6

The ocean, a plethora of directions, routes, destinations. The runway, linear, chosen.

The beginning is rough and uncomfortable. I try to find a mutually comfortable place to rest, but everything I try doesn't feel right. I notice my wet feet scrapping against his legs. I push my feet away to try and keep him from getting wet.

Slowly things begin to feel more natural. His body heats up and his breath quickens. His steps are short and careful when we step over ice.

No connection can be made without sharing a strong feeling. My legs and arms ache as they become fused to his. Our eyes become as one, scanning the sidewalk for the best route to take. My own feelings and worries are replaced by those of our new entity. This new being doesn't care about school or friends or family - it cares about it's own goals and accomplishments.

Soon a routine is established. We walk until I slide too far down his body, he scoots me up, and we start walking again. With something to focus on, time goes by quicker. Moments pass. As it becomes harder and harder to hold on, I feel myself gripping tighter and tighter. Afraid that I'm making this harder, I loosen my grip and put more weight forward.

My legs are numb once we reach the last stretch. Our connection hurts more than ever as it is finalized in the last few yards of our journey. He scoots me up one last time and takes me around the monument at the end of congress street. We rest for a moment, then I slide off his back and my feet touch the ground for the first time in an hour. We look at the ocean, then at what we have just done. Though the pain has stopped, the connection is still there. The experience is sealed forever in our histories.


Elliot McInnis
Munjoy Hill
Portland, Maine