I dipped my big toe in first. The water was cold—freezing,
even—but so was the air around me. The sun was just beginning to shimmer above
the horizon. It was too early to be awake, and far too soon to be leaving.
At
least, that’s what everyone said. But summer was ending, and already I could
see a yellow tint on the leaves above the cabin. Registration for classes had
come and gone, and back-to-school ads plagued the radio that my sister had brought
down to the beach every day. Now, the car was getting packed and loaded, and
soon our summer home would disappear behind the mountains for another nine
months.
I
lowered myself onto the dock, easing the rest of my foot into the water. I
swung my other leg around and eased it in, too, shivering as I did. There was
no time to be slow, no time to get used to the temperature. So I slowly swung
my legs beneath the water, hands gripping the dock, and stared off at the
horizon as the sun inched its way up. The other cottages dotting the lake
remained dark, and the birds and crickets remained quiet.
In that
moment, it was just me and the lake. Just how I liked it.
Eventually, my peace ended. I was called back to the car, the engine revved, and we pulled out of the driveway for the last time. With my sister already asleep on my shoulder, I watched as our house disappeared out of sight, taking my summer with it.
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