I have a very long history with this particular place. 27 years long to be precise.
There's one other trail and waterfall in the area that I have an even longer history with, but despite all of the incredible times I've had at Taughannok Falls (to the extent that I included it in my novels) nothing can touch the memory of my first time at this spot....
It was late September of 1995, three months after my highschool graduation and just a month or so since I moved out of my childhood home and made my first attempt at being an "adult".
Looking back now, it's incredible how much I packed into such a short time. These days a couple months go by in a blink, but back then time was slower somehow.
Every day felt like a day, and all I had was time..or so it seemed. Is there some way to recapture that feeling, I wonder? Of being invincible, of nothing but possibilities. The magic of years stretching in front of you.
I've heard it called "the optimism of youth", and there's something to that, particularly if you had a relatively easy childhood. You don't know the horrors of the world until you've had some life experience.
I certainly didn't, not then. Everything was sunshine and rainbows. The darkest it had ever gotten was the kind of dark that's thrilling. A Brothers Grimm fairytale that is both unsettling and exciting, and if at any point it became too disturbing, I could always flip on a Disney cartoon to shake off the feeling.
That was my life to that point.
In a way it was part of my appeal to the man that crash landed into my life and flipped it on its side. A man with a Hollywood face, a UFC body, a brilliant mind, an old soul.. and a dark and shadowed past.
At 24 he had lived through things that would have crippled most humans. But it had only made him stronger, the inner scars adding to his already considerable assets and magnetism.
I've heard that there's an argument of whether empathy is a fixed trait or one that can be developed. The argument seems silly to me, having an example of the latter by my side in this life.
We first met at a bonfire in the woods. An epic party for too many reasons to count, but discovering my soulmate there certainly tops the list. That, however, is a story for another day.
Looking at these rocks, graffitied by Cornell and Ithaca college students I am transported back in time. Back to the first time I set eyes on this place.
At the corner across the road from the entrance is a house that will live on in my memories. A few good friends of my hubs went to Ithaca college many moons ago, and it was their third year, off campus housing...also known as a blowout party pad.
As I mentioned at the start, it was late September- and late September in NY is generally not the time to swim, as the air has grown colder just as the days have grown shorter. But it's also unique in that the water temperature has yet to fully catch on to the fact that summer is over.
This particular night was light sweatshirt and jeans weather, with occasional wind gusts that hinted of the coming winter. I know we spent at least awhile at the party itself, but the details are hazy. My brain apparently didn't consider the socializing important enough to catalogue.
What I do remember in stark detail is Howie taking hold of my hand and tugging me through the door and across the street. I remember the path didn't used to be so cultivated, in fact it was nearly hidden.
I remember the absolute thrill of walking through the trees, my small hand in his large one, the sound of rushing water to my right, and thundering water up ahead. I remember the first glimpse of the magnificent falls, lit by a full moon.
But most of all I remember watching as he undressed, somersaults in my stomach as he walked into the water. A warmth spreading through my body chasing away the chill, as I silently followed suit.
Wondering if this was the night I would shed the innocence I had taken such pride in for years...I certainly couldn't have planned a more romantic setting.
And I remember the watch. A large, gawdy thing, with blue liquid and floating gears..a present from my last boyfriend. One that I cherished as you would a gift from a dear friend that had drifted from your life. Taking it off and placing it carefully on a stone, far from the river's edge. Then removing the last of my clothes and walking into the chilly pool, my eyes on his as he tread water beneath the falls.
I did not take the final step that night. We swam, and splashed, played and talked. We embraced and kissed long and deep for an eternity. I remember the thrilling feeling of skin against skin, tongue against tongue.
Our song, the first that was ours, was lived that moonlit, perfect night. The thread of a bond we had been developing thickened and brightened, and somewhere between leaving the house and what followed I finally admitted to myself that I was hopelessly, helplessly in love.
I may not have left my innocence behind,but I definitely left my childhood that night. And the watch. Forgotten on a stone near a waterfall. I sometimes wonder, did someone come along and pick it up? Did it get washed into the river during a storm? Is it even now, buried under shale at the bottom of the pool, at the foot of the falls?
A worthy sacrifice for Night Swimming
