Loose Leaf Notes

So the story goes: Joe was a big attraction when he first came to Floyd. He came from D.C. to be teacher at our independent Blue Mountain School, where my sons went and where I taught a weekly creative writing class.  The first time I saw him was at a community gathering for Harmonic Convergence in Riner. I decided not to fight for a place in line to meet him.  ‘He’s green but has nice energy,’ I thought.

I actually met him at the laundry mat. Isn’t there a song for that?  He was tie-dying shirts with a couple of Blue Mountain parent-friends to sell at a Dead show for a school fundraiser.  I had been picking apples from a tree on the side of the road and came in to say hello. He still talks about how enthusiastic I was about my trunk full of foraging and the apple crisp I was going to make.  We talked and I remember being impressed.

The next thing that happened was a kind of like a scene in a movie.  We bumped into each other on the stairs at the school, and whatever I was holding onto at the time tumbled to the floor.  It was November and I had heard that he was looking for a place to rent for the winter.  I had recently left a marriage, rented a big old farmhouse and took in roommates: women.  One of my roommates had just moved out.  I wasn’t interested in male roommates at the time, but when we collided, I heard myself say, “I have a room to rent.  You should come by and see it.”  He did.

So, we were roommates.  We liked each other. Sat close on the couch.  But he was young and I had two young children.   Then, I had a sensual dream about him washing my hair at the sink. Hmmmm.  A couple of weeks later, the dream came true.  It happened while I was in our friend Karl’s wood-fired tub at Woodsong Farm (this was Floyd in ‘87, don’t ask).  The steam from the bath was rising and the night stars were sparkling.   “Can I kiss you?’ he asked after washing my hair.  “How about we kiss each other?’ was my answer.