Running Barefoot

“I run with it to keep a steady pace,” I defended myself, chagrined, yanking the earbud out of his ear.

He stared at me thoughtfully, his head tilted, considering. “You run with it so that you don’t have to think,” he answered finally.

I glared at him, stung that he had so easily guessed the truth – at least partially. I listened to the electronic music so I didn’t have to feel.

I didn’t want to explain that to him. I resorted to walking away.

Samuel quickly caught up to me. I picked up my pace and started to jog. He started to jog with me. His cowboy boots clopped loudly as we ran. I sped up. So did he. I ran full out for a mile, stretching my legs, knowing he had to be dying in those boots. He didn’t complain, but ran with me, stride for stride. I ran another mile. Then two more. My lungs burned. I had never run this fast. He didn’t seem winded.

“What do you want, Samuel!” I turned on him suddenly, skidding to a halt. “You’re going to hurt yourself running in those boots!” He stopped and looked down into my flushed face. He put his hands on his hips, and I was gratified to see his chest rising and falling, indicating some exertion.

“I’m a Marine, Josie AND I am Navajo, an Earth-walker. I am Samuel of the Bitter Water People.” He grinned, his eyebrows wagging devilishly. He leaned into me and said slyly, “Therefore you can’t outrun me - even when I’m wearing shitkickers.” He used the Levan slang for cowboy boots, and it made me laugh despite myself. My laughter seemed to please him.

“Where is ‘Ode to Joy’, Josie?” He said, ever so softly.

My eyes flew to his, startled. He remembered the music that had once so moved me that I could not go a day without its company.

Again, I felt at a loss for words. When I’d seen Samuel last I was a girl and he was a man. He’d pretty much rejected me outright. I hadn’t written to him again. I had occasionally asked his grandma about him, wanting news, wanting to hear how he fared. The problem was nobody but Samuel and I truly knew of the bond we had struck. It was encapsulated inside those trips back and forth across the ridge, day after day, with kids talking, laughing, and arguing all around us. Nobody was ever aware of our conversations, our discoveries, our shared moments. His grandma had given me generalities, but never knew to share more with me, never knew how much I desperately wanted to know - and I had been unwilling and unable to explain my interest. Knowing how private and careful Samuel had been, I was pretty certain he hadn’t asked about me. Yesterday, he said Nettie had told him what she knew, but Nettie only knew what was on the surface, just details.

“The truth is Samuel, you and I don’t know each other at all anymore.” My voice came out a little more bitterly than I had intended, and the words stung my lips.

He studied me for a minute, but didn’t reply. Wordlessly we began walking back towards our neighboring houses. We had made a wide loop when we ran, and we weren’t very far from home. I walked alongside him, feeling raw and wrung out.

The silence was strained, and I longed to escape. Nearing his grandparent’s house he spoke again.

“You ran in the wrong direction.”

“What?”

“You ran west this morning - away from the sun. The Navajo always run east - into the sun, greeting the sun. Lift up your face and let the Sky Father shine down a blessing upon you as you run towards him.”

I didn’t know how to respond. I’d always had to twist Samuel’s arm to tell me anything about his Navajo traditions. Now he was sharing legends and stories with absolute comfort. He had changed.

Samuel’s eyes were grave. “Changing Woman is called Changing Woman because she grew up so fast. The legend claims she became a full grown woman in only twelve days. She wasn’t a child for very long. I guess in that way you are just like her. You weren’t a child very long either. At thirteen you were far wiser and more mature than anybody I knew, except for my Grandma Yazzie.” Samuel paused, his eyes drilling down into mine. “Changing Woman is also called Changing Woman because she is responsible for the ever moving cycle of life - but in her heart, in her spirit, she is as steady and constant as the sun she loves.”

I shook my head, bemused.

“The truth is, Josie,” Samuel began his sentence just as I had several minutes before. “You’re a full grown woman now. But I don’t think you’re really all that different here.” Samuel lightly touched the smooth skin exposed by the open V of my t-shirt, laying his knuckles against my heart. “I think you’re still you. And I’m still the Samuel you knew.” His fingers were warm on my skin, and I fought myself not to reach up and cover his hand with my own.

Then he dropped his hand, and it was his turn to walk away.

Over the last few years I’d raised my prices and made a name for myself as a piano teacher. In the summer, I taught piano lessons almost exclusively and made decent money doing it. I’d never had to resort to house calls. I was by far the best pianist around, and I had no children, no husband, no other demands on my time and attention. I had students as far north as Provo, and as far south as Fillmore, almost an hour away in each direction, and they came to me. At home, my piano still stood faithfully in the exact same place it had since I purchased it through the Penny Pincher ad, but even after Dad had gone back to work after his stroke, I hadn’t taught lessons on it. I still used the room in the church for that. I loved the old building; I’d even been entrusted with my very own key. Dad and I needed a quiet place to come home to, without the endless stream of students and the necessary noise that accompanied their learning.