I remember yelling at him again. That’s why my throat is sore. Why I walked into the kitchen, however, is as mysterious to me as the bruises on my legs. Something rustles in the shadows outside. Thinking it could be a raccoon or possum, I flick the flood lights on and off several times. I swear I heard a splash earlier. So, I leave the lights on and look towards the river. Nothing. It’s as serene as could be.
My heart sinks as I see him walk to the front door. He’s staring at me with that stupid face on his way up. I see the smile beneath it all as deja-vu sets in. We’re too alike I think.
With a creak he walks in soaked. On deep exhale he gives a pathetic “Hello” from the foyer. He’s fighting his waterlogged boots and making marginal progress. There's dirt slicked all over his hands, and his shoulders are shaking from the cold.
“What did you just do?” I ask.
He points towards the door. Lightning cracks an oak some 25 yards from the farmhouse. A dead branch falls to the ground. It explodes into shards as the thunder rolls on. He begins to weep.
“What if I told you everything will be alright?” He asks suddenly with a sickly grin.
“I wouldn’t believe you,” I say.
As I back up, he brushes by me, making his way to the kitchen. He washes his clean and hands me my keys.
“You wanted these.” He says.
He smells like the lake.
“No I don’t.” I say
“There’s really no reason now.” He says.
He takes off his rain coat and puts it on me. He opens the front door, and tosses out his Wellies. We both look at my white toe nail polish. Then there’s a push.
I nearly trip on my way out. There’s a silence as sparse as fireflies in his overgrown lawn. I try the knob, but it’s locked. I hear him screeching again. I guess divorce is complicated. So, I decide to get out while I can. He’s the type of man to like his silence when in pain. That’s why we all moved out here in a way.
It’s twilight through the estuary, and the water is cold. I get in the canoe, half perched on the shore. As I paddle out towards the other side, we drift somewhere between here and the horizon. I watch the house lights rhythmically pop in and out of trees as we glide. There isn’t another soul for miles. Even the boats are faint, blurry things. They’re about as real as the stars we see far past their times.
The moon beats down 1.3 seconds late on the river. I start to feel foolish for leaving him alone, and being on the water during a storm. He is going through it with his family, but to shove me out was absurd. Half paddle, I watch the ripples and feel sick at the thought of his home life and the coming disarray.
Disgusted, I lay back and relax my eyes. The current carries us. My dock is some fifty more feet downstream on the other side. The fights all in getting to their place. To head home, I really just aim the boat and push out. The current carries us the entire way. The boat bumps into the dock.
As I step up to tie off, there’s a rush. I get dizzy and lose patches of sight. There's a blip I call vertigo. I stumble backwards feeling warm. On trying to dig my toes in the boat, I only ensure the fall.
The canoe is kicked half on shore. I’m completely submerged. As I fight back up, there are thousands of white air bubbles around. Popping up, I gasp for air.
I grab hold of the dock side, and pull myself up. I crawl to the bank. While catching my breath there’s someone in my house flashing the flood lights.
I head up the bank to the door. As I approach, I see her through the window, and begin to grin. It’s the same every night.
“Of course,” I laugh.
She’s staring back at me with a frown. I don’t think I can blame her. In her eyes I’m just some useless man for the outside. At home, alone, she can safely come out.
ABout th author
Lila-Josey is a designated state threat. On top of the terror she causes with her tea parties, and salons, Lila has been publishing. Please help silence this radical by acquainting yourself with her work in Boudin 6/26 and the Words Faire 8/1/26. /Did you enjoy the story? Would you like to shout us a coffee? Half of what you pay goes to the author the other half goes to expenses e.g. Maintaining the web site and setting up The Best of Café Lit book each year.
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