Sitting On A Rock
by Darren Stone

So, here I am, sitting on a rock.

High enough to see down into the river, and close enough to smell it. And although my rock sits about three stories above the water, I think someday I might even be lucky enough to feel a little spritz - a few delinquent waves might one day get out of line and make the leap up the high vertical banks. But mostly, I suppose, they just tumble along year after year, taming the jagged boulders smooth as glass.

I feel safe on the rock. And I feel peace.
A big cold rock. You might have walked by my rock if you were out this way. Who knows? You might have even climbed the thing, spit off the edge, and moved on. But even a rock can be a holy place, if the sky is right.
It’s a chilly October sunset, and that makes it easy to remember the first time we found this rock.


Teri and I were childhood friends. She was contemplating her divorce, and I was still looking for that soul-mate I heard about on "Oprah." She lived about an hour away, and we would get together a couple times a year with no agenda. We each decided we were in a rut, and needed an escape.
When we couldn’t book a weekend in Santa Fe, we thought Taos might be nice. So we took a few days, grabbed our credit cards and left our respective worlds for something different. Naturally, Teri was concerned that we be discreet, as she was still legally "bound."
When I met her at the airport she was wearing the largest sunglasses I have ever seen; her long, dark hair stifled in tight braids under a Red Sox cap. I still laugh about her disguise, but I find myself cheering blindly for the Red Sox every year.
Go figure.


We spent the night at some roadside shoebox near Santa Fe, and left for Taos before light. We arrived at Kitty’s Casita about the same time as the sun, tossed our bags on the floor, walked outside, and sniffed our surroundings.

It was the bluest sky either of us had ever seen.
They say the morning skies out here are always blue, but that day, ours was beyond blue. It was a color without a name. A couple crows were playing tag; otherwise we had the entire scene to ourselves. Teri took my hand and we walked a dirt road until it sloped down towards a good-sized rock that sat above a river. We climbed on, she leaned back into my chest, and we took our places in this sanctuary.
There were calls to make, some unpacking, some postcards, and some serious grocery shopping, but we were content to just sit on the rock and watch the sky.

Occasionally, Teri would shift in my arms, but she would always pull them in tighter, not wanting to escape from the beauty of this moment. I would rest my lips in her hair for long, extended kisses. I too, wished to live in this moment forever. No traffic. No budgets. No deadlines. It was all far, far away. I was inspired to live.


Just the night before, in Santa Fe, we played like children. We fondled and giggled half the night away. We remembered years ago what it was like to be lovers. We exhausted ourselves kissing and touching - exploring and exploding - over and over again. We wrestled. We splashed. We threw grapes.
But that brittle Autumn morning, the two of us were sitting on a rock, each a part of the other…afraid to breathe too much for fear of upsetting the stillness. I tried to touch her lips from my eyes once, and I think she felt it, because she looked right into me. She was the first to speak.
"Again." And she slipped her shoes off.
No other word was spoken that day.

I've seen some nice photos. I've seen exquisite cinematography, and I've even seen a priceless museum collection by one of the Masters. But that morning I was lucky enough to witness a beautiful woman perfectly posed on a large rock. The sun was throwing javelins through the trees. A symphony of tumbling water arose from the gentle river below. I was there, and Teri was there.
And truly, it was perfect.

It had been ages since we were lovers. Everything seemed familiar, and everything seemed brand new. She made me believe I heard music when there was none. Every movement was a dance - a perpetually changing display of shadow and skin. I remember years ago, being fascinated by her simplest effort of putting on socks or brushing her hair. She would smirk when she caught me looking, but I’m sure she understood, even then.
Today, however, it was as if we were watching the dancer together - with the same eyes, same hands……..same lips. Maybe a lifeless marriage had held her down a bit, but it hadn’t managed to kill the passionate girl inside. Twisting slowly, breathing long and deep - raising a slender, smooth leg into the air, caressing her own skin, teasing me and inviting me.
I accepted.

I can only describe the experience as "holy."


