Chapter 2: Speakers

Track 2: Speakers – Sam Hunt

The Willamette River flowed through our city and shaped our lives. We were taught to skip rocks before we could ride bikes, and when we were old enough to ride, we peddled the trails that surrounded the riverbank carefully navigating the uneven terrain. Summer family dinners were spent on the shallow rocky shores in fold-out chairs with our feet dipped in just enough to feel the current tickle through our toes, cooling us down between helpings of mom’s potato salad and breaded chicken drums served up on paper plates. We earned our bruises from playing Marco Polo in the still sections of the river, tripping over rocks and branches with our eyes closed, arms stretched forward like zombies. Without knowing it at the time, the river taught us more about life, ourselves and each other than any classroom could – and we were better off for it.

As we got older, our meet-up spots were secret locations along the Willamette that we pretended no one else knew of. We knew our cardinal directions like the back of our hands and found each other by the bandanas we tied to tree branches we could reach. The bowling alleys and movie theaters were hangouts reserved for the winter months, the local businesses feeling our absence during drawn-out heat waves, attempting to entice us with two-for-one specials and free sodas. We didn’t bite. We swapped boogie boards and shared inflatable tubes, laughing until our stomachs hurt and every last one of us had flipped over. The Willamette was our summer camp. Friendships were formed, love was made and lost, and memories were created that would exceed a lifetime. Our adventures were limitless, and we had the scars – and tan lines – to prove it.

When the dark northwest coast clouds rolled in, we wore our hoodies and nailed blue tarps between the trees to keep us dry so we could flip through our Teen Beat magazines we had begged our parents to buy us. Our homes were safe, warm and filled with snacks – but we preferred to wait it out as if it were a matter of survival, sipping on slurpees and high on fresh air.

We skipped church on Sundays and practiced our own ritual of tuning in to the weekly top 40 on the radio of Kevin’s pick-up, parked as close to the water as we could get without launching in. Too many of us piled into the extended cab to listen along and place bets on the number one song of the week – a silly game to most, but to this day I remain undefeated. Far from musically gifted, I was obsessed with music. I memorized the words, inserting myself into every song, imagining the lyrics as they played out in my mind like a movie. No one knew me without my headphones strung around my neck and notebook in hand, scribbling my favorite lines and writing extra verses to make songs last longer for no other reason than to satisfy my own imagination.

The Willamette river was our religion. It defined us and was entwined in our DNA.

***

The gravel crunched underneath the tires as we approached the river’s edge and the crimson cloudless sky faded to dusk, casting a blue glow over the horizon. My fingers gripped the steering wheel like a new driver at 10 and 2 with my gaze fixated forward, occasionally stealing a glimpse of his silhouette in my peripheral. We were divided by cup holders and connected by insulated copper wire spinning songs from my Sony. I took my foot off the gas slowing to an idyll, turning into an opening in the thick pines that overlooked the water below. I released my flip flop from the gas, placed the car in park and cut the engine.

“We’re uh…here,” I said, unsure of what to expect next.

His end of my headphones dropped to his shoulder as he turned toward me and asked, “Is this your favorite spot?”

Was the Willamette River my favorite spot? Yes, it was the only place I knew.

“Yes,” I spoke out loud.

“Good,” he said. “It’s beautiful,” he added, with one foot out the door, making his way over to my side of the car. He opened my door and gestured for me to exit.

“You’re not going to kill me, are you?” I asked bluntly. Probably something I should have clarified before we left the safety of my driveway, but truthfully, I didn’t feel threatened. I asked the question half-jokingly and for good measure. Worst case scenario, I could pounce for the pepper spray that dad had tucked in my glove box. He was the smartest man I knew.

Andy’s crooked, dimple smile spoke louder than words. “You’re cute,” he said, “And not a chance,” he added for reassurance.

“Do you do this with all the girls?” I asked. The river was mine and made me feel cheeky.

He smirked. “What, hop in their cars and insist on a ride?”

“Yeah,” I replied.

“Well, yes, but you’re the first one who didn’t throw me out.”

Great. I was a desperate push-over who had nothing better to do than to give rides to handsome strangers.

Feeling like a sleazy idiot I quipped back, “Joke’s on you – it’s my first time driving.”

He laughed at my lie and flipped off his Mariners hat to reveal a head of wavy ash-colored hair before turning his hat back forwards, tucking his hair in on either side with the tips of his fingers. "So why is this your favorite spot?” He asked, smoothly changing the subject.

