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One Lone Fish

My feet walk down crumbling sidewalks, turning left, right, then not turning at all. Vaguely, I hear streetlamps turn on with a buzz. I don't know where I'm going. I don't know where I've been. I don't know who I am. All I know is that I have to escape the quiet in my head. That stifling quiet that extinguishes the noise of the dorms like a candle, leaving me alone with the few repetitive thoughts that still linger.

Thoughts like caffeine spiked coffee, of lamps too exhausted to flicker, of walls that move and sway as the clock clicks away another hour, of crushed ideas swimming in piles of discarded sentences taunt my brain fried sanity.

My feet hit gravel. I look around to see a small lake surrounded by trees and nestled amongst rows of houses and a golf course. I've been here before. Above, the sky is laced with pink and orange ribbons. It's a work of art that no artist can copy. Below, the gravel path winds through patches of dense trees and bushes that circle the lake. My feet continue down this path. I listen. I observe. I open myself to feeling. I try to escape into another place.

Silence falls like a security blanket. I no longer wish for words, but instead bask in a new, different silence. A silence that doesn't smell of expectation, but of crisp air.

Crunching gravel echoes in my head like nails on a chalkboard. Two power walkers jog around the lake. Both are older women, wearing black. Their heads are held high, never looking at the ground. The earth below their feet is eaten up by their determination. The beauty of the world whisks by them on all sides unseen. I, too, go unnoticed.

I refocus on the path in front of me. Trees tower, ominously. Countless bushes create perfect hiding places, like little caves. Shadows stretch out their fingers, as if to grab and pull me into their midst, never to be seen again. Would that be such a bad thing? A disconcerted breeze creates hollow sounds amongst the leaves and bushes. Pulling my jacket tighter around me, I try to shrug off the growing chill.

A little wooden bench sits in a patch of light amid the shadows of trees. I sit down and look out across the lake. Calm. Tension appears to fly from me onto the lake. One lone fish breaks the silence to catch some food. Ripples appear on the water, the only evidence that the fish was there. Soon the evidence disappears and the fish is just a memory cast aside for another day. Am I just a passing memory? A thought cast aside for another day? How do I make sure that I am remembered? Do I want to be remembered?

A couple strolls behind me, holding hands. A whisper from his lips sends her into chuckles of laughter. A whisper from hers ends in a kiss. Leaving the bench, I walk in the opposite direction. Right now their world is new, fresh, wonderful. Nothing seems capable of disrupting it, but something always does. I wonder, how will they do when times become tough, when the money runs out? Will they make it?

I throw these questions away and stare at the lake, as if waiting for an answer that will never come. I take a deep breath and with the exhale try to will away all tension. If it works I don't know, but time is against me. So, I walk away from the lake.

Learn more about this author, Jessica Lynn Lovelace.
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