Lights (2019)

Toothbrushes

"How's work going?" I ask my father, because I am unable to focus on my book. It is like all of a sudden the font is too small. I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to ease the tension from my head.

He looks at me from the corner of his eye before returning his attention to the road.

"All right," he says. "Lots of DUIs. I mean, really. Can't people be smart enough to know not to drink and drive?"

I nod. "I hear you."

"There's a string of robberies happening on the upper east side, so be careful if you go up there. We still haven't found the suspect." I nod absent mindedly. I know my father could go on and on about his job, so I involuntarily tune him out. I lean my head against the window. The cold glass chills my forehead.

"Are you all right, Blair?" My father asks.

"Just tired, I didn't sleep well last night."

"All right," he says softly as he continues to drive.

An hour later, we finally pull up to our old lake house overlooking the water. I practically jump out of the car and race to the bank, tearing off my shoes and sticking my feet in the water. Correction, I may or may not have jumped into the lake soaking my clothes.

I have many fond memories of this place. We used to come up almost every summer. Occasionally Harry's family would join us too. Late summer nights by the lake, s'mores, campfires, etc. Harry and I used to catch fireflies at dusk, or at least we tried.  I remember this one time where he had an old water bottle and he was jumping up trying to capture the speck of light; the little lightning bug hovered just high enough that Harry couldn't reach it.

I feel the mud between my toes and watch as small minnows swim at my feet. I love standing in the shallow waters of the shore, because as I got older lakes started to freak me out. The idea of not being able to see the bottom, or what could be swimming right below me-- like snakes and stuff like that, made me incredibly uncomfortable. I mean, if like grass under the water touches me, I would skirt so fast.

"I can't believe you didn't sell this place," I say to my father as he joins me.

He shrugs. "Didn't seem right to. And with a few renovations, we could get it back into shape."

I look up at the old house. It's a great house. We've had the roof fixed countless times, and one summer the air conditioner broke, but we love it all the same. It's a bit of a fixer-upper, granted. 

"We'd better get inside. The sun's setting soon," my father says.

I look up at the horizon and see that he's right. The sun is turning orange and lazily sinking toward the lake.

I drag my suitcase into my old room and sigh. The white wooden bed's mattress has been stripped so I go to the linens closet and make up the bed with old pink sheets. I am telling you now, I am winded just putting on the fitted sheet. There is a matching bureau still has the crack in the mirror where I threw my shoe at it when I was six. Side note, I threw my shoe because my mother wouldn't let me have any cake before dinner. I sit on the edge of the freshly made bed and absorb the memories from the room. Harry and I used to build forts and read books with flashlights; we used to tell ghost stories and Harry would hide and scare the shit out of me; we were young and wild and got by purely on gratitude.

         "You settling in okay?" My father asks from the doorway.

"Perfectly," I answer.

He smiles before walking out; turning into his own room. "I'll start on dinner in fifteen," he calls.