Years before we exchanged late night texts or shared a kiss at my Richmond apartment, we were friends. Somehow, you convinced me to go out to the creek with you the summer after my junior year of college. You told me you had a boat. Well, you said, it was technically a boat. Made of thick blue plastic, it was larger than a canoe, probably more like a pontoon. You swore it floated. Even though you were a few years younger than me, I wanted to be alone at night with your dark hair, your captivating eyes, so I agreed to go when you called to take me out on your floating piece of plastic.

You drove us in your mom’s sedan past the center of town, past my detested Catholic high school, and the plantation where my mom used to give tours. Almost to the river, we finally turned onto a dirt road off the main thoroughfare. I followed you through weeds and brambles to the edge of the water, where the creek turned the bend. It was reaching dusk, and the crickets sang in full chorus. 

You gestured to a nearby fallen tree. “You can leave your stuff there. Should be safe.”

I slipped off my flip flops and tucked my backpack behind the tree. You walked behind a large holly bush and reappeared dragging the blue plastic boat. I looked at it warily. 

“We’re going out in that?” 

“Yup.” You gave me a grin that melted me. “Help me pull it in.” 

I wasn’t an outdoor person, but I wanted to impress you. You and your mom had moved to Virginia from Alaska a few years after your dad died, and I knew you had spent a lot of time outdoors there. I figured if I was ever going to get your attention, I needed to go with the flow. I rolled my eyes and nodded.

“I trust you. We’ll be okay as long as it floats, right?”

The quiet was broken by the hollow sound of the boat sliding from the sand into the water. You held it steady as I gingerly stepped in and sat down. You managed to get in behind me, and together we paddled away from the shore, toward the open sky where the creek met the river. It was getting noticeably darker and cooler out, but the allure of the evening was intoxicating.

As we rowed toward the middle of the river, we let the sounds around us do the talking — bullfrogs, crickets, birds, and the soft splash of our oars on the water. The star-pricked sky was turning a rich indigo, and the land we had come from was a black amorphous shape in the distance. The vastness of the water on all sides and the sky above began to unnerve me. 

“Hey, did you bring a flashlight?” I asked, trying to sound calm.

“Nah, I forgot it at my mom’s house.”

I took a deep breath and tried not to panic. Looking up at the stars, we both stilled. You set your paddle down and lay down, tilting your hair over the edge of the boat so it skimmed the water.

“You gotta try this.” Your hushed voice reverberated on the water’s surface. I could tell you were smiling.

I put my paddle down and reclined with my head over the boat. Mimicking you, I carefully dipped my head back so the water kissed the top of my head. It was cool and smelled like decay, growth, and everything in between. 

“Now open your eyes.” 

Upside down, I saw no distinction between the water and the sky. The dark river was an abyss full of stars. 

I gasped. “Beautiful.”