Water's Edge

Chapter One

(First draft version)

I'm halfway across the pavement before the daydream takes over all my senses. I'm looking down onto a scene and seeing a lake. The recent flood has left the big lake murky, dark and at the center of the lake is a little boat that holds Marisol and her daddy, Lester, alfoat. Marisol's long dark hair blows gently in the wind as she looks over the edge of the boat. Lester's baseball cap prevents his head from feeling any wind at all. 

I'm used to imagining things, so I'm not shocked about seeing my uncle and his six year old daughter out on this boat. I'm only nervous about the dark shape beneath the surface of the water, swimming swiftly around the boat like a shark. My heart starts beating faster. 

Bloop.

"What was that, daddy?" asks Marisol. 

"Just a fishy, Miss Mari," he says. 

"Bloop," says Marisol. "That's the sound the fishies make. Bloop. Bloop. B-"

Blaarraggg! The shadow is rising out of the water...I don't want to see it, I don't want to see, I don't want to!

I close my eyes tight and feel for the ground beneath my feet. It's there. Triumphantly, I open my eyes and the lake is gone. Back on land, in the parking lot of my family's pizzeria, I look down and realize that I've dropped the full garbage bag I had in my hand and groan. It was untied, so naturally, all the contents have spilled. Lucky me. 

I've had daydreams since I can remember. They always come randomly and they always come vivid. It's like I'm actually living a moment, rather than thinking about it. Sometimes these sessions are fun. Once, as I was sitting in math class spacing out, I drifted off into a Jimi Hendrix concert, where the music was so loud it drowned out the world and I could feel it pumping through my body, electrifying me with vibrations.

Sometimes they can be scary. Once, at a boring family night, watching a lame-o movie chosen by my father--a documentary buff--I drifted back to the war on the screen. I could smell the blood and gun powder in the air. The blasts hurt my hears, and the cries of the dying hurt my heart. I had jarred awake quickly. With as frightening as that had been, it was nothing compared to this latest daydream of Lester and Marisol in the middle of the murky lake.

That boat is the last place Lester had been alive. It was in that very place, that grimy watered lake with the hidden thing so near, that he died. It's "very tragic and very mysterious," other people's words not mine. The official cause of death says drowning. 

Marisol was there when it happened. It was her first and last fishing trip. It was supposed to be a fun father/daughter bonding time.  

I take a deep shaky breath. It always baffles me how one moment your life is one way, but it can easily change in an instant. They'd gone expecting a good time and instead suffered a nightmare. I'd been at my home in New York one minute, a living uncle miles away in North Carolina, and the next minute, my uncle is dead and mom is packing our stuff to move us there and take over my uncle's pizza business, Valentino's. 

I pick up the pizza crusts, used napkins, restaurant cups and put them back in the bag, vowing to tie all the bags before I take them out from now on. 

"Andi! I need your help!" my mom called from the open back door of the restaurant. "Huge call-in."

I sigh, tie the bag and throw it in the dumpster.

When I walk into Valentino's, I see the real Marisol sitting at a desk in the office near the kitchen. Her hair is more vibrant than daydream Marisol. The strands aren't simply dark, it has chestnut and honey streaks mixed in the dominant mahogany color. A stuffed turtle sits in her lap, crayons are spilled out next to an open coloring book on the desk. The image of a kitten smelling a flower is on one side. The other side is a kitten playing with yarn, the yarn all tangled up around it in large, loose circles. There isn't a single splash of color on the pages. I've been there two days and haven't seen her do much of anything. It's like life has been drained from her. She's become a robot that has switched off. 

Maybe they just aren't interesting enough to catch her attention, I think. I turn the page, revealing a kitten walking across a piano, and a kitten playing with a paintbrush with paint dabbed on the end. Marisol doesn't blink. I turn it again and Marisol finally comes to life, releasing a scream that puts fire alarms to shame.