In some spring season long ago there had been a decision to extend a wooden porch into the back yard off the rear door of the house. It was the part of the house that overlooked the James River, the part of the house that caught a side glimpse of the west and sunsets. It would have the cross breeze and it would be in shade after the height of noon.
Men in overalls and pickups showed up and there was measuring and taping, tapping of nails into wood. The bones of the porch were evident and linear, forming against the backdrop of uneven trees and after the first couple of days it was finished, a new level extending from the house. A graceful transition from the inside to the outside and it was where she remembered many afternoons playing, drinking lemonade and eating after a barbecue.
It was where she emerged the one time he had driven down and had informed her he was near and if he could stop by. For a moment. That's the word he had chosen. A moment, because there is no defined time like a minute or an hour. A moment could be both of those, depending on her.
So as he pulled into the grassy drive in the still-warm afternoon of fall she slid open the screen and exited onto the porch, where she stayed, clutching the handrail as if to steady her.
She was a little surprised to see him, not unpleasant just unremarked. Her voice had been flat and slow, like she was deliberately crafting safe sentences to share with him. He stood below her on the grass and she stood over him, two downward steps separating them.
She was wearing jeans and was barefoot, a long sleeve white tee shirt clinging to her. Her hair was pulled up behind her and framed her angles. Looking up at her he could detect the slight lavender scent...
Where the porch met the pilings that supported it against the flat ground there were a couple of rusted nails that hadn't been driven in flush to the wood...perhaps they had hit a knot and buckled, the hammer merely allowing them to be hammered down against the wood as crooked reminders.
Their conversation waned and the silence portions grew a bit longer...she was shuffling her feet against the wooden porch like she wanted to hasten this...either go back inside or just finish the talk.
He wanted to remain there as long as possible, just watching her. But that was unlikely...he wanted her to drive long nails into his feet, to hold him in place and watch her for as long as he could...he wanted her to hammer long nails into his hand as he held onto the railing so he could stay perched and see her come and go. Neither of those would happen.
So he nodded at her and attempted a slight smile and made a wave with his hand. She nodded back, her movement in a straight line...not like his walk back to his car as he meandered around the house, his mind full of crooked reminders as he tried to find purchase and drive thoughts of her away...thoughts that just bent and turned and fell beneath his mind like poorly driven nails.
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