. The shoulders were cracking off, leaving no room for error as the road narrowed. Houses became even sparser and started to be more run down. 

“We’re entering Texas Chainsaw Massacre territory, Bun” I said as we felt ourselves cross that line into very unfamiliar territory. At one point on the road, a huge sign hung at the end of what looked like a dirt road, but must have been a driveway. It said, “PEOPLE LIVE HERE! NO SHOOTING!” We looked at each other with a look of, what the hell are we getting ourselves into, and then laughed heartily. 

Incredibly enough, the radio station was playing this whole time without interruption. Just then Cher came on the radio wishing she could time travel and we began to sing along, turning the radio up. “Now we’re just drawing the mountain folk to us!” I said, imagining a trap in the road ahead that would blow our tires, causing us to stop, at which time, the mountain folk would come out with weapons drawn and lead us back to their shack where they would cook us for dinner. And, then I came back to reality, after telling Jud my thoughts.

As we drove higher into the forest on the side of the mountain, the road turned to dirt, giving me pause for a moment. Hmm…. dirt road, do we keep going? I thought. Then hit the gas. We drove up the winding road for quite a while, maybe an hour, with few houses to be seen. 

We sang along with the radio, Queen, Bon Jovi, mostly 80s hits. It was great. After a while I realized I hadn’t seen a house or another car in quite a while. The dirt road kept going up, winding its way through the forest, so we followed. The steep sides of the mountain (Jud said foot hill, I say mountain) were just a few feet away with nothing between them and us. 

At this point, there had not been a dwelling that could be seen from the road for about a half an hour. We did go over one cattle thing a ma bobber in the road, where they can put it up to block traffic on one side and cattle on the other, but beyond that, there was no sign of people other than the dirt road we were on. We decided to check on the GPS to see exactly where we were in relation to home and to see how long it would take to get back. 45 minutes, it said if we turned…… yep, left, on a road  about a mile ahead. 

Turning left onto this, I guess you could call it a road, I questioned whether we should just turn around and go back the way we came. Within the first twenty feet of this “road” there was a huge double rut that made me go to the far left hand side of the road to get around. Thinking of the drive back the way we came and the unknown ahead of us, we decided to continue on. It was only 7 miles to get to a “major” highway on this road. We could make it. 

As we continued on, it was quite clear that we may have been the only ones that had traveled this road at any point within the last year. There were dips in the road, twists and turns, high drop-offs with no shoulder. It was the most interestingly scary road I had ever driven on to be sure. The GPS showed 5 miles left about 15 minutes into our travels on this treacherous terrain. 

I have to admit, it was fun to be on this road, knowing that we would probably not see another person. Then, I realized there was only room for one car on this road except for a rare spot on the side of the road where a car could pull in to let another car pass. I also began to understand that it was an old logging road and started to imagine a huge logging truck coming up in front of us, blocking the road with no room for either of us to pass. 

I shared this thought with Jud, making him laugh lovingly at my naivety. “What size of a truck do you think would be on this road?” he asked with amusement. 

“Logging trucks”, I said.

He laughed again with a twinkle in his eye, looking at me in wonder, and said, ”That kind of truck wouldn’t be on this road.” 

I had to laugh at myself then as I looked at the road with turns that a truck like that couldn’t even fit on. I shook my head and relaxed a bit. “You’re right. I love you.” We both laughed again and started singing that one song from Dirty Dancing. 

In unison, “Now I’ve, had, the time of my li-i-ife. No, I’ve never felt this way before. Yes, I swear. It’s the truth, and I owe it all to you-u-u.” 

After what seemed like a very long time, we saw a house! The road was still made just of dirt, but there were no more juts down into the road. It was a normal dirt road. Then we saw another house and another, all of them had horses or cows in the yard – just a couple. This was with about 3.5 miles left of the 7 on this road. Another mile or so in and the road was paved. We both shouted out with glee. And then, to my amazement, we came to a part of the road that even had a painted line in the middle! We made it! 

The rest of the journey was uneventful, but a nice calm end to our two-hour adventure into the woods and foothills of Southern Oregon. 

