Sunrise

         That morning was heavy with silence when I dressed in my rain slicker, which felt caked with mud and grief. Always silence. My kerosene lamp was flickering slightly, valiantly combating the darkness in my damp cabin. I sat for a minute, staring at the way it flung shadows onto my rain-darkened walls and the dried fish hanging from the ceiling. She had always hated the smell of the fish, the way the scent seeped into her clothes, the fur blankets covering our bed. Instinctively I reached over to brush her side of the bed, expecting to feel her warm body there, rising and falling like the gentle tide of our lake. A burst of numbness spread throughout my body as my fingers slid through the flat, rough bristles of the blanket. Still no Lily.

            I hiked through the sodden woods surrounding the cabin, small animals scattering from the loud thump of my boots when I clambered over fallen trees in my path. I reached the shore in a few short minutes. The smooth, cold rocks scraped together under the pressure of my boots as I walked over to untie the little rowboat that bobbed and swayed in expectation. I clambered into the boat, making the murky water in the bottom swirl and slosh against the sides like a tiny, angry sea.

I began to row backwards, slowly, carefully, the cold beginning to creep into my bones. Of course, there was a motor at the back, but I dared not use it; to break the mournful silence was a terrible deed. I reached about the middle of the lake. I pulled in the oars, which clattered against the sides of the boat, making a hollow noise. I waited for the sun’s pastel streaks with bated breath, my little boat spinning in slow circles.

            Finally, after several minutes, the first smears of pink sunlight appeared in the sky, leaking out from the edges of the mountains like ink from a spilled pot. I let out the breath I held, and the hot air formed a tiny cloud that hung in the surrounding mist for a fraction of a second. With slightly trembling fingers, I picked up the speckled clay urn and placed it in my lap. At the back of my mind, a shadow of a memory flickered dimly.

            I saw myself with Lily, the two of us sitting cross-legged on our little beach. Her young face appeared bright and happy, yet to be lined with the deep creases of sickness.  She looked up at the night sky, the shimmering stars reflected in her smiling eyes. Suddenly, she broke the silence, her words echoing in the heavy air.

“I love the dawn. My favorite place to be is right here, at dawn. The colors from the sunrise are always reflected in the lake. I love it more than anything. It’s so…tranquil. I feel as if I’m supposed to be here,”she said wistfully, and I smiled at her.

It had struck me then that Lily was the only person I would ever want to sit on this beach with. The only person who I could share this lake with who would understand it as I did. I stared at her for a moment, and made the decision. The next day I would ask her right here, on this beach. I smiled to myself as our gazes returned to the diamond-flecked sky; the stars so close to our reaching eyes, yet impossible to touch.

My eyes dimmed as the memory faded, sinking slowly back into the depths of my mind. I took a handful of the gray ash from the urn, and sprinkled it in the glassy water. The sky was rapidly lightening now. Again and again I dipped my hand into the urn. Each toss caused the mirror surface of the lake to ripple; I watched solemnly as the perfect other world--the intangible replica of the world around me--wavered. I tossed the last handful after the ripples died away, and with it, the last living part of me.