Running Barefoot

by Amy Harmon

Like a shoe that has lost its mate is never worn again, I had lost my matching part and didn’t know how to run barefoot.

I often thought if it hadn’t been for Sonja and Doc, my brain would have atrophied with nothing to occupy it but chicken feed and recipes and unchallenging school work. They were a balm and ballast to my yearning heart and a stimulant to my intellect.

I hadn’t ever told Kasey about Samuel. Not a single word. I wondered at my silence. I wasn’t ashamed of what had been—but there weren’t words. Some things can’t be explained or shared; they tend to lose their luster when passed around.

If you push people away for long enough, isolation become a terrible habit. People start to believe you prefer it.

Human beings are not designed to be alone. Our creator gave us smooth, sensitive skin that craves the warmth of other skin. Our arms seek to hold. Our hands yearn to touch. We are drawn to companionship and affection out of an innate need.

Samuel’s eyes were grave. “Changing Woman is called Changing Woman because she grew up so fast. The legend claims she became a full grown woman in only twelve days. She wasn’t a child for very long. I guess in that way you are just like her. You weren’t a child very long either. At thirteen you were far wiser and more mature than anybody I knew, except for my Grandma Yazzie.” Samuel paused, his eyes drilling down into mine. “Changing Woman is also called Changing Woman because she is responsible for the ever moving cycle of life…but in her heart, in her spirit, she is as steady and constant as the sun she loves.” I shook my head, bemused. “The truth is, Josie,” Samuel began his sentence just as I had several minutes before. “You’re a full grown woman now. But I don’t think you’re really all that different here.” Samuel lightly touched the smooth skin exposed by the open V of my T-shirt, laying his knuckles against my heart. “I think you’re still you. And I’m still the Samuel you knew.” His fingers were warm on my skin, and I fought myself not to reach up and cover his hand with my own.

“The day of the rainstorm, when you realized it was me, your big blue eyes lit up, and I wanted to swing you around and laugh. I couldn’t wait to talk to you and listen to you, and see what you’d read, and finally hear you play again.” Samuel stopped talking, and his eyes locked on mine. “But you were so sad... and I felt the loneliness pouring off you when you put your arms around me. It was as wet as the rain, and I knew you were changed somehow. You were different. I was angry with you when I heard that silly music that you listen to while you run. I was angry that you seemed so resistant to the things that had once made you so radiant. And today! There you are, working in that little shop, cutting people’s hair, ignoring your gift! Here in this small town that keeps you hidden…a princess acting like a pauper, and I just can’t figure it out.”

“The music makes me feel too much! It makes me long for things I will never have! Don’t you see? The music makes it so much harder to forget.” Samuel’s hand dropped from my chin and understanding washed over his features. “What things? Tell me what things you can never have.” I didn’t want to share anymore. I felt cornered. None of this was any of his business. I was suddenly very tired, and I closed my eyes, refusing to answer him.

His strong fingers ran through my curls, smoothing them over his hands. I belatedly realized that the music that was playing was Debussy’s “Girl with the Flaxen Hair.” “How very appropriate,” I said softly, the smile apparent in my voice. “I like it,” he answered easily. “I can’t listen to it without thinking of you.” “Do you listen to it often?” I asked a little breathlessly. “Almost every day for ten years,” he replied evenly. My heart stuttered and stopped, my breath shallow.

I let out a long peel of laughter, and Samuel’s finger’s tightened in my hair. “Ah, Josie. That sound should be bottled and sold.”

“My mother is the only other person who has ever washed my hair,” I offered drowsily, the slip and slide of his fingers through my hair leaving me loose and relaxed. “It was so long ago. I took for granted how wonderful it feels.” “You were a child. Of course you took it for granted,” Samuel answered quietly. “I know why my mother washed my hair,” I said, brave behind my closed lids, “but why are you washing my hair, Samuel? I’ve washed a lot of people’s hair down at the shop. Not one of them has ever come back and offered to wash mine in return.” “I’m washing your hair for the same reason your mother probably did.” “Because my hair is dirty and tangled after playing in the barn?” I teased. “Because it feels good to take care of you.” His voice was both tender and truthful.

We walked down the stairs and through the back door. He gathered the big bucket, the bowl, and the towels, putting the now empty water jug inside with everything else. The music had long since ended. We walked around to the front of the house, silent. I wished he wouldn’t go. “Goodnight Josie,” Samuel said quietly. I didn’t respond. I thought I might reveal my desperate disappointment that the night was ending. I tried to smile and then turned and began walking back towards the house. I heard a guttural groan behind me. I heard the pail and the silver bowl hit the ground with a jarring twang. When I turned, Samuel was striding towards me, and I gasped at the vehemence in his face. I was suddenly gripped tightly in his arms, the force of his embrace lifting me off my feet. Then Samuel’s mouth was on mine, his hands buried in my hair. His lips were demanding, his hands holding my head firmly beneath the onslaught of his kiss. My hands gripped his head in return, fisting in his hair, pulling him into me, feeling his arms around me, holding me to him, breathing him in, triumphant. The kiss was endless and infinitesimal all at once.

Fall was in the air. The light changes in the autumn. Even at sunrise the angle is different, the intensity softened, muted, like looking through a painting under water. The air was just a few degrees cooler than it had been on previous mornings. I felt a sudden weightlessness, a burst of joy, and I looked at Samuel and let myself smile with it, let it pour out. I felt better than I had in a very long time. I felt whole, I realized. Complete. How was it possible that in two weeks I could undergo this radical shift? Like somehow I had discovered the key to the secret garden, a place that had been there all along, but had become overgrown with neglect. I had unlocked the door and stepped inside, and I was ready to pull weeds and plant roses.

Now “Samuel’s Song” rose lovingly from the keys and wound its way around us. I embellished as I played, remembering all the old feelings. A girl in love with someone she couldn’t have. My heart ached in my chest, but I let it. I wasn’t going to hide anymore. I kept my eyes closed, and my hands knew their way. The keys were cool against my fingertips, and I lost myself in the sweet agony of my song.

Suddenly, Samuel was next to me on the bench, his long body sliding next to mine, my hands falling discordantly from the keys as his arms wrapped around me and his lips captured mine anxiously. My arms rushed to embrace him, as my right hand rose to his face. My head was pressed into his shoulder, and he pulled me across his lap, his mouth moving feverishly over mine.

realized something tonight when we were listening to Beethoven. You’re like the tonic note. You’re the note that all the other notes revolve around and gravitate to. You’re home. Without you, the song just might not be a song, your family might not be a family. That’s what you’re afraid of, isn’t it? Who will step in and be the home base, the tonic note, if you go?” Samuel’s eyes were bleak as he continued, his voice husky and low. “That’s what you’ve been for me ever since I met you. The note I could hear, even when it wasn’t being played. The one I’ve gravitated toward all these years.” He leaned into me and kissed the top of my head gently. His hand cupped my cheek briefly, and his thumb traced my trembling lower lip. “I love you, Josie,” he said. Then he turned and walked out of my house.