The Summer I Learned to Breathe

one

☼ one ☼

There's something about the lake that calms me. Maybe it's the smell--a mixture of fresh pine needles and fish. Or possibly, it's the picturesque sight of the moon's image reflecting on the glassy surface of the water.

Maybe it's a combination of the two.

Either way, it provides a sense of peace, allowing my mind to catch a well-needed breath.

The chilly water encircles my submerged ankles, cooling my toes. The gentle breeze tosses my curls around my face, and I have to keep tucking strands behind my ear to maintain my perfect view of the lake and prevent it from getting in my mouth.

I can hear a dog barking and howling in the distance, probably from somewhere across the lake. Besides his voice and my predictable breaths, the night is relatively silent.

I could lean back, only slightly, against the dock and I'm sure I'd catch some rest.

I take my chances at falling asleep, and I search for a comfortable position on my back. After squirming like a fish out of water for a few seconds, I find my place and fix my eyes on the countless stars hanging above my head.

My brain wanders, replaying events from the day and contemplating random topics--how many spiders have I unknowingly eaten in my sleep?

I cringe at the thought of ever consuming one eight-legged creature throughout my lifetime, and my thoughts instead focus on the incredible lunch I enjoyed at Schlotzsky's along the drive to the lake house. I think about sinking my teeth into the warm sandwich, and the flavors that exploded in mouth once I began to chew.

I'm not sure exactly how much time passes as my eyes analyze the constellations, but my thoughts are interrupted by a high-pitched screech.

Startled from my peaceful moment, I partially sit up as my head snaps in the direction of the noise: the direction of my neighbor's house.

Throughout the countless summers I've spent in Michigan, I've never spent any time with anyone except my brothers and my best friend, Madison. I never truly got to know my neighbors, not that it matters now.

Last year, the house next door went up for sale. The owners, a friendly married couple enjoying their fifties, decided to abruptly pack up and desert their lake house of twenty-five years. I'm not quite sure the reason for the move, but I never had a real conversation with either of the two because they both spent most of their time on the water in their sailboat.

It was no surprise to me when the house was quickly purchased last August; it's a gorgeous, well-constructed cottage with a long deck, tall trees, and private lake access. Also, the couple took great pride in the maintenance of the home and landscaping. Massive flowerbeds filled with colorful tones populate the front lawn of the home, and raspberry bushes line the side of the structure. If there were an award, such as a Grammy or an Oscar, for beautiful landscaping, they would win it by a mile.

I've never met the new residents of the beautiful cottage next door. I hear they moved in just days before my family's departure last summer, but so far I've failed to notice any sign of life in the house.

The sound of light footsteps answers my questions of life in the house. As the footsteps continue, my eyes locate and begin to decipher a figure. It's a male, for sure: average height, defined jaw line, short hair. I fail to gather much information; however, I stalk his movements as he sits on the dock beside the one I'm seated on.

He just sits there with his feet dipped in the water and head staring straight ahead as I once had been doing. To the mystery boy, my presence goes unnoticed.

After some time, I lay back and focus my attention on the stars once again.

The previous events of the day flood my brain once again: driving along the mundane highways and winding Michigan roads, hauling my duffel bag up the stairs to my bedroom, failing to get any rest in my bed.

My mind wanders to deeper topics, and thoughts of my brother cloud my brain. As hard as I try, I can't fight them off.

I wonder if he's in heaven. I hope he didn't suffer. I wish he had been at my graduation.

I strain my mind, picturing his every detail. As I find myself forgetting some of the minor details, my eyelids begin to feel weighted, like someone is forcing sleep upon me.

Without intending to, I fall into an easy, deep slumber.