Lake Henry spread out wide in front of me. Marie and I were sitting on a grassy hill above the sand, baking away in the July sun. The beach seemed to have been divided between two types of people. On one side, Families, and the other, the Young & Beautiful. All of them tourists. The mix of clouds and open sky was perfect. A long stretch of skin bronzing sun, three minutes of cloud cover relief. Repeat.
I had poison ivy. I wasn't sure where I picked it up, but I assumed I must have drunkenly brushed against it on the Fourth, somewhere. Now I was paying for it. It had covered the lower half of my right arm, and just this morning showed up on my upper thigh. An area you absolutely don't want poison ivy. I thought about pouring alcohol on it and setting it ablaze before it spread any further. A week of healing from a burn would be much less tedious than the unknown amount of time my fucking crotch would be itching and scabbing.
There was a young girl, about seven, standing near us. Her head was all shaved, except for a ponytail in the back. I couldn't figure out why her seemingly normal middle-American parents would do that to her, but she looked happy. I wondered briefly if that's what I needed. The ponytail, that is.
We were sitting on the family half of the beach, but my eyes kept wandering to the other side. Bikinis and bodies.
"Have you noticed the beach is divided into halves?" I asked Marie.
She looked up from her book. "What?"
"On one side, you have families, and over there, the young and beautiful."
She looked around and nodded. "Hmm. Why are we over here?"
"This is where you sat down."
She scanned the area again.
"We could move," I said.
"No. Fuck it."
"Better scenery over there," I said.
Marie put her eyes back to her book. I tried to keep mine forward. Perhaps on a better day she would have agreed, we would have ogled together, and we would have seen what happened., but she had both a sunburn and poison ivy for the first time in her life, so nothing sexy was in the cards today.
John was supposed to be getting a hold of us. The plan was (loosely) that we were going to meet up sometime, somewhere, and go somewhere else, preferably for swimming. I kept waiting for my phone to ring, but it wasn't. The sun was drying my poison ivy, so either way, I figured I was ahead.
I went back to my book. A few Americans in Europe, enjoying bullfights and drinking. One of many lives I longed for.
A dog yelped in the water, having the best day of his summer, I imagined. My phone lit up. It was John.
"Hello John," I said.
"Hey. Where are you guys?"
"We're at the poor people beach."
"In Lake Henry though, right?" He asked.
"Yeah."
"We're in town, so just meet us on the beach road."
"When?" I asked.
"As soon as you get there."
"Okay. Bye." I hung up. I hate waiting for the other person to say goodbye. It seems pretentious to me somehow.
"Well?" asked Marie.
I put my book in my back pack. "We're going to meet them on the beach road."
"When?"
"Now."
"Okay."
We stood up, and began to pack our things up. Sunblock, tanning oil, towels, blanket, books, shirts, shoes...
We strapped ourselves up with our bags, climbed up the rest of the hill, and went out onto the road. The beach road itself was about a quarter mile away.
"You all right baby?" I asked Marie as we walked.
"Yeah. Fucking poison ivy sucks. And my sunburn. I just can't win today."
"I know honey. I have to admit though, I'm kind of glad you get to understand what the rest of us have to go through."
"Why?"
"Well, you went on and on about never getting sunburnt, and being immune to poison ivy, so whenever I got burnt, or had poison ivy, you never really understood how fucking bad it is. Sunburns aren't too bad. They hurt for a day or two, but poison ivy, it just gets worse and worse and lasts forever."
"Great," she said.
We walked on. In front of us were two girls. One was in cut off jean shorts and a bikini top. The other, I don't remember. I had to keep trying to look at the ground. I always felt a little guilty when Marie wasn't in the mood, even though she has always said she doesn't care. They were nice shorts, though.
When we got to the beach road, John and his girlfriend Kris were already there, rearranging the shit in their truck, making room for us.
Kris waved. "Hey guys!"
We waved back.
"So, where are we going?" Kris asked.
"I don't know," Marie said. "Where do you want to go?"
The four of us looked around at each other.
"Buttermilk?" John asked.
We all agreed, and Marie and I started to get our bags tied down in the back of the truck. "You want shotgun?" I asked her.
"No, it's okay. Me and Kris will sit in the back. Let the men have the front."
