Looking For Space // Josh Kiszka

XXIX

Note: I don't think Lune Moons are even in production anymore but the name was so fitting, I had to use it. Apologies to my Canadian friends. 

---

 I knew it wasn't the lake's fault. It wasn't the land's fault. It wasn't even my fault. It just was. That knowledge wasn't making me feel any better though.

I was still moping the following day, having holed myself up in the bedroom with a notebook and pen, writing various words and lines on pages but not writing anything concrete. I didn't even want to write about what had happened--I didn't want to see it in real, tangible terms.

Just let it die in the air.

But it wouldn't, I knew that. I couldn't get any cell service though and I thought that even if I could, I wouldn't call or text Josh. I was still furious. Furious, confused and hurt, eyes raw and red from crying, my chest heavy and my body weak and still feeling as though there was residual ice water under my skin.

Depressing, I thought as I looked out the window. So depressing.

The door opening and Kirsti coming in broke my melancholy daze.

"Hey, come on," she said, swiftly moving to the bed and standing in front of me with her arms crossed. "Get up."

"I am up," I replied, gesturing at myself sitting up on the bed.

"No, come out," she pressed. "You haven't come out all day. Dad's making steaks."

I sighed.

"You're seriously acting like a child."

I huffed and set the notebook aside. "I'm sorry. I'll come out."

"What happened? Is this because you fell in the lake?"

The biggest reason I hadn't wanted to retreat from the room--I didn't want to talk about it. Certainly not with my family.

"Not entirely," I answered, standing up, forcing Kirsti to move back.

"Then what is it?"

"I don't wanna talk about it right now."

She regarded me carefully, slowly. "Did something else happen?"

I wasn't sure what she was getting at. I didn't think anyone else had noticed I'd talked to Josh. "Like what?"

"I mean, are you okay? You only mope when things are really bad."

"I'm okay," I assured her. "I just--I want to go home, honestly. And I feel bad about that, because this was supposed to be fun."

"So let's make it fun," Kirsti said, perking herself up a little. "Dad's making dinner and blasting The Beatles, if you couldn't already hear it. Mom's drinking wine. Let's make it fun."

"This doesn't feel like a vacation," I said with a sigh. "I wish it did. I feel stuck."

Kirsti twisted her mouth in thought for a moment. "Let's go into town tonight. Let's go to a bar."

"How can we? It's not like there's uber here."

"Dad could drop us off and pick us up. He'd do it."

I exhaled. "Okay. Let's do it. Fuck it."

----

The bar looked like any other bar--a standalone brick building with the sign declaring "Little Montreal," which I found humorous in all my rancor because we were not, in fact, anywhere near Montreal. The inside was familiar in the same way with its dimly lit interior, glowing purple lights above the bar and shaded yellow bulbs above the tables. It wasn't very busy--almost desolate, in fact--but it was still sort of early and it was a weekday.