I met him one night over a campfire. We were part of a special archeological dig. Up at 5am, at work by six. Days were over by 3pm. Hot summer days. Humidity hovering near 97% . . . damp, wet, sticky days . . . and nights.
They were long, intense days of surveying, mapping, digging, screening and cataloging. The shade tarp cut the hot rays of the sun, but also blocked what little breeze there was. This wasn’t the hot southwest sun where the drying sweat cools the skin. Here it just soaks your clothes, sticks to the skin; the salty liquid runs and burns your eyes. Always wear a headband you were told. Take salt tablets. Drink lots of water. Carry an extra headband in your pack.
Early in the morning, a cup of coffee, a light breakfast. Grab your gear, jump on the jeep and head down the trail to the site.
A full day of work. Pick ax, machete, trowel and line level. You will need them all. Digging, surveying and mapping the open pits. Cataloging the artifacts. Mapping each one. A long, intense day . . . but each day goes so quickly. There is much to do. So much to learn.
At the end of the day a cool shower, clean tank and shorts. Or a quick swim in the river. Just watch for cottonmouths. Their bite can be nasty. Requiring a trip to the emergency room. Perhaps an overnight stay. Just leave them alone and they will, hopefully, leave you alone. Some mosquito repellent. A full dinner. Chicken fried steak, biscuits and gravy, some greens and sweet tea. A small piece of cake. Little conversation. Everyone is exhausted, hungry and thoughtful about the day’s work. Introspective.
Then it’s time to get work gear cleaned and ready for the next day of digging. Lay the next day’s work clothes out so you can just jump into them before dawn.
Nothing takes more than a few minutes, then it’s time to wind down. Start the campfire, set half dozen chairs out. Everyone gathers. Make sure the cooler has ice, soda, water and beer. Put your feet up. Grab a drink, take a deep breath and relax. Dusk. Just a couple hours ‘til that hard cot looks like a feather bed. Deep sleep awaits a tired body.
. . . And then he arrived. A new worker. He knows one of your digging companions. He will only be here for a few days. Shy and handsome. A sweet smile. Not yet sunburned. Muscles not exhausted from heavy, hot digging. He’s anxious to get started. He smiles and winks at you across the campfire. No one else noticed? Or if the do, they aren’t saying.
Up before dawn. Grab some coffee and a quick breakfast. Pull the lunch you made the night before out of the cooler. Head down the trail by 5:30. Digging by six. They’ve assigned the shy new stranger to your work crew. A hard worker. He’s done this before. Knows the ropes. Another wink and smile. Lunch comes at 10am. He asks if he can sit in the shade with you to eat. Of course you say “yes.” Polite talk. He asks few questions, but seems to instinctively know you. You are from entirely different worlds, but for this strong love of history you have in common.
That evening he’s back at the campfire again. This time he finds a chair next to you. Some whispered comments. A walk down the trail before bed. A kiss on the cheek goodnight. Digging days come early.
On your day off he invites you out to eat. You learn he has family just a few miles from the dig site. A drive in the countryside. A quiet cool dinner in a little diner. A strong connection begins to form. From this moment on you are inseparable.
Four more days, long nights of listening and learning. He returns to the city to work. In three days you will leave and drive the 17 hrs back to your home and job. Three empty days. Even the digging doesn’t make up for the loss. How can you miss someone so intensely that you just met?
Will he call? Will you see him next summer? Was it all just a dream of a wink and a smile?
More to come . . . .
No comments:
Post a Comment