A million miles of clouds must have passed overhead, our shadows flip-flopped around the rock, and morning instantly became afternoon.
At last she lay still.
I stepped off the rock, and back to earth. Her hair floated in a breeze while I gave her the little "face-tickles" she loved. I wrapped her in my jacket, lifted her off the rock, left the shoes behind, and carried her back to our casita.
I placed her on the bed, sat on the edge and watched my Soul-Mate. The sunlight had torn holes through the drapes by now, lighting her as if she were a rare painting - every pore, every beautiful crease, every soft hair.

At three o’clock that afternoon, she slept. Her body glistened in the sun, and I’m sure in her dreams she felt the slow series of kisses I began on her forehead.


We went back to the rock just before sunset the next day.
"I know what love is," she said, "and yes, I’m leaving him. And you may be the greatest love of my life, but I’m…….I’m not ready for another marriage, and I’m going to…umm….concentrate on work. Are you okay with that?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"We can get together, you know, as much as we want, but I just can’t do…a….permanent……"
This was the first evidence I had seen of Teri feeling a little jaded about relationships, but it was deserved, and didn’t surprise me.
"No," I said, "You need to be comfortable with yourself again." I didn’t really know what I meant by that, but looking back, I spoke the truth pretty well.



On the plane home she came up with the idea, "Let’s meet here every year. Just like in the movies. Not at LAX, not even in Albuquerque. Let’s meet at the rock……every year on October thirteenth."
"Are you kidding me?"
"Two hours before sunset!"
"Hey, I thought I was the hopeless romantic," I grumbled. "Why didn’t you let me think of it first?"
"Ha Ha," she stuck out her tongue.
"Okay then, but I don’t want you showing up with another wedding ring on."
So we shook on it - even made up a funny little handshake - then we sealed the whole thing with one last, great kiss. You know the kind. It only happens at airports.
Our weekend was finished.
We were off to Real Life now.



I realize I’ve rambled some, but that is how we found this rock in the Fall of 1992.


Well, a curious thing happened after our trip to Taos - Teri and I went our separate ways. I can’t say if it was her or me or what, but I can only recall two phone conversations and then a strange silence for six years. Maybe we just got too busy, or maybe we just didn't believe.
Sometimes, I guess, those long good-bye kisses really do mean "Good-Bye."

Still single, I often thought about taking another trip to Taos. I had one fairy-tale weekend; I could have another. I just couldn’t seem to find a girl sensitive and creative and bright enough (and willing!) to go with me. I know, I know. It sounds like I've been saying I couldn’t find another "Teri."
Finally, in 1999, I determined it didn’t have to be about a girl, and I would enjoy my escape, alone. And yes, I was shooting for the thirteenth of October, because……..well, I’m a romantic.
I was going through a box of this-and-that, trying to find the number for Kitty’s Casita. I actually thought about calling Teri to make the trip with me, but those thoughts were short-lived as I read again, her second-wedding announcement of two years before. Went and got married again! (shaking my head)


So, I traced my original route, flying in to Albuquerque, then stopping in Santa Fe on the way up to Taos. I made it to the rock minutes before sundown, and the view was spectacular! Why did I wait so long to come back to this sky? Once again I felt the passion. I felt my life immediately energize. I wanted to paint, and write, and compose, and create - and oh, how I wanted to love again.

As the sun continued to set, I noticed the unnatural color of the rock just over the south edge.
Graffiti.
I winced from the disappointment.
I scooted closer and read the permanent white paint that defaced my rock. It was a simple, "I Love You Forever," followed by a year I could barely make out, but seemed to be "1993."
And then I saw her initials, "T.B."

I sat back and listened to the river. Teri had been back the year following our trip. Why hadn’t she told me?

On my left I saw more white paint, "1998."
In the closing light of the picture-book orange and purple sky, I began to search the rock.
"1994," "1995," "1996," "1997" - I found them all.

I climbed off the rock and there it was - too obvious now, and still wet - "Goodbye, 1999."
I looked around for some sign of Teri, but it was all in vain.
I wouldn’t find her.

In fact, according to the clipping I later received from Teri’s mother, Taos Search & Rescue did not even find her until daybreak the next day - cold and broken on the smooth boulders at the edge of the water.


So, here I am, as I am every October Thirteenth, sitting on a rock, holding a small paintbrush….and watching a fist-full of wildflowers sail down a peaceful river.