For Bill

Sorry I have not been writing much lately.

As a child, I spent one week of every summer, at one of a couple dozen cabins sitting over a beautiful lake. Recently, I found out that the caretaker, a man who was a great giver and facilitator of community, has become extremely ill. I am finding that it is hard to adequately express thanks for an experience.

 

To Bill:

Thank you

For the candy bar we got for every lost anchor we pulled out from the water

For the way the dog’s fur smelt after swimming

For ping pong championship games decided by bad bounces and wind gusts

For the water gun stash we hid, forgot about, and found 2 summers later

For the girls who told us to pick up the balloon scraps so the birds wouldn’t die

For sunscreen and bug repellant on a wineglass

For hiding in the telephone booth from the flashlights

For stovetop mac and cheese the color of a Finch’s spotted belly

For brownie sundaes so big, that they melted before you could finish them

For bear-sightings and shaky midnight bathroom walks

For the osprey that laughed at my fishing

For the boat’s oars that complained in the cold

For the insects that swirled like thousands of needles stitching the lake’s surface

For the fish’s splayed belly and the warm heart I found inside

For the breath I held in the bad outhouse

For the moment before I jumped from the rock, a boy like an astronaut before takeoff

For the mosquito bites in strange places

For middle school girls painting their nails with powerbait

For the showers I did not want to share with the carpenter ants

For the postcard I bought of a chipmunk but never sent to anyone

For the dogs that growled and bit other dogs

For the rock that shouldn’t have been thrown, and the head that shouldn’t have been hit

For the parents that put too much whisky in their coffee

For the way we came together again, every Thursday

For the white sauce and garlic bread

For all the years before $25 bingo winnings were just gas money or pocket change

For the way we got older, got boyfriends, or girlfriends, got dumped, went to college, skipped a year, came back and found a cabin that had never changed

For the ice teas too bitter that I shared with my grandmother

For late night card games with the cool kids

For the first time I cuddled with a girl under a blanket

For the Buttes that wore sunset like a dancer’s curved back wrapped in silk

For my mom always reading under the aspens

For the stars

The ones that never forgot us,

even through we kept forgetting them,

that crept back every summer, after our lights had scared them away

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One Response to For Bill

  1. these sound like great memories

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