I smiled. "Okay."
We walked around to the front of the truck, and it seemed that John and Kris had come up with the same plan as Kris had already stuffed herself into the tiny back seat that this truck had. Marie climbed in, her sun-burnt cheeks making an appearance as she did, and I set the seat back, climbed in, shut the door and buckled up.
"Okay. Let's go," I said.
2.
Lake Henry (the actual lake, not the town), is about twenty miles long, and in some spots as wide as five miles. The town is situated on the southwest side. Buttermilk was about ten miles north, on an unpaved, single lane, ridiculously curved road in the middle of nowhere, on the upper east side. About an hour's drive. Pain in the ass as it was to get there, it was astounding once you did. Large, smooth rock ledges, cliffs, and islands. Mostly isolated. Great trails, and no lifeguards or regulations, all with the most incredible lake view. Say what you will about the residents of this area, the scenery was perfect, and we were lucky to live there.
John drove like a fucking maniac. He always does.
We left the town through the back, where traffic was minimal, and drove out along Rte 9L. Long stretches of trees, summer camps, and not much else. Fairly beautiful really, if it weren't for the skill of our driver. The road twisted and careened around large rock walls, and every once in a while, we would pass an Adirondack themed steakhouse or seafood place. Full parking lots, and I wondered how they got any business at all out here. I guess that's why I don't own a restaurant.
"We should stop at the first store we see. I need a drink, and we'll probably want food," Marie said.
"Yeah. I need to pee, too," said Kris.
Eventually, we came to a small mom & pop type general store, with a parking lot oddly full of BMW's and Mercedes'. "Tourists," John said, not without a hint of disdain.
We parked and went inside. Looking around at the customers, I noticed an odd amount of boating loafers and unbuttoned white linen shirts. The air pressure must have risen a good thirty percent, what with all of the self-righteous Manhattan dickhead in it. I walked to the cooler, and grabbed a six pack of Coors Light cans.
"Coors, huh?" John said.
"I know. It's cheap though."
Marie was in the chip aisle, giving the decision much more thought than I ever had. I walked over to her. "You want cheese doodles."
She looked at me. "No. I don't think I do."
"You do. I had a dream last night that you wanted cheese doodles. So, get cheese doodles."
"Do you want cheese doodles?" She asked.
"No." I walked up to the counter, and set the beer down. The clerk was trying to give directions to a man in a floppy white hat, white linen shirt, white boating shorts, and loafers. He was pointing, and trying to give lefts and rights. The tourist kept watching where he was pointing, as if he could see past the solid brick wall in front of them.
I waited.
"So, I go down 9L, take a left onto Sweetwater, go straight for a while, take a right onto, what'd you say?"
"Culligan."
"Culligan, right. Take a right onto Culligan, head down there for a good fifteen minutes or so, look for the dirt road..."
I waited.
There was some direction toward the end that the Tourist wasn't quite getting. I noticed he wasn't writing any of it down. The Clerk looked frustrated, as if he had driven it every day for the last twenty years, and it was the easiest thing in the world to him.
"No, no," said the Clerk, "You..."
"Excuse me." I said. "Can I just get rung out really quick?"
The two men stopped and looked at me.
"Sure," said the Clerk, friendly enough. He came over, and the Tourist looked astonished that he would step aside from bullshit for business. "Sorry about that. Will that be all?"
"That's it."
He scanned the beer. "I.D.?"
I dug around for my wallet, found it, and handed over my drivers license. He looked it over and handed it back. "Thank you," he said, "that'll be Six forty two."
I handed him a ten, he rang it up and gave me my change. "Have a good day," the Clerk said.
"Thanks, you too." I took the beer and looked for Marie. I didn't see the Tourist. I figured he must have given up.
Marie was still deciding on chips.
"I'll be out by the truck," I said.
"Okay."
I walked outside, from the air conditioning to the searing ninety-five degree parking lot. I went to the truck, and put the beer behind my sit. Marie could move it when she got in.
"Hey fuckface," someone said behind me.
I turned around and the Tourist was walking up to me. "What the fuck is your problem man?" he asked.
"What?"
"Don't what me." He was in my face now. I don't do well with people in my face.
"Get the fuck away from me man."
