All Down the Line

She bet me I wouldn't cross the Chick Springs trestle. I told her she was right. I wouldn't. But I followed her when she started across. It was dark out but with a moon so we could see the tracks but not the 50 foot drop on either side. We got to the other side both breathing heavy and then walked back across, slide down the bank, crossed the road and jumped the fence into the Chick Springs swimming area. We took off our clothes and waded into the smaller of the two lakes, natural lakes filled with mud and packed leaves along the banks. We swam. We whispered to each other and tread water and paddled toward shore when the water got too cold. It was our first date and one of our last, though we stayed together for almost two years. We never called it dating. Dating was something my older sisters did.