It would take me a lifetime to explain but a moment to show him, so I would do that instead.  

“Come with me,” I said, leading us down a short path to the river. “Be careful where you step,” I added, observing his bright white sneakers that confirmed he was not from here.

After years of wadding in the Willamette I knew the deepest parts, the fastest currents and the warmest waters to dip my feet in at dusk. “This is it,” I said, as I waved my arm to the side as if I was revealing a game show prize. I slipped off my flip flops and stepped into the water, my feet immune to the rough pebbles below. To my surprise, he unlaced his shoes and took off the left and then the right and stepped in next to me.

“It’s warmer than I expected,” he said.

Was I good or what?

“This section gets the most sun and has the least tree cover,” I explained. “It’s also very shallow, it heats up during the day like a swimming pool.”

Great, I sounded like a girl scout ready to earn her river ranger badge.

I stepped a little further from the shore and began, “I grew up here and have spent hundreds of hours down here…basically I’ve been coming here my whole life. It’s pretty much the only place I know.”

His smile was captivating, and I could see in his eyes he was savoring the moment. He wasn’t the first person I had come across who was experiencing the Willamette for the first time – his look was familiar.

“You’re not like most girls, are you?” He asked.

If he was referring again to giving rides to strangers, he could walk back home. If he knew I preferred English class over gym class and would rather spend my Friday nights writing in my notebook instead of attending bonfires at Tyler Owen’s place, then yes, I was not like most girls. If he knew I had tried out for the cheerleading squad and never made the first cut – which was really a blessing in disguise in my humble opinion – than I wasn’t like most girls. If he knew that one block over from our street lived Stacey Carter and her best friend Ashley McLeod, two of the most gorgeous girls in our grade eleven class and perhaps to ever walk the earth, than we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. So yes, I was not like most girls.

“Most girls are not like me,” I smiled.

He returned my smile. “That’s a very good thing.”

I liked him already more than I knew.

“You just moved into the Cooper’s old place,” I said, stating the obvious. “Where are you from?”

“Portland,” he said. “Originally Salem, but I spent most of my life in the city.” He walked the few feet back to the shore and shook the water from his feet and I followed.

“We moved here for my mom’s job. She was promoted to General Manger at a manufacturing plant on Grant Street. My brother is still young and it’s just the three of us, so it made sense that I finished my grad year here so I can help where I can. You’re the first person I’ve met here so far.”

Perfect. I was the convenient neighbor girl he had recruited as his summer tour guide. Little did he know, had he moved one block over he would be in a hot tub right now with Stacey and Ashley, and I would be fast asleep in my driveway.

“I’d be happy to show you around,” I offered. “There’s not much to do here compared to the city, but we make do.”

An Elvis impersonator at the Clareview retirement home was the closest thing to entertainment in the past in recent weeks, but I left that part out on purpose.

“I’d like that.”

***

For the next six weeks, Andy and I made the daily 10-mile trek to the river in my time machine, sometimes he drove and sometimes I was too tired to drive back, barely clocking 1,000 miles by the end of summer.

We bought burgers to-go from Sam’s pub or picked up snacks at a convenience store along the way. We made it home for dinner some nights, and often skipped meals altogether. The sunshine suppressed our appetites and we were too caught up in each other to care.

We spent our days floating down the river, sharing every detail about our lives that time would allow. I knew the story behind every tattoo and he knew the story behind every Willamette-earned scar on my body.

Andy played guitar and was extraordinary at it. He indulged me by singing the extra verses I had written for my favorite songs, and together we wrote a few of our own. He became my real-life DJ, taking song requests until his fingers were worn from entertaining me. Andy’s perfect pitch drowned out my off-key attempts to sing along, and he never once faulted me for it. I was his audience and he was my rock star.

Our first kiss was on the bank of the Willamette under the midnight August sky filled with infinite stars. Andy was gentle and patient and never once pushed me for anything more than our lips would allow. He was different than every other boy I knew.

We broke curfew dancing in front of the taillights, listening to the radio he had fixed. I told him all my dreams, and we mapped out every adventure we would together pursue. No matter how hard we tried, we couldn’t get close enough, and still felt worlds apart.

We skipped rocks, laughed til our stomachs hurt and carved our initials in the willow next to where we parked.

That summer I fell in love with Andy, and he fell in love with me, and forever our world was changed.