In the woods, all the time, I think about sex. Sex sex sex. Nothing in the woods is sex. The sticks, the moss, the river, which runs clear again, over the stones. The stones are big and flat and smooth. The water is magic-colored, green-blue. When the sun is out people get in the river, naked, and dunk, fast, and then lie on the stones. The air dries them, and then it begins to rain. Summer will never come. I must accept it! Summer will never come.
I thought about sex last night, lying in bed, on my back, listening to the tap of rain on tarpaulin, hands folded on my small knitted bear. There was nowhere to go with it, nothing to do. There is no sex in the woods. Hippies are straight, they have no genitals. They reproduce during maypole ceremonies and by giving each other backrubs. For fun they drop acid and dance un-self-consciously to electronic music. They are as naïve about sex as an animated disney movie.
Maybe that’s why I can’t stop thinking about it.
Instead of having sex, I walk in the woods. I pretend that the trail goes someplace fantastical or that I’m lost. I follow the patches of light. I take off my shoes and walk barefoot. I pause on log-bridges and toss small sticks into the river. “stick-boat!” I shout. I pretend the stick is me, and I’ve fallen into the river. I want to see what will happen, if my head will get bashed against the rocks or if I’ll float pleasantly to a shallow place. I stop and pee in the middle of the trail. I sit on the moss. I sit on logs. I swing my legs. A fat chocolate lab comes running out of the ether, and lets me pet it for just a moment before running on. An apologetic human comes along soon after, panting, with a camelback and a suntan. The human apologizes and disappears.
The trail always goes the same direction. Back to the hippies. Back to minimum wage and pretending I know how to bake bread. I’ve grown used to the hippies, tho. They no longer startle me and I find them more intelligent and interesting than I used to. I still don’t want to go to their parties, where they listen to music I don’t like and talk loudly about television shows and old horror movies. The women aren’t friendly to each other, and I find this intolerable. There are a few hippie Lesbians that work here. I’m not sure what hippie Lesbians do for fun, except brush each others’ hair and partner yoga. I’m probably over-simplifying. I’m probably an asshole. God help me.