When I Didn’t Know My Ass from the World’s Largest Hole in the Ground

 

 

I felt it immediately…

 

A certain warmth, a certain troubling consistency. I felt his final thrust too, different then the ones before when he would pull out and cum onto my back or stomach or side.

 

This thrust was bony hips to ass, this was a guttural moan, this was a pause as he got limp inside me. It was all very quick actually, he recovered fast and pulled out and rubbed his flaccid sidekick on my outsides a little bit to make it appear like any other ejaculation and not like what it was.

 

I reached down and slid a finger inside of me and then to my lips, yep those were his swimmers all right.

 

 

He knew that I knew and he changed tactics, he tried to act like it was romantic, then like it was no big deal and then like it was an accident.

 

We got up, we pulled on clothes, and things were just as fine as they usually were. He had crossed one of the very few boundaries I had at 17 and I had been raised by a society that told me that might have meant he loved me. I pushed anger and fear away as we crashed down the trail and into the logging road.

 

We had blockaded the mouth of the little burrow that was our home with milk crates, a thus far futile effort to keep skunks from eating our food or chewing on our even more protein rich dirty bedding.

 

It was afternoonish as we rounded a bend past the turnoff towards where most of the others had their camps. We were headed toward the gate that blocked off vehicle access to this set of roads. We had a game with the forest service where we each liked to cut each other’s locks and replace them with our own. This particular week we had the key to the U-lock on the gate.

 

Our relationship to the Freddie’s (as we called the forest service) was very near as ridiculous as the one between cartoon sheep and wolves.

 

As we walked in the warm day we began to hear the clanks and thuds of our comrades who were hard at work with sticks, pick axes, polaskis and shovels, just as most of us had been for the last month since we had our big idea.

 

It started some night as we were huddled in a tarp structure shaped somewhat like a tee-pee but not at all functioning like one. We had all licked our plates clean and perched in places to avoid the rivers running under the walls. The rain beat hard on the plastic stretched above us.

The big idea was “Free the rivers!”

Surely someone had thought this thought before but there on that night we all felt that we had come upon one of a very small handful of original thoughts left in this world. Just as Doris of Portland Oregon would be the first to invent the two holed button in 2012 so had we been the first to conceive of un-damming rivers, digging converts out of streams, and the like.

There is a long list of things we did not consider on this night, not the least of which were what would we do about roads? How would we protect fish from mountains of mud and gravel? Etc. I still think the basic idea of taking these out and letting the rivers return and flow and flood according to their nature should be started immediately and also it would seem that it will take a lot more care to undo what we have done. And some of it quite frankly, to my great grief, cannot be undone.

Anyways, we set our thick heads to taking out a giant culvert as long as the width of a logging road and 8 feet in diameter. That day I took off my shirt, grabbed my favorite pickaxe and jumped into the hole, which was, at this point, the biggest hole I had ever dug and by far the biggest I had seen dug by hand.

Toward evening we hit the culvert and we started to shovel out loose gravel and dirt revealing the rusty ridges of its steel back.

By the time the sun went down we were gathered around a fire in the middle of the road 15ft or so from our hole. It was a clear night; every star was looking at us laughing as we discussed the first major barricade we had hit in our plan.

How exactly, now that we had dug to the culvert, were we actually going to get it out of where it lay?

We drank a couple of bags of box wine about it. We sang about it, argued about it, but none of us were embarrassed to not have thought about this before. We were full of self-righteous pride. When insecurity crept in, we just got louder and meaner. If we didn’t have a good idea our tactic was to attack someone else’s.

Hours into the darkest part of night I stood up and walked away from the hole to go pee. Before I knew it I was falling. For what seemed like a long time, I fell and crashed against the holes hard sides as it tossed my body back and forth over the exposed culvert. Finally I landed and cried out, before I knew it there were people jumping in after me and a flashlight on my mouth, which was filling with blood. I was crying. I was angry that that sneaky hole had moved while I wasn’t looking and that I had fallen.

I was disoriented. I got pulled out of the hole and taken by the hand down to the creek. The man from earlier was wiping my face with cool water. I stood in the dirt beneath the night, so fucking hurt and so fucking alive and so fucking pregnant.

 

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About iknowyouknowmyheart

Ever Tried. Ever Failed. No Matter. Try Again, Fail Again, Fail Better -Beckett Here I am right over there, running into opportunities to stop running and hoping they keep my scent until my prayers are answered and I am brave enough to slow down.

Posted on May 25, 2014, in chronic activism, friends, heart ache, luck, true stories and tagged . Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

  1. I really liked your piece. Although this doesn’t make the most logical sense, doesn’t satisfy the what’s the point question, it makes total emotional sense. The way you set up the scene AFTER the initial scene (the way you checked for sperm was so hardcore & awesome) was all wonderful. I like. & I like that maybe it doesn’t matter to you if I like. Thanks for sharing.

    Like

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