The Lake

It was a gloom-soaked Sunday morning. The lake was topped with an almost eerie fog, dancing along the edge of the surface like a moaning spirit in anguish. This particular morning there were no golden rays rising above the granite cliffs, greeting her as she stole a sip from her impossibly hot cup of peppermint tea. There were only shades of grey before her and she felt the dullness deep within her bones, almost as if the atmosphere was mocking her dreadful internal state. Would today be the day that she veered from her medicinal routine of lounging, sulking, and staring out at the water with anger and bewilderment at what her life had become? Probably not.

It had been roughly five years since the accident that stole her life right out from under her. How had so much time come and gone, leaving her hair a few shades closer to grey but her mind just as twisted and consumed by grief? She often oscillated back and forth between bereavement and an angry discomfort. Some days she could barely function while others called for absolutely destroying the clean and perfectly organized kitchen, all in the name of triple fudge brownies. No matter how much chocolate she consumed or how many tears evaporated from her face, she felt just as motionless and desperate as the day the rain-soaked Ranger knocked on her front door.

He had held her gaze with empathy for as long as he could bear before offering to help her to a seat in the kitchen. They sat in a prickly silence, him not knowing what to say and her not able to breathe enough air to speak even one syllable. After what felt like a respectful amount of time, he presented her, almost shamefully, with paperwork and the death certificate. His face had been sour with discomfort. She will never be rid of the look in his eyes as he wished her well and boarded his military vehicle, aimed east toward the coast. She had the most enraging feeling as if she were some wounded creature left for decay upon the side of the road. She slowly blinked her eyes twice to shift her mental image and upon regrounding her vision, he was gone.

She watched these despondent memories flash by within her mind’s eye, reminding her that she feels the same chaotic pressure within her chest that she has every day for over five years. She and her husband had built the cottage that kept her grief contained, board by board, from the ground up with nothing but love and passionate dreams to fuel their overzealous project. They met on that sacred lake when they were 20, both lost within their own world attempting to etch a unique path forward but unsure of where to begin.

She was a wealthy aristocrat’s daughter, clinging to the depth of the lake to cleanse her heart and save her from a family that misunderstood her every thought and move. He was a reluctant counselor, foolishly attempting to fill an emptiness within by volunteering to lead a group of Boy Scouts through a week-long, lakeside camping endeavor. It was a cool, calm evening when a small canoe of frantic Scouts slid onto the sticky shoreline of the Pickeral Lake Lodge. Sitting on the porch of her family’s cabin rental, she saw them arrive and could feel the air change from light and breezy to thick with panic. They were yelling and flapping their desperate arms as they docked upon the beach, sending an inappropriate giggle through her lips that barely escaped the threshold of silence before her eyes were set upon the bloodied boy they were hoisting from the raft.

Without a thought, she rose from her silk-cushioned seat and sprinted wildly down the path to the beach. She had a decent amount of medical training from a path that her Father designed for her, although she rebelliously planned to do absolutely nothing with it. She realized how selfish that felt while her legs were moving automatically, with strong instinct, closer and closer to the boys as they rushed up through the reeds and mud. That’s when she saw him. He was carrying the upper half of a semi-conscious Scout, fervently leading his team’s route and speaking in a tone that was somehow both alarming and immensely soothing. The boy’s leg had a gash in it the size of a bear’s thrash, oozing and overflowing with deep crimson blood. The other two Scouts wore grim faces of pale white skin and large, adulterated eyes.

When she reached them, she realized the severity of the child’s wound and asked them to follow her up to her family’s cabin. After all, this is what her father had wanted for her, right? To serve reluctantly but without complaint as a nurse to those wounded in combat, to help right the disgusting wrongs he had done with his money and power, without humanity getting his hands dirty. She wouldn’t serve as her narcissistic father’s golden ticket into the gates of heaven but she would, however, do everything in her power to save the budding life of this innocent, shredded camper. If anything, so that he can choose his own destiny for himself. He deserved a chance for that.

That’s what brought them together and apart, in the end. Their benevolent hearts throbbed for others in a way that seemed dangerously vulnerable out in the world. The two of them would be much safer together, protecting the gentle graciousness that flowed outward from their chests like a healing mist for the world around them. Together they repaired the flesh of the Scout that bled destiny from his veins. They may have been saving a life, but she would always say from that day forward that they were creating one.