When I was six years old, I lost one of my last baby teeth. I put the tooth under my pillow before I went to sleep that night. The thing about the tooth fairy was that I was very scared of it, even before I saw any scary movies about it. The idea of lifting my pillow and seeing the tooth fairy scared the shit out of me. I imagined her as a little fairy that would get super pissed if seen by a human kid. I didn’t think too deeply about this, but the fear was there.

When I woke up the next morning, I carefully lifted part of my pillow and found a crumpled up dollar! I was so excited, I squealed. I got a whole dollar for this little bitty tooth. It was more than I could remember getting in the past. Inflation, I guess. 

I ran out into the kitchen where my dad and stepmom sat eating breakfast to show them the treasure I just found. My stepmom, with a sneer, said, “You better go look again.” I knew she was trying to trap me. She knew the tooth fairy was still under my pillow and she wanted it to get me. Well, I was onto her. I refused to lift my pillow the rest of the way. I shook my head. 

She got up and dragged me by the arm back to my bedroom. She pushed me through the door toward the bed and demanded I lift the pillow the rest of the way. I started to cry, which made her laugh a maniacal laugh. She looked at me with irritation and said, “Either you lift that pillow or I will and if I lift it, I keep whatever is under it.” She gave me another shove toward the bed. 

I looked at her with fear and slowly went up to my bed. I reached out to my pillow in slow motion, sobbing the whole time. My stepmom stood behind me, cajoling me, and telling me to hurry up. As my hand reached my pillow, I looked back at her with a pitiful expression, asking her with my eyes not to make me do this. I just knew the tooth fairy was still under my pillow and seriously, what kind of sicko collects and keeps little kids teeth anyway? What would she do if I caught her under the pillow? I imagined the little fairy’s mouth opening up to rows of teeth and her biting my arm, ripping it off of my body. I swallowed hard and closed my eyes as I lifted the pillow. When the pillow was up on the side closest to me, I slowly squinted, fully expecting to see the scary monster that for some reason gave me money for my teeth. 

As I opened my eyes and looked under the pillow, I realized I wasn’t about to be killed by the small being that collected teeth. No, instead, I was rich! There, sitting crumpled, green and dull, was a five dollar bill! The tooth fairy had given me six dollars for this one tooth! I didn’t question it. I was exalted. I was flabbergasted. I turned to my stepmom and for one of the very few times in our lives together, I looked at her with gratitude, a glistening in my eyes. 

Yesterday I drove by an old house, roof on the front porch sagging, windows gone. It sat so lonely in the middle of a farm field, freshly plowed. A bulldozer and some farm machines immobile behind it. A vision flashed into my mind of a family that lived there when it was new. 

Back from a hard day of work on the farm, Henry walked up the walkway to the house he had built with his own two hands. He looked up at the window as he took off his hat and slapped it across his thigh. A cloud of dust flew out in front of him. He wasn’t sure where more of the dust came from, his hat or his jeans. He smiled to himself. 

He was a jolly man with a great sense of humor and he truly enjoyed farming. He loved working in the dirt. He loved the feeling of aching muscles earned from working his land. He loved seeing the plants grow and he loved being caretaker for the fields of beautiful bounty. 

He climbed the stairs, spitting a big glob of thick, dark liquid into a spittoon set outside the screen door. He looked back at the sky then turned back and spit once more, getting his money’s worth. He spit out the hunk of chew from the pouch of his lip, sucked his mouth together, gathering the remaining juice and fiber still in his mouth, and spit one last time before opening the screen door and stepping inside. Something smelled delicious.

“Well, Ma, what’s for supper tonight? I could eat a horse, but wouldn’t want to lose old Ninny back there. Haha!” he said as he lifted the back of his hand up to his mouth as if telling a secret. He walked into the kitchen and wrapped his arms around the waist of a plump woman standing at the stove, stirring. He took in a deep sniff of air from over her shoulder. “Whew-ee Mama, that sure smells like it will put some hair on my chest.” He laughed and hugged her close before releasing her and pulling up a chair to the table. 

“Pa. Now you know you ain’t allowed at my table with those dirty clothes on. Git yourself upstairs and wash up and change. You got plenty of time ’til the stew’s done.” She turned and smiled at him with womanly guile, a twinkle of love in her eyes. 

