Lures of the Lake

Everything was basked in gold as the sun set. The green tips of the trees and the darkness of the lake came alive in the golden glow. Two adults, not obnoxious teenagers, not retired farts - eased their kayaks into the lake. One man. One woman. The man offered the woman a hand. He stood watch behind her, ready to catch her; his eyes never left even as he got into his own kayak and pushed off. Barry heard their laughter as they approached. The high pitched, ball of energy carried within her laugh rang out first. So absorbed in themselves, in each other. They would never notice Barry. Not a problem for him, just an annoyance. He could hear their chatter, her laugh as it rode above the water. If they were just friends, Barry was just out here to fish.

They paddled out, further into the distance. Barry reached into the bucket and picked up a piece of chum. Careful to not hook it too tightly to the lure. Hook, line, wait.

Time passed with the ebbs and flows of the water. That jarring snort of her laughter as it cut through the stillness. A tuft of air passed through Barry's lips. Back already. Barry watches them, happy is rod is already in the water. The man is overly aware of her surroundings. She seems oblivious to it all. Barry shook his head.

He can't look away. Clearly they are headed toward the island. The way the man watches her, Barry wonders if he thinks she's going to crash into it. If she capsized, Barry might forget himself and laugh. Barry looked down at his bucket of chum. The bloodied heap stewing in own juices, as it waits for Barry to use it up.

Their chatter stops. The silent of the night surrounds him. Barry wills them to stay gone. The sun has dropped low behind the treetops. Only a soft orange light remains over small strips of the choppy waters. He picked up the last piece from his bucket. The biggest piece.

Laurie's eyes, vacant and full of knowledge, stare back at him. Barry leans forward, and plants a kiss on her forehead as he lightly jabs the hook into the roof of her mouth.

It's his last piece of chum. He's sure of it. He sits back. The fishing pole secure in the crook of his elbow as he turns on his small lantern to check the bucket. The light is dim, not bright enough to really see anything specific from the shoreline. He chose it for that reason. A short gasp is heard. He looks up, into the eyes of the girl. She’s alone.

Before Barry can move, her paddle cuts back and forth through the air. Barry is amused. She is new and whether or not she was okay before, panic has set in. He flashes the light at her. It works. She capsizes. He kills the light, hears the splash, and then a distant, "shit.” The friend.

Within minutes he’s come around the corner. Her head visible between bursts spray and waves she has made in her fight to stay afloat. The friend pulls her up, throws her on top of her kayak. At some point he flipped it back over for her. He saved her. Of course he saved her.

Barry and Laurie watch as they shove off to the shoreline. Their feet still in the tide, he has already grabbed her. With his hand wrapped firmly around her back, he leads her away from the lake. They don’t look back. Laurie's gaze stays locked on the underside of his own boat.

Barry waits until the wee hours of the morning to raise his rod, the empty hook bobs and weaves through the air. Now he'll leave, head to the other side of the lake for an early morning fishing trip with the guys.