1.<\/p>\n
When the mills closed we made great efforts to forget our wealth but it was like someone had died. Our parents grieved. We loved them. With the benefit of time, I believe they were strangers to us.<\/p>\n
The summers were long and dry in the valley. When school ended we witnessed our parents\u2019 failure; complete and abject. They caroused tirelessly and it was in the small hours that we saw them for who they were. I didn\u2019t have a father. I might\u2019ve been wounded by that but I felt lucky; my failure was only with one parent. I gnawed at her to remind me of the memories I had forgotten. I held those fragments closely. After a while I stopped thinking about him.<\/p>\n
When I came back I wanted to tell my mother about money and about hope. I thought I knew a great deal about those things. I wanted to show her. I wanted her to believe. But when the cold air came over the water I could only think of the summer nights by the lake and of the stories I made.<\/p>\n
I found the lake when I was coming back. I\u2019d left the road and was cutting through the old lumber fields to the south. The grass was thick and I crossed a stream where the trees had once been.<\/p>\n
I could see smoke and there was a red light moving beyond the hills. I ran ahead. My chest was thumping. In front of me was the lake as clear as glass. The sun was dying and the trees shimmered brightly in the light. I slumped onto the soil dejected at the sight of it. In the evening I skimmed a stone across the water.<\/p>\n
I waited until morning and turned towards the trees. A woman was standing there.<\/p>\n
“I thought you\u2019d come back.”<\/p>\n
She stepped into the light.<\/p>\n
“Sophie?”<\/p>\n
“Don\u2019t you recognize me?”<\/p>\n
I walked closer. “Yes.”<\/p>\n
“I\u2019m so sorry,” she said.<\/p>\n
“Let\u2019s not talk about it.”<\/p>\n
She led me back to the lake. \u201cThey\u2019ve made it quite a place, haven\u2019t they?\u201d<\/p>\n
A yellow path trailed back to a boat house near the trees. People were moving through the light. We stood and watched them. Music began to play; the music of winter and I turned away.<\/p>\n
“Don\u2019t you like it?”<\/p>\n
“It\u2019s very nice,” I said.<\/p>\n
We walked out under the shadows of the fir trees and came to a row of cabins, newly built sparkling in the frost.<\/p>\n
“You can stay here. We own them all now. I don\u2019t suppose anyone will come by.”<\/p>\n
Once she had left I sat at the end of the jetty. A flock of geese whipped across the far end of the lake. The ripples looked like a mirage, deep silver swells rocking back and forth into the bank. There was laughter coming across the water.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
2.<\/p>\n
By evening, I had got dressed in a suit, combed my hair and shaved. I walked out to the end of the lake. The town now glowed like a beacon. My eyes adjusted to the dark. I noticed the larger animals first: the deer by the edge of the pass, the doves turning leaves in search of food, the little squirrels darting past their winter stores. The single deer became a family of them. They browsed through the undergrowth. When I turned back they had disappeared into the grass.<\/p>\n
I didn’t recognize the town. The streets were wider; they meandered up to an old hotel with thick sandstone walls and bright lights in all the windows. I walked past the streetlamps that ran along the path and came into the lobby. There was a sign pointing towards the bar. Inside, a canoe hung from the ceiling. The walls were covered in paintings showing big skies and dripping gold sunsets. The barman pointed to the glass doors at the back of the room and I carried on.<\/p>\n
The garden was a much nicer place. They\u2019d set it out so that the tables were all far apart and there was a patio at the back with a trellis and white roses running up it and a photo of my mother. I saw Sophie. I thought she looked very pretty. I walked towards her. A man cut across and shook my hand. He rested his other hand on my shoulder and wept quietly. We embraced and he left towards the bar.<\/p>\n
I stood looking at the pictures of my mother. I was in some of them; so was my father. I saw the town as it once was.<\/p>\n
“I\u2019m so sorry,\u201d said a man. He was standing close with other men and women and they were looking at the photographs.<\/p>\n
I looked for Sophie and saw her sitting at a table with a small boy and a man. I left the room and walked out through the bar. The man was waiting there and looking at me. We looked at each other for a while. He had tears in his eyes. I left the hotel and took the old path by the river. I recognized the trees.<\/p>\n
Snow had covered the fields. The white landscape reflected the changing sky, and as the cold air warmed, small clouds began to sail westward, turning the snow into a sea of colour. I stumbled forwards, pulling my jacket across. The snow brushed away easily and underneath the mud had frozen.<\/p>\n
The fields smoked into the silence. At their edges, near the banks, tall overhanging trees leaned heavy with snow. Towards the lake, it had melted and the mud stuck to my shoes.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
3.<\/p>\n
When I arrived at the cabin, Sophie was waiting by the door.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat is it?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou left early. Your father was hurt.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t owe him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEven so.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you speak to your parents?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, darling.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t call me that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re married.\u201d<\/p>\n
We walked into the cabin.<\/p>\n
