Banana Rose by Natalie Goldberg

Author:Natalie Goldberg [Goldberg, Natalie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4532-2458-8
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2011-08-25T04:00:00+00:00

PART

III

29

THE ROAD WAS STRAIGHT, up 281. I passed Julie’s Hilltop Café, went west at O’Neill to 81, and then north again over the Missouri River and into Yankton.

Anna had once said she wanted to have her ashes thrown into the Missouri when she died, so when I got to the bridge, I pulled over. I could see Anna in the Missouri. It would be good to throw the ashes right off this bridge. It was a creaky bridge with wooden planks, and at the other end was Yankton, a yellow city. Not a city really. Brick buildings lined up to stop your eye against the plains. I could see the Conoco station and a rock shop from where I stood on the bridge. A warm breeze touched my face.

Anna was a big person and would have a lot of ashes. It would probably make a little island when I dropped them in the Missouri. I’d be Vasco da Gama and discover it. I’d call it Anna Island and leave an enchilada on it in case Anna got hungry. I’d miss Anna, I mused, and the way she kisses. Kisses! Oh, my god, I’d kissed Anna!

I got back in the car and drove through Yankton. What had I been doing kissing a girl? It was the most naked thing I’d ever done. Even though I was alone in the car, I felt shy. I had enjoyed kissing Anna, but right now it was too much. Someday I’d let Anna know how it really felt. I’d tell her I couldn’t remember, so we’d have to do it again. While we were doing it, I’d try hard to concentrate, so I could describe the feeling, that place where lips meet. I’d run to a piece of paper and write it down, but I’d forget by the time I got to the paper, so I’d have to run back and kiss her again. Over and over. Touch lips, close eyes, put a little pressure, feel the tongue along my teeth, pull away, and run to the notebook. It would be exhausting, but I’d get it. To kiss Anna was to roll a very round raspberry in my hand and not crush it, and then pop it in my mouth. I smiled. That was it. I reached Interstate 90 in South Dakota and turned east. Only one more turn north on 35 after I hit Minnesota. I’d be in Minneapolis before I knew it.

Suddenly I had a sinking feeling. I remembered it was Gauguin who’d told me about kisses being like raspberries. I’d never eaten a fresh raspberry in my life. Maybe raspberries were a Midwestern thing. I’d stolen Gauguin’s line to think about kissing someone else. It was gray out, and the gray stretched a long way across the flat land. I was passing Adrian, Minnesota. I couldn’t see the town from the freeway. Gauguin had driven this route when he left Boulder last November. He’d written a song about the Christmas lights giving a chill up over the hill of the highway.

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