Humans logo

Bodies of Water

And Their Distinction

By Kevin MeadePublished 3 years ago Updated 3 years ago 5 min read
1

Adam trudged through the remaining distance of the snow-draped field that lead to the pond he had seen more times than he could count. It was frozen over like it always was this time of the year, and it served no purpose to the deer or the hungry wolves like it usually did. For a short time after it froze over, you could still see fish swim below the ice. Deep into the harsh winters, however, you could never. His pants were torn and bloodied, and some of his fingertips protruded through his gloves. He could not feel them, but he could see them. They were dirty, and their fingernails were different lengths. He stopped, slouched, and breathed heavily. A voluminous vapor cloud formed and lingered around his head before it dissipated upward. The air was still. The grass that remained and managed to crest the snow remained in place. He looked to the pond and beyond, because beyond it was his home, and while he would make it to the pond, he would never make it home.

Adam woke up to the smell of improperly cooked sausage and eggs. His grandmother, Shirley, was never a good cook despite her decades of experience. He sleepily walked into the kitchen and was greeted by Shirley and his father, Kevin.

"Good morning, son!” Kevin exclaimed. Adam did not respond, but he acknowledged his father’s energy. Kevin was always a morning person—he was truly an all-day person. He was built of pure enthusiasm. Next to Kevin at the table was Adam’s grandfather, Kenneth. He did not acknowledge anyone most of the time. He could, but it took too much effort, or he just had no interest. Adam had heard stories of Kenneth being an angry, unlikable man. It was hard to say, though. Kenneth had Parkinson’s disease. He could only remember Kenneth shaking, so he had been afflicted for at least ten years. Adam continued walking through the kitchen and into the living room to watch morning cartoons. A few minutes later, Shirley walked in.

“Adam, come get some breakfast now. Kenneth is done so he’s gonna’ come in here and watch TV.” That would be all she would say to Adam for a few hours. She never had much to say. He later learned that Shirley despised taking care of Kenneth which explained her overall lack of enthusiasm.

Adam sat down at the edge of the pond and sat the bottom of his boots on the ice. He looked at his boots and accepted his feet were in them, but he could not sense his feet were in them. He had lost that sense a couple of miles back. At an imperceptible point, his theoretical feet transitioned into legs that bled and hurt. He also could not quite pinpoint when a pond became a lake. They were both bodies of water; they could both freeze. Fish and turtles lived in both. Kevin told him it was only a lake if you swam in it. Kevin also told him that Benny—Kevin’s adopted brother—drowned in the pond which implied it was a lake at one point. Maybe he only said that so Adam would never swim in it, or maybe he said that to forget Benny had swum in it. It was hard to say, though. Kevin said whatever felt good. Adam and Kevin never swam in the pond, but they chased dragonflies and skipped rocks.

Adam and Kevin had arrived at the pond. It was a clear, sunny day, but it was not hot. Adam looked up to see the open sky but had to squint due to the sun. It reminded him of the time Shirley tried to take pictures of him, his sister, and a cousin whose name he had long forgotten. She wanted them to face the sun for better lighting, but it hurt his eyes. She ridiculed him for ruining the pictures, so he persevered. In the one picture she did not throw away, his cousin’s hand was against his brow like a visor, and you could see tears running down his dirty, tan face.

“Help me find some good skippin’ rocks, Adam,” Kevin had talked about skipping rocks since the night before. Adam never knew why he liked skipping rocks so much. It might have been something he and Benny had done before he drowned in the lake. It might have been something he did to forget that anyone had ever swum in the pond. It was hard to say, though. Adam found a few good rocks, and they took turns skipping, counting as they bounced and rippled. Sometimes the dragonflies tapped the water and caused similar ripples, but it was never a contest, so it did not matter if you received a little assistance.

Adam had almost fallen asleep at the pond. His entire body was warm as though it did not consider it was bleeding and freezing. It contradicted itself. It reminded him of when Kevin had cancer. After a few months of chemotherapy and radiation therapy, Kevin was always cold. He was cold even when he wore a wool cap, jacket, and it was eighty-five degrees. He shivered and asked for blankets when indoors. Despite his condition, Adam and Kevin visited the pond a few times during that last decade. They eventually stopped skipping rocks, but they stared at it. They stared and thought about this contradictory body of water. It was a pond, but some remember a lake. It was deep enough to swim in, but no one did. It held and gave life, but it was callous and cold. It was old enough to be wise, but it had learned nothing. It simply was, and we were simply observing it be. Ultimately, Kevin did not die at the pond as Adam did— he died in a nursing home hundreds of miles away from the pond and from Adam. Adam imagined during that time Kevin was away and alone that he thought about the lake before it was a pond quite a bit. Adam imagined he thought about the pond as it was with rocks and dragonfly legs skipping across it. Adam imagined he was so enthusiastic and always said whatever felt good so every lake would be a pond. It was hard to say, though.

humanity
1

About the Creator

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.