House on the lake

The House on the Lake

 

           

 

The lake house had a nice view of the forest some miles from the place. On the field that spanned before it was a crude volleyball net where the surrounding sand spilled over the nylon border. Next to that was a white gazebo with chipping paint and always smelled of wet wood, which in turn overlooked a short beach with a single green wood dock that stretched out about twenty feet from the edge of the sand.

            The grass here was green. As green a patch of grass as you’ll ever see. The air was fresh and cool, and had that certain quality that cleared your mind and relaxed your body. Usually the sky was clear, revealing the deep blue that just seemed to rise off the mountains, but today the sky was dark and cloudy. It was that melancholic sort of gray that had no definitive characteristics; it was simple, pure, and sad.

            I was stretched out on the couch in the living room of the cabin with a cigarette in one hand and a book in the other. The book sat on my chest while the cigarette hovered over and ashtray on the table next to me. In the dying light of the dull morning the narrow words on the page were beginning to blur together. I had taken a break from trying to read and was instead looking at the few wilting embers of the cigarette.

            Ever since she left me, this was the only place I had left. She took the kids, the house, even the dog. How is a man supposed to keep his sanity in a place like this without even a dog to keep him company? The lake house had been in my grandfathers will. It had been the main vacation spot for our entire family, and now that it was in my possession, it seemed that everyone had begun to think ill of me. A chain smoker in his early forties, and a recovering alcoholic at that, After Alice left me, what did I have left? This beautiful house wasn’t mine, shouldn’t have been mine. I didn’t deserve it. The only reason I had gotten it was because I had been the closest out of everyone to grandpa.

            I sat up and rubbed my hand slowly through my thick hair. I snapped my head up quickly for no reason at all. I stood up and walked over to the fridge. I took one last puff on the cigarette and tossed it into the ash tray.

            The fridge was empty. Of course it was. This place was only in use a few weeks out of the year, anything left in there would spoil.

            I checked the cabinets looking for something, anything to eat. It had been a long time since I came here. It was maybe seven years ago? Back then I had a family to speak of and a happy life, but that was over. My only company now was the soft gray light that filtered in through the wide, salt coated windows.  

            “Plates … plates … more plates … bowls … cups …” I said.

It was like I was taking inventory mindlessly of all the dust coated relics that sat inside the deep hickory cabinets.

            In one of the bottom drawers resided an unopened bottle of Smirnoff and a half a bag of cashews.

            “I guess this is dinner.” I moped.

 

            A while later I was in the usual spot on the couch. Another cigarette lit, a half bottle of Smirnoff, and an empty bag of cashews. I puffed on the cigarette, inspected the cashew bag for large enough crumbs, and swished around the vodka in front of my eyes.

            So this was life.

            Just this.

            I was contemplating suicide when I heard a noise. It was a quiet sort of scratching sound somewhere close by. I got up drunkenly off the couch and almost tripped over the leg of the table.

            I checked in the bedrooms, but the sound wasn’t coming from any of them. I checked the bathroom, but it wasn’t there either. I stood in the hallway next to air vent.

            The sound became a crinkling. I searched around some more but ultimately gave up. I plopped back down on the couch, kicked my feet up on the armrest and closed my eyes in the hope that the sound would go away. It was no good. That strange crinkling sound refused to end. I sat up and reached down for the empty bag of peanuts and made to throw it out.

            Then I realized the bag wasn’t empty. I jumped back and gasped as something furry brushed my hand.

            “Jeezes, what the hell was that?” I breathed. I knelt down on all fours and cautiously peered into the bag.

            In a second, two big brown eyes popped over the edge of the bag. Jeezes, it was a chipmunk. 

            I sat back and watched as the tiny brown little creature nipped and tugged at the plastic bag playfully and smiled to myself for the first time in a long while.