Leaving the House Where We Grew Up

Summer

The sun shining high in the periwinkle ceiling of central Oregon, there was little question of what season it was. A subtle, unassuming breeze flitted across the teal surface of the lake, just enough to disrupt the chocolate brown bangs that hung across his forehead, threatening to impede his field of vision. An errant dragonfly began his morning chores of harvesting the air of mosquitos, while a spider a few feet down the dock set to the task of expanding his snare, apparently hoping to catch something more along the lines of a sparrow, as opposed to a mere fly.

Cocooned with months that don't go by names, but rather the adventures that occur within, memories are borne and nested within the grey matter of every child from coast-to-coast. They are trials of growth and courage, bug bites and pillow fights, camps and cramps. They are the times that youth exists to take hold of and throttle the life from; the rest of the year is just filler.

'Well, except for Christmas,' Dipper thought, as he swung his feet lazily in the water. 'Probably shouldn't forget that.'

Even though the Pines' home resided far to the south amongst the Mediterranean-tinged hills of Northern California, that holiest of holidays nevertheless evoked a chill in the air, copious vats of hot cocoa, and, of course, presents. No matter the weather or the location, Christmas was a time of color, joy, and warmth: three words that described his sister Mabel to a tee.

The thought of her smile at opening gifts — an expression that never dulled even as they began to enter young adult hood — warmed his heart, as did anytime she would flash that carefree grin all who knew her had come to love and cherish. Her zest and passion for life lived in her artistic endeavors and the energy she found in the world around her. She was like a firefly that dared to live past the death of summer, yearning to shine even on the bleakest of nights, providing safe harbor for those caught in the undertow of reality.

Dipper knew these attributes better than anyone. Every twin shares a special bond with their other half, a link that can never be broken; it is a truth older than time and often as mysterious. He felt the electricity that buzzed inside her soul as if it was within his own, suffered through her darker days in solidarity, and was always there to catch her when she fell. It was a language that needed no words; mere tonalities would cheapen its existence.

Sitting on the dock that jutted out into Lake Gravity Falls, Dipper analyzed the nature of this transparent umbilical cord. There was no hiding from the understanding, not matter how much he wished to hide away from it at times. Truly a paradox: the very connection that breathed life into his soul, was the very one that also stood to crush it, through no fault of its own.

It has been this way for years. Much like the rugged landscape laid out before him, warped slowly with time and, yet, so stationary in the moment, Dippers internal struggle didn't crop up overnight. This was not a battle, but a war. With arrows that burned like hellfire, he...

"Dippidy-dipperson!" he heard an all-too-familiar voice call out, breaking his internal stream of consciousness. Turning to his left, he saw the other end of that cord approach, beaming brighter than the star overhead.

"I've been looking for you. Grunkle Stan said you took off early and didn't know where you went."

"Yeah, I slept like crap," he replied while turning to look down, picking at the frayed edge of his cargo shorts.

"Fortunately for you, you look the part, broseph!" Mabel chuckled in her usual way.

'And, of course, she's right,' Dipper replied internally, while remaining cloaked inside a stony edifice.

"Hello? No reply? No witty retort?" she egged, finally sitting down alongside her brother, poised on the edge of the wooden promenade. The wake of boats hundreds of feet from shore lazily continued to work their way across the water's surface, lapping against the dock's underside, gently rocking the duo.