He stood up, shook his head slowly, and with a look of adoration in the woman’s direction, he said, “Well, Ma, you sure got me wrapped around your little pinky finger”. She winked at him, then turned back to the pot on the stove and continued stirring. 

Justin, my sweetheart, my love, my partner in life, graduated from the College of Menominee Nation (CMN) in May of 2011.  This was a significant event. We had met at the college two years prior. It was the place that brought both of us back into the academic world and led us on to other academic endeavors, so his graduation from CMN was a monumental moment in both of our lives. It needed to be celebrated to the fullest!

Justin’s mom and brother planned a graduation party for him at his mom’s house. They invited family and friends to celebrate with them after the graduation ceremony. I hung out for a short time, visiting with Justin’s family and a few friends from the college. I left in the early evening so Justin could have some quality time with his brothers (biological and non-biological). The plan was for me to come back and pick him up later the next day.  

***

At about five o’clock in the morning, my phone rang. It was my love and he was very sad. He had a great evening with his family, but everyone was now asleep. I got up, jumped in my car, and drove to his mom’s house to get him. It was about a half hour drive from our apartment, so we talked on the phone while I drove. 

He told me he and his uncle had talked into the evening, sharing stories and beers. The celebration continued through the night until everyone except my love was passed out. He was the only one left awake and he was in grief. My heart exploded with love for him more than ever before.

When I got to his mom’s house, he was outside waiting for me. I got out of the car and went to him, hugging him close to me. I didn’t want to let go. 

We got in the car and started driving home. In that moment, sitting next to my love, holding his hand, I realized I wanted more than anything to be married to him. I wanted to be with him for the rest of my life. 

With both of us sleep deprived, and him still a little drunk, I asked him what he thought about us getting married. My love said he wanted to marry me too! Best. Moment. Of. My. Life.

***

When we got back to our apartment, we were both super tired, so we laid down to sleep for a bit. Not long after, I heard a strange noise. It sounded like a June bug, but I knew it was something different. The sound was familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. I woke Justin up. He heard it too and said it was just a bug. I told him I thought the same thing at first, but this sound was different. 

I decided to get up to find the source of the sound. As I got up, I glanced down on the side of the bed where there was a stack of books. I had to do a double take. On top of the stack of books was a bat! It was spread out on the top book with its wings hanging off the sides.

I tried to stay calm. I told myself it was just as scared of me as I was of it. I woke up Justin, “Honey, it’s a bat”. He quickly sat up and looked where I was pointing. I asked him to watch it to make sure it didn’t move while I went to get a large Tupperware container. He leaned carefully over the side of the bed to watch the poor little creature that had somehow Houdini’d its way into our apartment. 

When I got back from the kitchen, the bat was in the same place. I gently covered the bat with the Tupperware, pushing it fully onto the book under the container. Then, with a squeak of my own, I lifted the book with the bat and the Tupperware container on top of it. I told Justin to open the back door and I carefully began walking with the caged bat hissing at me through the plastic the whole time. It was terrified. I told the bat I was going to let it outside and not to be scared.

Our apartment was a straight line, with the bedroom at the front, the living room in the middle, and the kitchen at the back. I carried the enclosed little thing through the bedroom door, through the living room, and through the kitchen as Justin held the door open at the far end of the kitchen. I then walked through the open door, over the threshold, and onto our third floor deck. 

Our apartment was in a house the locals called the “incubator” because it kept breeding more apartments within. There were five at the time we lived there: one in the basement, two on the first floor, and two on the second floor. Ours was technically on the second floor, but I considered it the third floor when we were out on the deck. See, the basement was on that side, which made our deck the third story. It was pretty high.

I walked out on the deck and set the book with the bat enclosed in Tupperware, on the railing. Justin and I looked at each other and simultaneously began counting down from three. I held the Tupperware in place, the little bat looking at me with frightened eyes, still screaming and hissing through the plastic. 

3….. 2……1…. and I lifted the Tupperware. The little bat took off like a bolt of lightning, looking back for only a second with an expression of gratitude. We watched it fly away until we couldn’t see it anymore, and then headed back to get some more sleep.