He got closer. "You're from here right? A local boy? A good ol' boy? Well, let me tell you..."
"Listen man, I said, it's hot, and I don't think either of us really want our days ruined. Let's just relax. You want to have a beer with me?"
"No I don't want your shitty fucking beer." His face was getting red.
"Sir, calm down."
"Calm down? Me? You fucking calm down!" He spit on my shoes.
I looked down. Amazed. "Why did you spit on my shoes?" The situation was becoming humorous.
"Because you don't cut people off when their in the middle of a conversation!"
"Okay. But I mean, I thought you were going to hit me, or something, and you spit on my shoes. Just weird to me."
"You want me to hit you? Is that what you want?" He didn't find any of this funny.
John, Kris and Marie were coming out of the store, but stopped to watch the scene. I waved. Marie gave me a puzzled look.
"Listen man, I don't want to fight. I just want to enjoy my day. Sorry I cut you off. How can I make it up to you?"
"Fuck you you fucking yokel," he said, and walked away. He looked up at the other three, but kept walking. They came up to the truck.
"What the fuck was that? Marie asked.
"Dude called me a yokel," I said.
We got back in the truck, and headed off to Buttermilk. With any luck, that was the height of negativity for the day.
3.
It wasn't, though. We got to the beginning off Buttermilk Road, and were nearing the end of the paved section, preparing for a good ten miles of rocks, dirt, and bumps. We came around the first blind corner, and saw a large white cargo van swerving around into our lane. "Shit!" John said, and cranked the wheel, as I felt all four of us collectively death grip everything in sight. As the van passed us, a loud POP! exploded all around us.
"What the fuck was that?" Marie said.
"Sounded like a rock hit the car," John said.
I looked around, and saw it. "Yes sir, it did. Look at your windshield."
"Fuck," John said. The rock had hit the windshield, and cracked it, creating a shatter with the diameter of about a quarter. As We looked at it, one of the cracks grew, and then stopped.
"That sucks," Marie said.
"Fuck," John said again. "Good thing I have glass insurance. Best five bucks I spend every month."
"That was really loud," Kris said.
As we drove, John kept saying "Fuck" under his breath. I told him there's nothing he can do about it now, and he might as well let it go. He can worry about it later. Today, we were determined to have fun.
I was watching the sun and the shadows and the trees as we passed by. All the shapes and shades, looking for animals, or anything out of the ordinary. I saw nothing, though that isn't to say that I didn't enjoy and find a beauty in the trees and shadows, I did. We crept on at a solid twenty miles an hour, listening to the radio, and looking forward to the water.
"John, you need to slow down," Marie said. "I think I am going to throw up."
"Okay. You want me to pull over?"
"No, not yet. I might be fine, just take it easier on the bumps."
I reached my hand back behind the seat for Marie to hold. She gripped it. I rubbed my thumb on hers. We drove on a few more minutes.
"Okay, you need to pull over now."
Without hesitation, John pulled over, I popped open my door, got out, and moved the seat for Marie. "You okay Honey?"
"I just need air for a second."
I took her hand and helped her out. We walked over to the tree line, and she knelt down. I held her hair, just in case, and rubbed her back. She moaned, and took deep breaths. "I think you need to sit in the back," she said.
"Okay." A minute or two later, and Marie had collected herself. We switched seats, and drove on, me in the back, Marie with her head out the window.
"You okay?" Kris asked.
"Yeah," said Marie. "Just too bumpy back there."
We came around a corner, and the road had since turned into a one lane road, and came to a small bridge, blocked by some sort of service truck. I looked around Marie's seat to see what was going on.
"Go tell them to fucking move," I said to John.
"You."
"I'm in the back, and Marie is sick. I can't get out yet."
We sat there, staring at them as they poked along, doing whatever they were doing. The sun beat down hotter now, even under cover of trees. Finally, they moved. Inside, I cheered.
We drove on, and Marie was right, it was bumpy back there. I could feel my own stomach start to churn. We passed a few pull offs, each of which I thought about suggesting we use, just so I could get out of the fucking truck, but hung in instead.
We came to the end of the road, and parked. The shore was just down a short trail. Marie got out, stretched her legs, and took a few deep breaths. I did the same. "How was it back there?" She asked.
