Jenny and I shared a final afternoon absorbed in each other's company, late December 1979, the day after her birthday dinner.
We went to the spring, a pivotal location of my childhood and teenage life.
Jenny arrived at my parent's house around noon. I greeted her on my front porch and took her to meet my mum. My mother sat in the lounge room; she flicked magazine pages rapidly.
She expressed happiness in meeting Jenny and relief I was finally in the company of a young lady. Straight away, she asked Jenny to help her set out lunch. My mother's practical way of getting to know her. They talked about food as they set the table.
My father came in from his workshop. He was his usual gentlemanly self, introducing himself and offering her a drink.
My mum fussed over her meal presentation.
We shared a tasty salad at the dining table and finished with her signature salted caramel slice. I watched Jenny eat her piece as I ate mine.
She complimented my mother, describing it as 'moreish.'
My mother started clearing the table. Jenny offered to help wash up; my mum insisted it was fine. We could go to the spring. My dad, his stolid self through lunch, invited Jenny to his workshop. The smells of pine, sassafras and myrtle mixed as we opened the garage door.
He gave her a pair of turned wooden salad spoons from his cluttered workbench covered with tools, clamps and glue. I heard Jenny's genuine thanks. My dad gave a subdued nod and started pottering on a new project.
As she put the gift in her car before we walked to the spring, I inquired what she thought of my parents.
Jenny replied candidly that she could see my traits in them, "You have your mum's features and your dad's temperament."
She was glad to have met them and looked forward to future meetings. I felt Jenny a staple in my life as I occupied hers. An assurance inside each other's spirit as we strolled towards the spring.
I directed Jenny the easy way through the long-abandoned orchard. Next, along a meandering track, through the bush, to the spring. We arrived at the playground of my youth, evoking memories of Coral and Josh. A special place to bring Jenny, the girl I told only once I love you.
At the spring, we held hands. Jenny and I stopped at the physical limit—the edge of the spring—and I believed there were no limits in my mind. We kissed as lovers do. We caressed each other's essence with our tongues.
In my mind, my childhood path joined my (and hopefully Jenny's) future course. I glowed, glad Jenny was in my world. As we kissed, I held definition to life. The urge to remember the moment seized me.
I told myself, remember this.
It's easy to recall holding her hands and kissing Jenny at the spring.
This afternoon may have represented the high watermark of our relationship.
We hinged through touch, a hug, a kiss, and eyes to eyes. Genitals believe they are the crème de la crème of life. However, the sweet life of united privates takes the backseat to the interlacing of two minds. I believed Jenny and I owned the exact moment, even as it became our final close time.
After we kissed, I asked Jenny, "Isn't it a calming, enchanting place?"
"It's a place," she replied — as if the spring was commonplace.
"It's my special place from my youth."
I wasn't defensive; my response conveyed my confidence.
Jenny glanced around, "Yes, it's your place, not mine. I can't see here what connects or draws you to the spring."
She was right.
I looked around.
"Yes," I agreed, "however, I'm glad I brought you here."
"It's nice," she started, wanting me to be content.
Jenny, wearing her thoughts on her sleeve, continued, "Surely, it wasn't perfect every time you came here? It could have been?"
My eyes probed the spring. The water loomed deeper as a child. I recalled it took me time to absorb what a young Coral called her 'pretty place.'
Josh regarded it as a fun hang-out for water play and plonking stones to create the biggest splash. Later, Coral and I settled for 'tranquil' to capture the essence of the spring.
Josh preferred tinkering with motors as our teenage years passed and often left it to Coral and me. The spring acted as a boundary to my youthful world.
Next to Jenny, I realised how small the pool spread. It held significance for me, not Jenny, as the spring's quietude and shadows seeped into my soul.
"Yeah, you're right. It's how I want to see it, and you and us to see it now."
I desired the spring perfect for us, even as its blemishes smeared my mind's eye.
"Has it changed over time?" Jenny delved as she dropped small stones into the water one by one.
The ongoing plop unsettled me.
"Maybe," I muttered.
It was my day—our day.
I didn't join the pebble distraction as the ripples churned.
Calm—I wished for calm.
No, I sought more!
I love you.
I didn't state it aloud.
Jenny enjoyed the pebbles. I should have told her how much I loved her. Back then, I did not realise communicating with yourself — is as important as how you do with others.
The plopping sounds and swirled water shifted my mind beyond the maybe I had mumbled to Jenny.
I saw more than I should have one afternoon by the spring. While seeking quiet reflection, I witnessed Ruby and Coral embracing each other.
I missed Coral, so I drifted to the spring alone about a week after the girl's flirtatious frolicking at the skating rink. The two youthful friends held each other at the water's edge, oblivious to the world. Buttons undone on white blouses. Both shared an after-sex glow.