And so our betrothal began…

When I was little, I had an evil stepmother. She was my nemesis. We fought often, with very few moments of amicability. There is one specific altercation that brings a smile to my lips, the outcome of which is clear in my mind, though I’ve forgotten the cause of the argument. 

I was about 8 years old. My childhood friend, the same one that talked me into skinny-dipping 10 or so years later, was visiting. She heard the fight between me and my stepmom from the safety of my bedroom. After the argument, I returned to my room fired up; I was ready to leave all of this bullshit behind. I told her I was going to run away from home. 

In the spirit of commiseration, she said she would come with me, so we devised a plan. We would gather everything I owned with any value. Well, anything either of us thought had value. We would then sell these things to make money to survive on the road. After some additional discussion, we put our plan into action. 

We took my old birthday cards and ripped off the parts where people had written on them. These had to be valuable. Why else had I saved them? We gathered any toys that might bring in a buck or two along with knick knacks I had acquired throughout my short life. 

The big seller was my glass snow globe. It had a wooden base with a colorful ceramic duck glued to it. There was a glass dome that surrounded the duck and held some kind of liquid (water, maybe) along with small white balls.  In the nature of a snow globe, when you shook it, “snow”, the small white balls, fell on the duck and on the wooden base around it. It was one of my treasures from the Liquidator store in a nearby town. That duck was, without a doubt, my ticket out of there. 

Soon there was a large pile of items in the middle of my bedroom floor. My friend and I carried it all outside and filled my rusty red Radio Flyer wagon to overflowing. With the wagon all packed, we started out on our adventure to freedom. 

***

Now, I lived in a very rural area on a country highway. The closest neighbor was a quarter of a mile away and there wasn’t much traffic then. After pulling my overflowing wagon to the end of the U-shaped driveway, my friend and I turned onto the highway and headed south. My friend walked behind the wagon to make sure nothing fell out. It was our only insurance plan.

I knew there were a bunch of houses on a nearby side road, so we headed that way. The plan was to knock on doors and sell things in a sort of mobile rummage sale. After pulling the wagon about a half-mile, I reached the road, my friend still keeping watch over our treasure.  

The road was mainly made up of summer homes and cottages. It was summer, so many of the houses were occupied. The first house was a ranch style and it looked like there were people home. Ready for a first sale, I pulled the wagon toward the driveway.

As I pulled the wagon into the driveway, I hit a bump and jostled the wagon to and fro. I turned quickly to make sure all of the treasure was still in the wagon. As I turned, out of the corner of my eye I saw the duck inside the glass snow globe rise up into the air. My friend was reaching for it and soon I was too. The snow globe floated for what seemed like hours. 

Though both my friend and I reached for the globe, neither of us got to it in time. In slow motion, it hit the blacktop driveway, glass dome first. Time sped up as the glass dome shattered into a thousand pieces. The water and small white balls that had occupied the dome flew in every direction. I couldn’t believe what just happened. In a split second, everything changed.

As the shock of this loss sunk in, I dropped to the ground and began crying as though the world were ending. My ticket out of hell had just smashed to pieces. 

My friend, in an attempt to cheer me up, picked up the remaining wooden base with the duck still attached and suggested we could still sell it as is. If we cleared out the remaining glass, it would be a nice duck statue on a wooden base. Someone would buy it. But I couldn’t comprehend what she was saying. I was devastated. My dreams were crushed under the weight of that broken glass. It was over. The freedom I felt for that short period of time was gone.  I slowly turned the wagon around and began pulling it home, my head down and tear stains on my cheeks. 

Today: Now, I think, too bad EBay wasn’t around then! I could have sold all my junk online! lol

In the late 1990s, coffee wasn’t as big a thing as it is now. Coffee shops were rare and were mainly occupied by the hipsters of that time. People also usually went to them at night as kind of a bar substitute. 

My limited experience with coffee shops during this pre-coffee shop era was in the nearest big city at the one and only coffee shop there, ‘Café Espresso’. It was nestled in the downtown area of the city, which was mostly made up of bars. This section of the city was the hub for nightlife there in the mid to late 90s.  

