Page 96 of Lovebug
He breaks into a huge grin then bursts into laughter. “Hahaha. Your face!” He bends over, points at me and rests his hands on his thighs.
“Oh! Hahaha! I” I laugh right along with him. “I mean obviously I know you can’t get—And we certainly haven’t –”Stop stammering, Mabel. “Woo! You have a really weird sense of humor.”
“I thank you.” He bows slightly.
“Sure. Yeah. I guess it was a compliment.”
It’s then that I realize we’ve stopped walking and we’re standing in front of his shack. More specifically, in front of his outdoor shower.
He gestures to the wooden structure. “Here we are.” He opens a rustic cabinet off to the side, pulls out a fluffy gray towel and a square, cream-colored bar of soap and hands them to me.
“Oh,” I say, sort of startled. I’m not sure why I hadn’t fully considered what “let’s get you cleaned up” might entail. “You, um. You want me to use your shower?”
“I don’twantyou to do anything. You’re covered in syrup and summer ale though, yeah?” he says as he swings open the wooden door and begins adjusting levers.
“Yep. Uh-huh.”
“Right. So, just gimme a second and it’s all yours.“
“What are you going to be doing while I’m in there?”
He scoots out of the small space, letting the door slap shut behind him.
“Relax, Mabel,” he chuckles. “It’s not like I’m going to watch.”
“You’re not?”
He freezes.
“I’m confused. Did… you… want…. me to… watch?”
“No!” I shout. “Not like watchme. But could you maybe watch out there?” I point into the vast amount of nature surrounding us. “What if a deer or something barges in here while I’m naked and wet?” Oh geez, that sounded—“Let me rephrase. When I’m unclothed and… moist? Nope, nope that’s even worse. Everyone hates the word moist. When I’m nude and –”
“I have no problem with the word moist,” he says completely seriously.
“You don’t? Everyone does.”
“People are so easily embarrassed. They’re embarrassed by the word moist because it’s one of those experiential words, one of those onomatopoeic words. It sounds the way it feels, and that makes most people uncomfortable. Most people don’t want to feel. They want to think. They want to talk. But they will make a lot of noise and ruckus and excuses to avoid having to feel.”
“But not you? You’re not that way?”
“Used to be. Takes a hell of a lot to make me uncomfortable or embarrassed, Mabel. And I’m not afraid to feel. The old me was. But the new me? The new me knows that’s one of the main reasons we’re here on the planet. While we’re here, we owe it to ourselves to feel everything.”
He looks at me and I know this is the point where I am supposed to speak, but I’ve got nothing to contribute at the moment. All that is swirling inside my mind at this moment is “who in the world is this guy?” The man who I thought was all grunts and dirty looks is actually funny and intelligent and emotional.
And so incredibly handsome, I sometimes find it difficult to look directly at him.
When it’s clear I won’t be adding to this conversation anytime soon, Wally says, “No, a deer will not barge in on you. And yes, I can keep a lookout for you. I’ll keep my back turned, but I’m here if you need me.”
“Thanks.”
“You got it.”
He does exactly that. He turns his back and I shimmy my way into the stall. Once the door is secure, I start slowly peeling off my sticky clothing and drape it piece by piece over the door.
Without turning around, he says, “You’re gonna want to turn the knob on your left about ninety degrees to the right, then pump that foot pedal a few times to get the water pressure how you like it.”
“Okay…” It feels a little strange being naked in the open air like this, only a flimsy wooden door that starts at my knee and ends just above my shoulders separating me from him. Strange… but exciting.