\u201cI never planned it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou talk as if it\u2019ll wear off.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow was I supposed to know you were coming back?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not coming back.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sophie walked over to the window. \u201cRobert, do you think we could find where we met?\u201d<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t say anything.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe could try. We\u2019ll know if the stars show.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt won\u2019t be a sign.\u201d<\/p>\n
We lay in the grass curled up under a blanket, waiting for the lake to turn dark. The music of old memories came over the water. At the far end of the lake, there were spotlights glittering and I looked up and knew I was home.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s a funny life.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sophie looked at me. \u201cNot that funny, darling.\u201d<\/p>\n
I held her tightly.<\/p>\n
A shooting star tore across the sky.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you see it?\u201d said Sophie . \u201cIt\u2019s just the same. And we\u2019re just the same. It\u2019s like we\u2019re back.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you think they\u2019ll be another star?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey\u2019ll be coming all night, darling. Isn\u2019t it wonderful?\u201d<\/p>\n
It really was. That night and the last night of that summer carried more shooting stars than all the nights between. They spread across the sky; white rocks tearing past and when I saw them, I remembered my town as it was. I remembered my mother and saw flashes of her love. I remembered my father and I remembered Sophie. I remembered people holding each other tightly and watching the skies above Silver lake. I could feel the wind coming down from the hills and bringing with it the smell of cut pine; the firelight spreading beside the water and people dancing in the shadows.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s just us, darling,\u201d said Sophie. \u201cIsn\u2019t it sad?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWho cares if they don\u2019t see; we\u2019ll see.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI care, Robbie. It\u2019s like it never happened again if no one sees.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut it did happen; it\u2019s happening now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou should never have left Silver lake. You should\u2019ve painted cabins in the winter to get by. It would have been a life.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLike your father\u2019s cabins? Don\u2019t talk like that, Sophie.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, you feel it too.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t feel it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou feel it. I know you do.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLet\u2019s not do this now. We were having such a nice time.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDarling, we were remembering it. It\u2019s not the same.\u201d<\/p>\n
I leaned in close and kissed her and her mouth was loose and open and we kissed fully and pulled each other tight. \u201cI\u2019ll remember that,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs that why you did it? To create something?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI did it because I love you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI love you too. Isn\u2019t it sad?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not sad.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, darling. I\u2019ve seen all the stars I want to see. I\u2019m going home.\u201d<\/p>\n
I watched her walk across the grass and down to the lake. She paused by the water and looked back and carried on again until she disappeared under the trees. I gathered up the blanket and walked to the edge of the water. The electric lights weaved back to the boat house and lit the earth. People were moving through the light. I stood and watched them. Music began to play; the music of new winters. I walked back to the cabin. There was a man standing by my door. He had tears in his eyes. I walked up and hugged him.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you coming home?\u201d he said<\/p>\n
\u201cI have, Father.\u201d<\/p>\n
But I didn\u2019t stay. The fire had gone. The memory of it beats within me; a steadied flame, once fierce. I left town shortly after. Took the long way; traced memories by the lake, now past club houses, pontoons and under guiding lights. Rose up through the last of the old trees; crossed wide through the gleaming streets and passed new families, with new hope.<\/p>\n
I\u2019d searched for that hope. Bent my will and reached far for it, but in the end I had to reach back. Much has been mended. Greater futures are here. Yet there are times when a cold breeze comes across the water, and I can feel again those broken streets and am glad of my poor summers by Silver lake.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
When the mills closed we made great efforts to forget our wealth but it was like someone had died.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":18397,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[2888],"class_list":["post-17954","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","tag-pathos-love-mother-father-wealth","writer-otto-alexander"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17954","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=17954"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17954\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":18394,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17954\/revisions\/18394"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/18397"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=17954"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=17954"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=17954"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}