The coffee shop was a small, restaurant style place, where everyone was dressed ironically in bib overalls. The tables and chairs were tall so you had to hop up on the chair and then carefully scoot closer to the table without bumping the table and spilling everyone’s coffee. There was local, modern art on the walls, tile floors, and fluorescent lights overhead. I felt totally out of place. I didn’t drink coffee then, had no idea how or what to order in this foreign place, and I was NOT wearing bib overalls.  

Oh shit, I’ve gotten ahead of myself. How did I get to this otherworldly place? you might ask. Well, I will tell you. A friend of my boyfriend at the time, we’ll call him Orlando, asked us to come with him to the city to watch his girlfriend’s choir concert. She was going to school at a progressive college up north, so this was one of the few times he was able to meet up with her. In the spirit of adventure, we drove with him to the city. 

It was about an hour drive on country highways. We stopped once on the way so Orlando could take a picture of this old barn on the side of the road. When we finally made it to the city, it was clear Orlando was lost. This was before the time of GPS and smartphones, so he was relying strictly on memory. After driving around for about a half an hour, he found the church that was hosting the concert. 

We opened the doors to a full house and so we stood at the back of the church. The concert was good. It was an all girl choir from the college Orlando’s girlfriend was attending and they were very talented. One girl in particular was just amazing! She was tall with dark hair and sang opera-style. I had not seen anything like it at that point in my life. Anyway…

After the concert, Orlando checked in with his girlfriend, making a plan to meet her at her mom’s house. When we arrived, she and her friends were sitting around a fire in the back yard. We then found out Orlando’s girlfriend had plans for the night aside from seeing Orlando. She explained we weren’t able to go with her because she was going with her friends to meet up with their drug dealer and he did not like strangers. So, she left with a plan for us to meet up with her later that evening. To kill time, we drove downtown and thus ended up in the late night coffee house sitting with hipster chicks.

The place was pretty full due to it being a Friday night, so our only choices were to commingle with the locals or stand in a corner. Orlando was acquainted with a couple of the trendy girls sitting there with sticks up their butts and more than an ounce of pretention in their auras. After getting our coffees, Orlando walked up to the girls he knew and asked if we could sit with them.

We sat, me feeling overtly awkward and uncomfortable, Orlando oblivious to the girls’ obvious aversion to us. Small talk commenced.

Orlando to Trendy Girl 1: “We met at that concert with Jill, remember?”

Trendy Girl 1: “What concert?”

Orlando: “The one downtown at the ballroom.”

Trendy Girl 1: “Right. Um Hm.”

Orlando to Trendy Girl 1: “So, what do you do now?”

Trendy Girl 1: “I’m self-employed.”

Orlando, innocently: “Oh. Um. Are you a prostitute?”

Trendy Girl 1: “Hmph. NO. I’m a model.” She glared at him.

Me, sardonically in my head: Well, in your defense, Orlando, modeling is a form of prostitution. Models, like prostitutes, use their bodies to make money. You see the similarity, I’m sure.

What I really said: “I was thinking model,” then turned away ashamed of my lack of balls. Instead of listening to the rest of the conversation, I began wondering about the infinity of the infiniverse, and started hinting that it was time to leave.

I took another drink of my espresso, fighting back my gag reflex. Drinking plain espresso is what evil must taste like, I thought. The bitterness is no doubt going to linger for days. I’m not sure why I was not directed to a sweeter cappuccino or something with milk and syrup given my obvious sweet tooth. I would have been a coffee lover from then on instead of missing out on the joy of coffee for the next five years. Feeling a wave of nausea, I passed on finishing my espresso and soon enough got the party moving out the door. 

Prologue

I don’t believe Orlando ever did get to meet up with his beloved again that evening and soon after they parted ways.

The lesson of this particular evening, for those who can time travel: If you are traveling to the Midwest in the mid to late 1990s, avoid coffee houses after 10am and maybe avoid them entirely until 2005.

Near the town I where I grew up, there was a river. It was and still is a beautiful, glorious river that reaches throughout most of the northeast corner of the state. My childhood experience with this particular river came mainly from tagging along on swimming trips with a friend and her family. Her grandparents owned a large chunk of land for farming but the back part of the land was forested and nestled on the riverside. It was always cool there, even in the humidity of July. If the humidity did permeate the trip, you would just take a dip in the cool waters of the river for instant relief.