As Ruby and Coral shook wet hair, I surmised they frolicked in the spring. I can only picture it as Bosch's lesbians in the pool. It was so quiet like the surrounding bushland slept. I heard Coral's moan of pleasure as Ruby's fervent lips kissed my golden girl's neck.
Coral returned the favour, nibbling the brunette's throat, likely to leave a hickey.
I beheld their eye contact, following their neck pecks. Coral's captivating green eyes and Ruby's blue siren orbs joined as a twin gaze of soul appetite.
They focused, ready to kiss — Coral's sacred lips.
Ruby bent and picked some dandelions. She placed one on each side of Coral's ears. My golden girl combined a tremble and a laugh.
The subsequent action of the little minx exemplified her confidence. She dusted — a dandelion, pappus ready — along Coral's cheek. Ruby blew the flimsy bristles across her girlfriend's jawline. The seeds danced around Coral's mouth, nose and hair.
My golden girl sneezed, followed by a chuckle. Coral's hands lifted and covered Ruby's cheeks. Ruby's hands followed suit. Their eyes locked. I left, my feet kicking and flinging dry twigs into the air or snapping them underfoot in a crushing crunch.
A kiss seemed inevitable.
I lumbered away; nothing compelled me to turn back.
Jenny plopped the final pebble in her hand.
"Just a maybe?" she quizzed.
My raven-haired lass glanced at me. Perhaps she observed me closely as my thoughts wandered to Coral and Ruby.
I didn't say anything.
"Everything has flaws; you've seen mine. I've seen yours."
Then I thought Jenny meant the physical body.
In hindsight, I know she meant our inner selves.
I wanted the spring to be perfection; it had flaws.
What doesn't have imperfections?
Jenny stopped tossing the pebbles.
"Luke, you can want something too perfect."
"I know, Jenny. It's- I want everything perfect, don't you?"
She paused before framing a reply, "You're lucky to have a special place."
"No, you're right. My ardency for design and architecture seeks the perfect place, the ideal form. I want a perfect moment in a perfect place. The spring has the most—"
Jenny cut in, "Most sounds good."
"Most will do," I said as we cuddled.
I like to think our minds finally caught up with our bodies. Sex leads, although minds will define the direction of a pair. Whether we held each other's thoughts or they trickled away in the spring, it doesn't matter now.
I have to remember Jenny as she bestowed of herself.
We held hands, returning to her car. I kissed her on the cheek.
"I won't be long gone," she said.
She drove away to begin a holiday, accompanied by her niece.
My amber lass never returned to me.
I thought for ages I had lost Jenny's body. No, I lost my special place in her thoughts. Our bodies held together in our coupling, yes. Our essences ignored our impasse. We tried but were imperfectly bracketed in another's mind.
And later.
There would be Jenny's voice over the phone. Some holiday postcards. A final handwritten letter that saved me from the empty shell I became after her last phone call. And since we lived in the same country and shared a planet —we crossed paths. It occurred in a courtroom decades later.
I loved Jenny for her movement through life. This movement took her away from me. I did not think at the spring it would be permanent. Neither do I believe Jenny intended events to unfold as they did.
Her post-graduation trip was organised before our first dance. My raven-haired lass informed me of her adventure. I harboured no concerns that I could lose my place in Jenny's life. In awaiting Jenny's return, I never felt alone, although I was in a physical sense. I felt together, even apart.
However, days became weeks, and weeks became a month with no holiday messages. Till one evening, a phone call — her last one ever.
After the call, when I grasped Jenny's permanent goodbye, I wondered why. The why, beyond her independence. I blamed myself for not using the word. The potent sustaining word. The word whose fluid expression drives a relationship. The four letters checking —all is well.
Here, memory holds a more authentic course than words on a page. On a page, words appear as straight as lines of text but are often wily in their meaning. It makes me recall the other time I used the word 'love' with Jenny. Our first night together in a darkening room, I said it right before our bodies canoodled.
"I want to make love to you."
Jenny either gave an affirmative, or her body responded to my request.
There is no spiritual weight in — I want to make love to you. They are polite words asking for sex, nothing more. Did 'you bugger' make me avoid love as a taboo word? Like holding back and not revealing a full or middle name.
It struck me after her phone call. Jenny and I communicated consent by touch. Our fingers traced, and tactile genitals snogged, caught in the speed with which youth divests itself of clothing. We shared the heady unspoken signals, the sheer urgency of bodies. Though Jenny and I touched skin repeatedly, each time conjured the brand new. We sought and found a fused, carnal revelry; no words required.