The Lakes

Chapter 2 - Augustine

Fleetwood Mac blasts through the speakers of my 2004 Volvo XC90. I call her Delilah, mostly because Delilah means delicate, and I swear, touch this car the wrong way and the doors will fall off.

June 20th is my favorite day of the year. For one, it's the day that summer break begins. Every summer, my parents and I stay at our lake house for three months until school starts up again. However, this year, things are different. I'm driving up alone for the first week. My parents are both teachers, so they usually get summer off. However, they both transferred to teaching middle school this year, meaning their summer break starts a week after mine. I just got my license, so I begged and begged my parents to let me drive up to Lake Charles alone. It's only a three-hour drive from my hometown, which isn't horrible. Unfortunately, my parents are worriers. It took hours of convincing just for them to consider the idea of me driving here by myself. They eventually gave in, though, as long as I called once every 30 minutes. Dramatic, I know. Got to love them though.

I cruise through the familiar swamp, surrounded by Magnolias and Cyprus trees. The hypnotizing smell of fresh water lets me know that I'm almost there.

For me, the start of summer means seeing all of my problems fade into my rearview window, literally. I can get away from my hometown, as well as the people within it. I mean, it's not like I don't have friends I do, amazing ones at that. That doesn't mean that some people at my school aren't absolute assholes. Small towns mean gossip, and I've never been one for gossip.

The lake our summer house is settled on is surrounded by a total of 16 camps, including ours. Most of them consist of older people around my parent's age. They have fun with each other; it's a tight-knit community out on the water. I, however, spend most of my summers on the lake by myself, as the closest person to me age-wise is Maggie Bourgeois, who is a whopping 9 years old.

I'm pulled out of my thoughts as I approach the familiar light-green sighting. After 3 long hours of driving, I've finally made it. Ecstasy fills me. I hop out of my car, grabbing my duffle in one swift motion. I'm grinning like a maniac. I approach the door, taking in the almost aesthetic rust covering it. I've never needed anything more.

I lean down and flip up the mat with the words "Welcome" written across it, and I find the key to the house, right where we left it last summer. I slip the key into the lock, though it took me a couple of times due to my shaky hands. Even though we visit every summer, nothing compares to the feeling of bursting into the clean, homely encampment.

I open the door as a cold breeze whips in my face. Louisiana heat in the summer is serious, so it was nice to finally have some relief. I take in the rustic decor that has been here all my life, yet it never gets old. I charge towards my bedroom and find it exactly how I left it. I drop my bag and immediately jump into the blue floral sheets. My room hasn't changed since I was 8, but I don't mind. It could be completely empty and I couldn't care, as long as I was here.

Personally, music has always been an instant relaxant for me. As I unpack, I hook up to my Bluetooth speaker and start swaying to ABBA. My taste in music mostly comes from my parents, which I am extremely thankful for. Unpacking takes me a solid ten minutes, as I have clothes that stay here so I'm not forced to pack up my entire wardrobe every summer. Before I know it, the sun is going down. My favorite part of the day is sunset, especially at the lake house. I would usually go out and watch them, but time has slipped away from me today. As much as I want to sit out on the dock, I decided to shower and make dinner instead. Earlier in the day, I'd stopped at the supermarket to stock up on food for the week. I'm not exactly the best cook, so this so-called "food" consisted of mostly heat-up dinners and Kraft Mac n' Cheese.

Once my hair was washed and my stomach full, I put on the coziest pair of pajamas I owned and slipped into bed. I grab the book I'm currently reading, and put on The Smiths to help me wind down. As I am reading, I find it hard to keep my eyes open, so I decided to call it a night and finally go to sleep.

Right as I turn my music off, I hear the sound of gravel crunching under tires. I figure it is one of the other lake residents passing by our camp to get to theirs until it pulls into the camp next to ours. That camp has been vacant since 2016, so I find it extremely odd that someone shows up out of the blue.

Curious, I get up from the comfort of my bed and peek through the blinds. I see a rustic, beat-up red truck pull into our neighboring camp. Finally, someone emerges from it, though I can't make out their face in the dark of the swamp. The person grabs their belongings from the bed of the pickup and heads inside the camp, so I assume they are supposed to be there, and not an intruder of some sort. I push this event to the back of my mind, climb back into my bed, and fall asleep within minutes.

—

I wake up to a loud crashing sound, followed by repeated pounding. My alarm clock reads 5:00 AM. Who is making this kind of noise at 5:00 AM? I try to block the sound out and fall back asleep, but I am unsuccessful. Instead, I put on my headphones and shuffle my playlist, hoping to drown out the loud sounds. However, I am once again, unsuccessful. After about an hour of no sleep and having to listen to that god-awful sound, I couldn't take it anymore. I get out of bed and march out of my house, making my way to the source of the noise.

Once I am near enough to my neighbor's house, I see the outline of a man with a sledgehammer, though it is hard to tell through the darkness of dawn. The man is bashing the walls of his house repeatedly as it crumbles beneath the sledgehammer. As I get closer, I realize this is not the older man that inhabited the house before it flooded, and as far as I know, it had not been sold. Whoever was there was not supposed to be there.

I charge toward the mysterious figure, yelling for him to stop. "Dude, what the hell is your problem?!" I call out.

He finally seems to hear me, as he puts down the sledgehammer and turns to face me. Huh. For sure not the old man who used to live here. In fact, he looked quite young, not much older than me. His brown, fluffy hair dripped with sweat; it was miserably hot out before the sun even came up. His tall yet scrawny build makes him look exceptionally weak, though I know this isn't the case; it takes strength to knock down that wooden base.

His eyes meet mine. He looks a bit startled at first, but this expression quickly changes to confusion. "I don't have a problem," he replies, sarcastically.

"Who are you?" I ask as I'm almost certain this boy is not supposed to be here.

"I live here. You got a problem with that?" His eyebrows raise.

His rude tone builds up annoyance within me. "I got a problem with you making so much noise at 6:00 in the morning," I yell angrily.

"I'm sorry if it disturbs you, but I have work to do," he scoffs and continues to plow into the structure.

I can't take it anymore. I charge over to the boy, fuming at his attitude. "You can take that sledgehammer and shove it right up your ass." He gives me a look of shock mixed with anger, and I continue. "And so help me god, if you don't wait until the sun rises to start your so-called 'work', I'll be over here getting on your ass every morning."

His stern facial expression softens into a sly grin, showing off his dimples, and making me even angrier. "Yes ma'am," he says in a sarcastic tone, looking me up and down.

I roll my eyes at his remark and storm back to my house. "You have a nice morning!" he calls out, and I flip him the bird. I hate the fact that he's attractive. It makes his remarks even more sickening. If he ruins my summer, he'll have it in for him.