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Message-ID: <35353asstr$1014351005@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: mmtwassel@aol.com (mat twassel)
Subject: {ASSM} Mat Twassel -- Past Lives
Date: Thu, 21 Feb 2002 23:10:05 -0500
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Past Lives
Mat Twassel
===========


The man and woman and boy came to a clearing a few feet 
above the stream.  It was just twilight, and the air was 
a muted, peaceful blue, and the stream was wide and 
quiet, no current at all.  The three of them stood on a 
slate-colored slab of rock for a few moments, looking out 
over the stream, and then the woman bent over and picked 
up a flat chuck of stone and flung it sidearm into the 
stream.  The stone skipped across the surface of the 
water, long leaps at  first, two, three, four of them, 
then shorter hops, five, six, seven, eight, before 
disappearing.

"Your mother is an expert stone skipper," the man said.  
"See if you can find some good rocks for her."

Most of the rocks were the wrong shape, too round, or the 
wrong size, too big and heavy, too small and light.  But 
amid the pebbles the boy discovered some stones that 
looked okay.  He handed them to his mom.

"These might work," she said with a smile.  She sidearmed 
one gracefully across the water.  It skipped and skipped. 
So quiet was the evening, the boy thought he could still 
hear the little plips long after the stone had 
disappeared from sight. "A new record," the woman said.  
"You're a good stone picker-upper."

"Can I try one?" the boy asked.

Trying to emulate his mother, the boy gave the rock a 
mighty sidearm heave.  With a plop it surrendered to the 
river. "Try another," the woman said.  The same thing 
happened. The river gulped it down.

"It takes practice," the woman said.

"Or maybe you're meant to be a gatherer," the man said.

"You try some more," the boy said to the woman.

"No, we have to be getting back now," the man said. 

"Why?" the boy asked.

The man was already walking out of the clearing.

"It's getting dark," the woman said. "The others will 
miss us. Come along now."

                     ~ ~ ~

My mother was sitting up in bed reading a book.  It was a 
little bed, like the kind a girl might have. My mother's  
tummy was so big and round--probably no more than a month 
until I would be born. She was happy.  Content. Maybe I 
had just kicked her.  I think she had a good feeling about 
me.  I remember her hair was dark and thick.  It's quite 
different now, thin and silvery gray.  She put her hand 
on her belly, and that made me feel good.  I could feel 
the comfort of her hand from the inside and out. The 
other hand kept her place in the book.  I was curious 
what it was she was reading, but I couldn't tell.

"What about the birth?"

No, nothing much. A somewhat flat metal tray, like the 
kind a doctor would put the surgical instruments in after 
they'd been used. The doctor turned away and put a metal 
instrument into the tray.  That's all I could remember 
about that.  I don't think it was a knife.  Something 
dull.  I didn't like it.

"But you were there, that's the main thing."

Is it?  I don't know.  I mean when he asked me to 
remember a pleasant meal I'd eaten recently, I couldn't.  
Of course the food here is a joke.

"But you're eating okay?"

The less said the better.

"Okay.  Did you go back further?  Into any past lives?"

We tried to.  I don't know if it really worked.  It was 
interesting, though. I found out I don't feel relaxed 
going down stairs.

"What happened?  What did you see?"

I was wading through a stream.  There were small animals 
about.  Or maybe just the threat of them. Snakes and 
rats. Jaguars waiting in trees.

"Was this the same stream as before?"

No, I don't think so.  It was more of a swamp. Not a 
murky swamp, but the river was brown.  Lots of mud.  And 
it was hot and sunny.  Quiet but for the buzz of insects.  
I could feel the water below my waist.  Cool and 
pleasant.  And the sun on my back and shoulders. I didn't 
have any clothes.  My hair was dark and thick.  Ropy and 
wild.  When I waded the water would make my ... my penis 
roll and slosh.  It felt good. I didn't tell the doctor 
that.  About my penis.  Just that I had been wading 
along, and now I was stopped.

Then I was in a tree, lying along a dead limb which 
stretched out over the stream.  I lay on my belly, 
quietly.  My skin was caked with mud.  Maybe this kept 
the insects off.  Maybe it was camouflage.

"Camouflage?"

I was waiting for the deer to come. At twilight they'd 
come down to the stream to drink.  If a small doe or a 
fawn would happen to pass underneath my bough, I'd jump 
down, wrapping by arms around its neck.  Twisting.  I'd 
also have my stone. A sharp stone.  Just heavy enough. 
The bucks were too big and hard.  The does, too, really.  
I preferred the fawns, if possible. 

"You killed them?"

I guess so, although I didn't see that happen.  Just the 
waiting for it.  It wasn't sport, you know. It was a 
basic necessity of life.

"Anything else?"

A canoe of some kind.  I was paddling it down the stream.  
So swiftly I went.  I guess that skill didn't carry over 
very well.  Now I couldn't keep a rowboat straight if my 
life depended on it.

"Where were you going in this canoe?  Did you get 
anywhere? Was someone chasing you?"

I don't know.  I was just rowing, just streaming along.  
Then the doctor asked me to go to the end of that life.

"And?"

I did it.  I didn't really want to.  I was happy being in 
the tree.  Now  I was in an enclosed space.

"A coffin?  A grave?"

No, maybe part of a cave.  Or a primitive room. There was 
light, like from a campfire, but not where I was, lying 
on a shelf or a slab of raised rock, somewhere out of the 
way.   Other people were around, over by the light, but 
no one I knew, no one who cared about me.  They just went 
about their business. I was alone, no family, no friends.  
A loner.  I would have liked to have had a family, but it 
didn't seem strange that I didn't.  I was just a loner, 
dying a lonely death. Very appropriate.

"That's sad."

When do you think you might be coming home?

"Home?"

You know what I mean.

"I don't know.  I'm not even thinking about that now."

Something just occurred to me.  When I was going into the 
trance, I had in my hand that heart-shaped piece of wood 
you gave me. I have it with me all the time. I like to 
hold it.  I think it helps keep the stress away.  Anyway, 
maybe that's why I thought about the stone skipping.  
That wood is just the right shape and size.  But I wasn't 
thinking about that at the time.  I wasn't even aware I 
was holding it.

"Okay, well, I'm glad.  I'm glad you had it."

I wish ... I wish we could be together again.

"I know."

Maybe in some past or future life, huh?

"Maybe."

                     ~ ~ ~

Barely twilight.  The river was quiet, almost still, 
smooth and serene.  He lay upon the dead limb 
stretching over the water, and he watched and waited.  He 
closed his eyes, and when he opened them, the girl was 
there, small and pretty, kneeling at the water's edge, 
staring at her reflection.  She must have strolled away 
from the others.  Out in the stream a fish jumped, and 
the girl looked up at the splash, at the small ripples 
circling outward.  When she looked down again her blond 
hair shimmered as the final ripples reached the shore, 
and then from out of the quiet stream her eyes fixed on 
his.  Silently they stared at one another.  When she 
blinked he fell upon her.  The struggle lasted only a few 
seconds and then she went rigid and then she relaxed.  At 
first it was like trying to fuck a piece of tightly 
stretched leather, but finally something gave way, and he 
was inside of her, pushing through her slick inner skin, 
streaming and flowing.  Pleasure came fast in explosive 
jolts, the first one big and tight and obliterating; 
those that followed sharp and fleet and almost as full--
five, six, seven, eight of them, throb after throb, until 
finally they stopped, and he could breathe again.

===========
Past Lives
Mat Twassel

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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