Love in the time before gender

Listen. The wet slap of bare feet as we hop over the creek, boulder to boulder. Suck creek is powerful but lazy, winding its way down Signal Mountain. 

“Faster,” I say. 

Jon grins and takes a larger leap. We move like dancers, sinuous and lithe as we climb up rocks, jump down, the jarring impact echoing with rightness in my bones. The creek is heavily treed on both sides. The air is pure and crisp. 

We race for a few minutes, but speed isn’t really the fun of it. The fun is fitting your fingers onto tiny ledges, toeing in wet crevices as we climb down and up waterfalls, slippery holds, movement laced with adrenalin and invulnerability. 

“My parents are taking us camping next week,” Jon says. “So I won’t be around.”

He doesn’t say, this is our last day together before sixth grade starts, but we both know what he means. He goes to school on the Mountain, and I take the bus to the valley. 

I don’t know if John’s parents realize we are dating, or if they think we are only good friends. I suspect it doesn’t matter to them one way or the other. Our dates consist of biking to McDonalds to dip fries into a fudge sundae or swimming in the creek. 

I reach for the next handhold, my shoulders strong, movement agile. Press my shin against the rock, leaving skin there. It stings a little as the water passes over it. I love the pain and burn of it. Wear scratches from blackberries like badges on my shins and elbows. 

We come to an overhanging rock, the water below at least ten feet deep. 

“Bo and I tested it last week,” Jon says. “It’s deep enough.” 

I pull off my t-shirt. When I jump, the moment in the air feels endless, perfect, my body weightless, the water below clear, sunlight warming every patch of exposed skin. 

I hit the water with a rush, turning a little flip before coming up for air. Jon jumps in beside me, close enough to touch. 

“Again?” he says. 

We climb up the boulder again and jump in several times, delighting in the burn of our legs and the pull of our shoulders, until Jon motions for me to follow him toward the boulder. There is an opening at the bottom, not large enough to swim through with your head above water, but enough to let in a little light and air. 

We hold our breath and swim under. Inside, there is a tiny cave. The water is colder and breathtakingly blue, fed not from the lake, but from a spring right beneath us. There isn’t enough of an edge to sit on, so we hold ourselves up by our fingers. The push of spring water welling up makes me feel like I’m being lifted into the air. 

Jon worries his lip as he comes closer. He kisses me and holds it for a second. He tastes like the creek, wet on our lips. We smile shyly at one another, dive down, and exit the cave. 

We kiss once more, this time in the sunshine. It’s the same, a quick brush of lips, at once a beginning and an end, before heading up the creek to make our way home.