"Awful."
"Told you. I wasn't just being whiny."
"I didn't think you were baby." I kissed her forehead.
We unloaded our bags and strapped them on. "It might be crowded down here," I said, taking note of the four or five other vehicles around us. "Let's hope we get a decent spot, without too many assholes around." Buttermilk was notorious for bringing in the drunk and rowdy crowd on occasion. I grabbed the beer from the truck.
John led the way down the trail, and I followed. Behind us, Kris and Marie took it slow.
"We should have brought chicken. And a grill," I said.
"Yeah. Why didn't you?"
"Why didn't you? I brought beer."
"Six."
"Six you won't be having."
"Aww," He said.
We got to the bottom of the hill, and from where we were standing we could see the lake through the trees. The sound of motor boats in the distance. The smell of a campfire burning somewhere nearby. People laughing. There are few things better in this life than a day on the lake.
"Wait up guys. Damn," Marie called from behind. "You guys are racing ahead."
"No," I said, "You're just poky."
"You're pokey," She said, catching up.
"So where are we going guys?" Kris asked.
"I don't know," I said. "Let's just follow the trail until we see somewhere."
We walked on, and the campfire smell grew stronger. I could see the smoke. It didn't look right.
"I think that's a fire," I said nodding.
"People have camp fires down here," Marie said.
"No, look. I mean, a fire fire. A forest fire."
We picked up our pace, and sure enough, a section of woods about ten feet wide, and twenty feet deep was black and smoldering on the water's side of the path.
"Oh shit," Marie said.
John walked around it looking for flames to stomp out.
"What do we do?" Kris asked.
"Let's get some water, I guess. If we have service, call the fire department and let them know," Marie said.
"Okay," I said.
I went a little ways past the fire, found a nice place to set our things down at, and looked out at the water, to see two fire department boats, and the Lake Henry Water Patrol coming around the corner. I waved and pointed in the direction of the fire, and went back to the group.
"Fire department's already here," I said. "Also, found a great spot to swim."
4.
We stretched our blankets out across the large rock shelf. It was long and sloping. On one side of it, a tall cliff with a trail leading up it, perfect for jumping off of. On the other side, a relatively enclosed section where the water just pooled up around three feet deep. Something for everyone. I did wish we brought chicken and a grill. I took a beer, and set the rest down in a circular hole in the rocks. Hoping the water there would keep them cool, and they wouldn't wash away. I peeled off my shirt and shoes, and everyone else did the same. I cracked open the beer, and sat down at the edge of the rock, the water lapping up around my waist while I sipped and watched the fire department shoot large bursts of water from their boat up onto the shore. What a weird day it had been so far, I thought.
I remembered I had my phone in my pocket. "Shit!" I said. I jumped up out of the water, fished around in my pocket and took out my phone. It was dripping wet.
Marie had been watching from the towel. "You idiot."
"This sucks," I said.
"That's what you get."
"Yeah. Oh well. Nothing I can do about it now. You coming in?"
"In a minute."
I went back to the water, and slid in (carefully as not to fill my can with water). Now, phoneless and fancy-free, I was able to really... relax. I put my beer on the rock behind me, closed my eyes, and slid under the water. The cool sensation engulfed my body, and I opened my eyes to the shimmering greens, blues, and golds all around me. Maybe it's a womb thing, maybe it's a weightlessness thing, but something about just floating in a body of water makes everything else fade away. No more did I worry that my vacation from that job I detested was ending, no more did I care that my bank account was three hundred dollars overdrawn. No more did I worry, care, or think, I was just there. Existing.
I came up out of the water, and took my beer off of the rock. I sat myself on a ledge under the water, and stared out at the lake. A pontoon boat floated by a few hundred yards away, watching the firemen spray the shore near us. I waved. A woman in the back waved back. It made me smile.
Marie slid in next to me and kissed me on the cheek. "Hey good lookin'," she said.
"Hey good lookin' yourself."
"The water is perfect."
"It is indeed baby."
The sun was high. The beer was cold. My woman was beautiful, and I was young. My friends were around me, smiling, and somewhere, I hoped the Tourist was burning alive as his Mercedes blazed away at the bottom of a tree. Everything was beautiful.
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