Whenever she looked back at the life they had created, a blend of her essence and his, she felt him beside her once more like a bolt of lightning. Quick but rattling her entire body. She had never remarried, never bore children, and never left the cottage that he had touched every inch of. Not that she could have even if she tried. Five years blew by like the sullen breeze that oozed in through the cracked porch windows. He had built that sunroom for her because he knew how much she needed the light to remind her of her own. She felt shame and disappointment when she thought of how he must view her here, in this very moment. Her hair was unwashed, the shape of her bones peaking through her pale, fragile skin. The weight of her grief pushing down on her, creating a sunken crescent shape as she curled up in his favorite morning chair, overlooking the loons as they set out on their morning swim through the fog and misty air.

Her fingers and toes ached from the cold but her will to stand and retrieve a blanket was limited. She settled for goosebumps and the occasional rattling of her teeth, all the while continuing to wonder what he thought of her. More particularly, of the absence of her light within. They had many wonderful years together before his death. Sprinkled into those years were few challenges to overcome, but the ones that did plant themselves in their way were massive. She struggled with her mental health and her apparent inability to conceive and bear a child. She internalized her struggle and equated her body’s failure to birth a child as her own failure to be who she felt she was destined to be. A mother, a caregiver, a nurturer. A creator of life and a being who tends to that life, watching it grow and unravel to become its very own, unique existence.

Who was she without her purpose? Now she had no one to tend to, no one to care for, and no one to nurture. That’s when she heard it. As clear as the day she saw his canoe crash through the mud and onto the beach, she heard his soft whisper once more. Like a ghostly breeze sliding over the tiny hairs on the back of her neck, the words moved into her ears with familiarity and a slight sense of disbelief. Heal yourself, my love. Heal yourself.

She spent the entire rest of the day in a strange state of shock mixed with curiosity. She had never been one to believe in ghosts, yet the thought of her love still existing somewhere close to her brought her to a place she hadn’t been in a very long time: hope. She watched the morning fog lift and make way for the most beautifully cathartic rainstorm to fall down upon the ground she loves so dearly. She listened to the gentle, rhythmic patter of the rain on the roof, feeling similar to how she thought the ground must feel as it absorbs the cleansing, cool droplets from heaven itself. She cried more tears than the lake could hold, sobbed until she found calmness once more, and was moved by the wet breeze to lift from her safe and noble chair and find healing for herself.

She removed every last piece of fabric on her body and burst forth onto the soaked earth, feet sinking slightly into the mud that was beginning to form beneath her. She danced across the land like a tribal woman praying for rain, only the rain was already hers and her prayers spoke only of gratitude and relief. Is this what it felt like to heal yourself? No cotton to catch the spilling blood. No medicine to shift the eyes to silence so the pain can be moved through. No needle to thread gaping holes together once more. She let out a scream that reverberated off of every inch of the lake and surrounding mountains. It found its way back to her precious ears and her own echo told her of the pain that she was releasing at that very moment.

The sun was down now, a whole day gone once more. This time, however, she was not laying lifeless on her couch or destroying her perfect and orderly kitchen. She was chasing a wave of freedom as it swelled up from within her grieving body. It carried her further into the twilight, landing her on the edge of the dock she built by laying each plank with near-perfect precision. She ignored the way that it had withered and worn down as she dove into the glass-like water and allowed her body to glide through the darkness until her momentum halted and her lungs screamed for air. She rose to the surface and took perhaps the deepest breath of her entire life. Fresh air filled her submerged body and caressed parts of her that hadn’t been inspired since she first laid eyes upon the man she loved with all of her heart.

She floated on her back for what seemed like an entire lifetime, admiring the stars as they twinkled without hesitation, owning the entire night sky and shining brighter than she ever remembered them. She closed her eyes and breathed into the lightness within, feeling like a single feather atop a pile of raindrops. Her tranquility was interrupted by the distant hum of a small motorboat on the lake. She lifted her head and through the glaze of the stars, she fixed her eyes upon a single green light, slowly moving closer, bringing with it the soft hum that was growing louder. A tall, concerned man approached, his face lit up green by the light on the front of his boat. He asked her if she was alright and if she needed a ride back to her dock. She didn’t say a word but climbed into his raft and let the hum of the motor and the magic of the stars carry her into the rest of her life.

Fin