Now, I was a fearful child and though I loved swimming, the idea of wild crawfish grabbing at my toes with their claws would sometimes get the better of me and I would bow out of a dip in the river. The bottom of the river was made of clay, where the crawfish liked to burrow. If you stepped on one under the clay, it would come out and defend itself against the giant crushing its home. These were the moments I shied away from.  Usually, however, my friend would assault me with insults until shame won out over fear and I joined her in the river. 

Going there as an adult was a different experience. I was still slightly concerned about the crawfish, but realized that they wouldn’t actually hurt me. Also,  after living in a bigger city where there were more sidewalks, roads and parking lots than trees, it was refreshing to be out in the woods and swimming in the exhilaratingly cool waters of the river. Whenever I visited my friend in the warmer months, she planned a trip to the river with her family, husband, children, and dog in tow. I looked forward to these retreats and was always ready for a day of relaxation, swimming, and good food.

On one particular visit to the river my friend and I went alone. She wanted to see how much the river had risen with the last rain, so we were just going down there to check out the river. Once we got to the river, the urge to swim in the fresh water was overwhelming, but since we had not planned on swimming, neither of us had a swimming suit along. Being the more impulsive of the two of us, my friend suggested we go skinny-dipping. She said it was the best feeling in the world to be nakies in the water. Fear and excitement rippled through me. I had not been naked outside since I was a little kid. I mean, come on, I still called being naked “nakies”. 

Contemplating my options, I thought about all the years I had been going to the river with my friend and her family. In all of those years I had never, ever seen any other people. My skin prickled with anticipation as I undressed. When every inch of my skin was open to the country air, I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. It was the most free I have ever felt. 

I carefully made my way down the slippery, clay bank of the river. It was quite high above the river, maybe 50 feet and steep. It was also mostly clay so I slid. Being naked, I was especially careful not to fall as that could have resulted in twigs, leaves, and clay entering parts of my body that should remain hidden. As I reached the bottom of the riverbank, I dipped a toe in the water. It was cool, but not cold. I rushed in and plunged my head under the water. 

The cool water of the river flowing against my body, caressing every inch of my nakedness felt wonderful. I could have stayed there forever. I began swimming downriver following my friend until we eventually reached a shallow spot. I did the crab-crawl for a bit, but eventually I was just crawling on my hands and knees. I stood up and without any thought to my nakedness. It was just me communing with nature in my most natural form. 

I began walking down the sandbar. The birds sang in the trees. I looked up to see the sunshine break through the canopy of trees and felt it caress my body with its warmth. I followed my friend to a curve in the river, with slight trepidation at not knowing what was around the corner. Just as this thought crossed my mind, a small rowboat carrying two old men appeared at the curve! 

I was in total shock and disbelief. There was absolutely no fucking way in all of the infiniverse that the one time I ever went skinny-dipping in my entire life, and in a place where no other humans had ever been seen, there were people! Not only people, but old men, right there, witnessing my impromptu act of freedom! 

It felt like time stood still. When I was finally able to move, I tried to run back to the deep area of the river, but I had traveled a ways on the sand bank, and the old guys were coming too quickly. It was probably the fastest they had moved in ages. 

Seeing there was no escape from the telescopic gaze of these two , my friend sat down in the river covering her nakedness with her knees and arms. I followed suit but instead of sitting, I quickly splashed onto my belly. The river was not deep enough to cover my naked ass, so it grazed the air above the water, providing quite a show. 

As the boat floated by with two gawking old men, I said in a shameful, quiet voice, “I’m sorry”. When the boat had gone far enough past, I got up and moved as quickly as I could toward the riverbank that held my clothes. My friend beat me there, grabbed all of our clothes, and ran back into the woods out of sight.

As I quickly made my way up the embankment, I looked back and realized the dirty old men had turned around and were coming back toward me! In that moment, they saw a view of me no one else has ever seen.  As I reached the top of the riverbank, I thought, the hell with it. I turned to the boat, waving to the dirty old men, while smiling and posing, then ran for my clothes, laughing like a wild woman. 

I have to wonder if those guys in the boat told this story as many times as I have. Also, I am truly grateful that smartphones were not yet invented!