Take Me To The Lakes

ONE

MARJORIE

The cold Vermont air had tangled itself into my button-up coat on the cool August afternoon while I walked out of school. I had always liked the beginning of fall—not too hot and just starting to get crisp enough outside to pull out my favorite sweaters from the back of the closet. The leaves were starting to fade from green to a light orange and red, which were like voices telling me to drink a cup of tea while curling up next to the window with my book— to ignore all responsibility in my life and just be for a moment.

The walk from my school to Welton was a decent one, but it stretched my legs and the scenery kept me occupied. If I took the right path, I would remember it just well enough to avoid trees and cracks in the pavement so I could read my book on the way there. I haven't been here long, but I've developed enough of a memory to know where I'm headed and avoid disruptions on the way.

By the time I reach the gated entry of Welton, my nose is red and my lips are soft. The cold air was a friend today, but I know it will only become more of an enemy as the weeks go on. I trek my way up the stone path to campus and find myself at the door by the time I hear the final bell. A flood of boys make their way out, talking about the latest history or math assignment and which study group to attend tonight. I try to hide behind a tree towards the side until most of the boys make their way down the hill or to another part of the building.

Technically, I'm allowed on campus when my father is here, but after a meeting with Mr. Nolan, I was given a strict policy only to be there after all the boys had retreated to their dorm or their extracurriculars for the afternoon. I looked at my watch and made a note of the time everyone came out of the doors to avoid being seen in the future. Then, I slipped into the building once I saw a clear opening to do so.

The hallways smelled like old paper and cologne when I walked through. It was comforting but overwhelming to one's nostrils. The walls were covered in enough plaques and pictures of achievements over the years that would make anyone feel like they weren't doing something right. The shiny glass and gold from the awards were enough to blind me, sending me walking briskly toward the room I knew to be my father's. His office was near the entrance, which would be helpful in the event that I needed to slip past Mr. Nolan. Although he knew I was the family of a staff member, he hated the idea of his perfect student body seeing a woman and becoming 'distracted'.

The door is slightly ajar when I find it and I hear two voices from the inside speaking to one another. I slip to the side of the entryway before peeking in.

"It was a pleasure to speak with you, Mr. Cameron. I appreciate your questions and introducing yourself. I assure you, the curriculum I have planned will be thought-provoking and interesting. Now, go catch up with your friends, I think they're waiting for you in the hall."

My father. His voice is sweet like candy and he always has a calming demeanor. I knew he'd do just fine here.

"Thanks, Mr. Keating. It was nice to meet you today." The voice, who I assumed was Mr. Cameron, had said. I heard his footsteps retreat into the classroom that was connected to his office, followed by my father taking a deep breath before slouching down into his chair. I took that as my chance to walk in and shut the door behind me.

"Father! Was it a long first day?" I smile excitedly as I put my belongings on the table next to his desk and sit down in a free chair. He jumps at my voice slightly and smiles before he even turns around, already knowing it's me and my eccentric personality to be walking through the door.

"Marj! I didn't expect your school to get out before Welton." My father says. I shrug and reach for the teapot resting on his desk with a heating pad underneath, then pour it into an empty cup from a stack.

"I didn't either. I guess they're on a different bell schedule. It works out though-- I can come sit with you after work."

He gives me a small smile as I hand him the teapot to pour his own into a cup, then I lean back as I take a sip from mine. It's warm, with hints of honey creeping their way down my throat and warming my stomach. After pouring, my father reaches over toward the book stack I brought in and grabs the one from the top.

"English book?" He asks. I nod.

"The teacher has us reading Thoreau as our first assignment. Too bad I've already read most of his stuff at home with you." He smiles as I answer and gives a small chuckle before setting down his cup and opening it to a page.

"'Walden' has always been one of my favorites of Thoreau. Maybe you'll find something new you'll like. That we haven't read." He suggests, and I giggle slightly.

"I doubt there isn't a poem or passage you haven't read to me, or I've read on my own."

He smiles again, turns his attention towards the page he opened, and stands up while clearing his throat.

"I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms..."

I sat and stared at my father before setting my tea down to clap dramatically like I always do when he reads aloud to me. He takes a fake bow before sitting back down and shutting the book to put it back in my pile of assignments.

"Okay, I guess I haven't read all of Thoreau." I say, laughing. "What made you think of that one?" I ask. He shakes his head before looking off into the woods that can be seen from his window to the left of his desk and chuckles to himself.

"Just a favorite of mine. Nothing special." He says it softly before turning his head back to me and sipping his tea once more. My father has always been a man of many words. Yet, in this moment, he seems to be leaving some behind and forcing me to wonder what they are.