Skipping Stones

Epilogue

Jameson's Camry struggled up the hill to the lake trail's parking lot as if complaining that he was traveling in the wrong direction. After all, it had been just about a year since Jameson stopped visiting this trail instead of seeking more daring and adventurous trails to conquer.

It was his third year of sobriety, and those cancer sticks had never tempted him since the day he set them down. He had a new item to fixate on, a reminder of something more positive and memorable, one that he'd be proud to share with his child once he was older.

A flattened stone, slim, with a moderate weight to it. A piece of the lake and the memories he shared with a man named Liam, proudly displayed on the dash.

A perfect skipping stone, one he was sure to show to his son how to throw, at the same place Jameson had learned the technique from Liam. He'd take him to that same secluded sandy spot and show him how to enjoy the beauty of the lake, enjoy the sounds and smells that often go unnoticed, and even about the waterfall at the end of the trail.

A new ritual, Jameson had decided, to commemorate the memories of his son's namesake and to create new ones of places people often took for granted. A habit he didn't mind getting addicted to; after all, this was what life was about, Liam had told him. Looking ahead, seeing all that is offered, and embracing what is and what could be.

The view from the lake was just as before, muted and dull compared to that spot by the waterfall. Even more so compared to the area near the cliff with the redwoods. Although Jameson had visited those spots since he's last seen Liam, it didn't feel the same anymore, knowing Liam wasn't there to see it.

Yet, the memories still remained, ingrained in his memory. One he hoped Liam was able to remember.

Jameson reveled in the sight of the mountains with blue skies and hardly any clouds, something he had once ignored before he met Liam. As usual, he parked in that same parking spot in the practically abandoned lower parking lot. Visitors hardly came by these days, given the upcoming rainier months, but Jameson found comfort in that parking stall, one day hoping to see that familiar face back at the spot they had called theirs.

Of course, like the weeks and weeks before, the shore was empty, untouched by any visitors as far as Jameson knew. But even a vacant place still felt warm to Jameson. Maybe not so much a home, but a place to belong, one that Jameson had found catharsis with Liam by his side. A healing sanctuary or oasis. Whatever one might call it, Jameson couldn't bear the thought of not at least visiting it, even if his body and bones were too frail and brittle to physically make it down that slope.

It was to be cherished, a place like this. And Jameson knew he'd visit over and over, bringing his son and his son's children until they passed on the legacy and story of this spot. It was only fair.

After all, this place had been an eye-opening experience for both of them. For a man learning to be independent and another learning to be dependent. Opposites that were more alike than they had realized. And two people, just learning to connect despite their struggles.

A story like so many, yet so different.

Jameson made his way to that same spot, shuffled his feet through the sand, analyzing the stones beneath him. Bending down to pick one up, he remembered what Liam had taught him about the weight, size, and shape of a rock. Things Jameson had no reason to remember but still did. After picking a perfect one up, he approached the lake, his feet sinking in the damp sand.

Today, the water was exceptionally calm, a mirror-like surface reflecting all that nature had to give, another thing that Liam had adored. As Jameson turned the rock over and over again, he smiled; the memories of his first time throwing one with Liam had explicitly been memorable. They had laughed, talked, even brought up heavy emotions of their life, ones they never dared to voice aloud.

And this is where it had started, with a skipping stone.

Jameson took a stance with a big sigh, bent knees, facing the water perpendicularly before whipping his arm back. He breathed again, calmly, before flinging it like a frisbee on the lake's surface.

With bated breath, Jameson counted the skips. Five, eight, ten, twelve, fourteen.

Fourteen, Jameson had wanted to laugh. Instead, a grin donned his face. The exact amount as the day he first saw Liam. What were the odds?

The lake eventually settled, going back to its still-like surface as Jameson stood there, taking in the sights, smells, and sounds. Maybe it had been that he became hyper-aware of it now, but it felt so much louder, stronger, more vibrant than ever before. He could hear the sound of the trees swaying, the sounds of the birds calling, the sound of passing cars, even the sound of visitors on the eastern side of the lake. Even the mountains looked more verdant than the weeks prior, the smells of the pine trees overwhelming his olfactory senses.

He spent upwards of an hour there, simply existing in the space Jameson had only just begun to heal, to feel like himself again since his mom had died, and he put down those cigarettes.

That ragged box still remained in his glove box, reminding him of that moment he decided to quit, and now it stood for more. A shell of his old life, one that wasn't him at all.

So as Jameson walked up that slope, he headed straight for the glove box, knowing precisely what he had to do. He reached his car, opening it, and pulled the ragged box out, the single cigarette rattling in there, almost shouting at him that it was still in there.

Clutched in his hand, Jameson stared at it; the memories of what it held, the painful ones, weren't something he needed to bear any longer. Glancing back at the spot on the beach, he closed the door, heading to the trash can just before the slope. He crushed it in his hand before tossing it in there, staring at it for a second before determinedly returning to his car.

It had started with a skipping stone, Jameson noted, but it would end with this. A new start, and a toast to what's to come.