Victoria Bassett-Wilton

It was a warm day, but there were surprisingly few people at the lake than she had expected.  They were mostly couples who had decided to take the day off work and spend it in the sun, basking in their own naked lust, allowing themselves to grow drowsy on a grassy bank, legs stretched towards the water.  But there were some families too, parents with small children, whose laughter was infectious and cries absolutely grating.

She was driven here by memories, remembrances of a springtime spent in love long and long ago.  Once, they had set up cheap paints and canvasses which were poorly made and inexpensive, purchased from a local hardware store.  And it hadn’t seemed to matter then that the art they made together was doomed to perish.  It was theirs, and their laughter and silent contentment left an imprint on their minds.

Now, she was alone.  She didn’t mind that so much.  It gave her vast opportunities for introspection and reflection, which she quite enjoyed.  Her toes curled in the grass and wiggled into the dirt, and she was grateful to feel the earth beneath her.  It was then that the poisoned blade of time slipped itself into her heart and soul both, secreting a degree of emotion so great that it almost overwhelmed her.

As the tide comes to the shore so too did her memories.  There, in the water was where they had kissed many a time, and each kiss was like the dawn; there, near that tree, was where she had fallen from a branch and scraped her knee, crying before tears made way for silliness; and just there, by the large rock was where they had clasped hands and jumped into the great lake, letting themselves be consumed by its depths, if only for a second.

A scream cut through the films that played within, and she jerked her head up from her knees to see where the sound came from.  She did not have to search for long before she discovered the answer: a group of teenagers who had been crossing the river up ahead.  The rocks there were covered in green algae and a manner of other things which made them terribly slippery to stand on . . . one fateful step could land an aspiring voyager cuts and bruises.  She smiled to herself, such bruises and cuts were but fleeting proof of happy misadventure.

There was no one to remember those spring days with now.  She was left behind, forbidden from going forth as together they found their paths divided, and were left with no choice but to traverse those yellow woods apart.  Apart forever and more.  The very thought was venom to her heart, stabbing it and tearing it, and ripping it in half all at once.  The girl she had been all those years ago was shrill inside her, making her aware of this ear-splitting horror that no one could hear but herself.   She wanted to soothe her, hug her, reassure her that it was okay, that she was okay.  But of course, she couldn’t.  Time – that great and mysterious master – did not permit it.

A breeze came and ruffled her hair as the birds began to call to each other in the trees.  She sighed and closed her eyes, and allowed herself to be absorbed by that peaceful moment.  Honesty was a rare and intermittent creature, but it was committed to her under the sun, beneath the shade of the leaves, and she let herself trust that all unfolded as it must.  Eventually she knew she would have to leave, the world beyond the lake called to her, reminding her of her duties and responsibilities.

And though she knew that what had once been was gone, she let herself miss that season of love.  She missed all that it was, all that it could have been, and all that it never was.  She remembered with heartbreaking clarity the sound of her voice, as if it was carried to her by the wind.  Sometimes, she wondered if far away, in some other place and other time, she was the one being missed, and that was what made her come here to sink into the past.  It didn’t matter, she supposed.  Pieces of her lover were ingrained in her, found in her favourite movies and playlists, hidden in some of her mannerisms and joys, and even her secret hates and fears. 

She stood up and brushed herself off, smoothing her hair back.  There were no tears to wipe for she had spent those already, and it was not sadness that plagued her now.  It was not anything that she could name.  But here, at this sacred place, she could let herself feel it all, and she could tell herself that it was okay that years had gone by, and that she was not that young woman anymore, who had spent a spring in love by the lake.