A Day At Lake Beaver

Lake Beaver isn’t far from home. 

Nearly a month ago, I began my daily drives there after work. Nearly three months ago, I applied and started my first shift at Lily’s—the slightly run-down diner that holds a familiar place in my childhood memories. 

But working wasn’t enough. It got me out of my house for around ten hours, seven times a week. As it turns out, seventy hours a week just wasn’t enough. I needed more—and Lake Beaver granted me that asylum. 

I didn’t need a job. I didn’t need the money. What I did need was to be away from home. We lived in my mother’s small, but “beloved” childhood house—and although she holds many fond memories of it, I wished it would just crumble to bits.

There’s five of us here in total; Mom and Dad had their master bedroom, and I shared the other one with my twin sisters, Lauren and Jill. They were both ten—and eight years younger than me. 

Lauren and Jill aren’t bad sisters. They aren’t even bad ten year olds—in fact, they’re quite mature for their age. Even so, having to share a bedroom with two children is never gonna be the peaceful existence that one would want it to be. Things are always a bit too much for comfort—the television is often played a bit too loud, dirty dishes are always left on our dressers for hours too long, and frankly it drives me crazy. 

Two weeks ago, I put in my notice at Lily’s. My mom told me it would be a good idea to have a few weeks off before I went off to start my first year of college. I was going to the University of Arkansas, which was about three hours from home. The distance from our little home would be a welcome change. 

It was Thursday today—which also happened to be my first day as an unemployed woman. My first morning at home in a long time. 

I forgot how loud the twins played their cartoons when they woke up in the morning, and how much of a mess they made getting ready before Mom made them pick up at 5pm. It was only eleven-thirty when I grew tired of my “relaxing” break. 

So, I started packing a day bag—to spend the whole day at Lake Beaver. 

I made a pile of necessary supplies for my extended picnic. That pile held two chilled water bottles from the fridge, the quilted green blanket I usually take to Beaver, my laptop, and for lunch—a chocolate croissant and two small bags of potato chips. 

As I was packing, I decided not to take my usual green canvas bag with me today.

Instead, I fished out an unused canvas tote from the closet. It was made of beige canvas fabric, with beautiful red artwork displaying University of Arkansas pride. Mom had bought it for me when we visited campus at the beginning of summer. 

I tossed everything into the tote, and left. 

I parked at Beaver fifteen minutes later and made my way to my usual spot. I took the concrete walking path to the back-end of the lake; you couldn’t swim there—it was too steep and there weren't any lifeguards patrolling the area. It was my usual spot because there was never anyone else there—it was like having my very own room in the wilderness. 

I set down my blanket under the big willow that I always lean my back against. I loved that tree just as much as I loved Beaver; it’s low drooping leaves felt like the comforting walls of a room. After settling in, I grabbed my laptop and started playing some music to listen to while I scrolled on my phone. 

Twenty minutes passed by in solitude. Until she arrived. 

She walked up to the willow. My blaring earphones had made it so I didn’t hear her presence until she was right behind me. I took off my earphones in a panic and looked to see who it was. It was Sydney—I’m pretty sure she was in the same graduating class as me. 

“Oh shit,” she said, “sorry for scaring you. I didn’t expect anyone else to be here.”

I caught my breath and began to calm down. “No worries,” I replied, “sorry for taking your spot.”

“No worries,” she copied. 

Her eyes glanced at me for a second, and then she turned to walk away. I watched her pink hair move about five feet away from me before she stopped. Her face moved towards me again. 

She pointed to my bag. “You’re going to UArk?” 

“Yeah,” I answered. “You?”

“Yeah,” she replied. “Most of our graduating class is going to the community in town. I wanted to move away...for independence and all that.”

“Same,” I replied. 

We gave each other a smile before she walked away. 

The next three hours were spent in quiet silence—not counting the music coming from my computer. It was around the time I’d usually eat lunch back at Lily’s, so I took out my two small bags of chips and the chocolate croissant.

Right when I was about to eat, I saw Sydney walking over to me.

“Hey. Could I actually get your phone number? It'd be nice to know someone at UArk from back home.” 

“Of course,” I replied. 

She handed me her phone and I typed in my number. She smiled at me again and began to walk away. For some reason I wanted to ask—

“Did you want some?”

She tilted her head at me—waiting for me to clarify. 

“Are you hungry?”—I pointed to the chips and chocolate croissant. 

“Oh,” she exclaimed. She smiled and continued, “ummm, yeah—I don’t have anywhere I need to be anyway.”

She brought her things and sat down next to me. My blanket was big enough for us both so she kept hers in her bag. 

We ate in awkward silence for a few minutes. My cheeks were flushed from the interaction I didn’t expect to ask for. 

And then she talked, and then I followed. And then she stayed after lunch so that we didn’t have to stop talking. And then it got dark so we both said goodbye. 

The next morning I went back to Beaver. My bag was packed with the usual—and for lunch, I had two of everything: a pair of banana walnut muffins, oranges, and cans of lemon-lime soda. 

I walked to the willow tree to find Sydney already there.

“Sorry for taking your spot,” she greeted. 

“No worries,” I replied. 

“Do you come here everyday?” 

“Yeah,” I said, “usually in the afternoons, but I’m starting to like mornings better.”

“Good,” she smirked—and then she waved at me to join her. 

And I did. 

We spent the day talking about ourselves, our futures at UArk, and anything else that came to mind. 

At lunch, we had both brought out our food—between the two of us, we had enough for four people. Both of us were glad to find the other had packed for two as well. 

When it was darker, we watched a movie on my computer. The credits started rolling on the screen when Sydney looked over and kissed me. 

When I got home, I texted “lake tomorrow?”

She replied, “of course.”

Five years later, I was packing everything into moving boxes and found the University of Arkansas tote bag from that day at Lake Beaver. It was the tote that I decided to use for the first time—on the first day I met Sydney. 

It was the tote that made her come back and ask me for my number. The one that let me invite her to lunch.

It was the tote that made Sydney ask me to move in with her two months ago. 

The tote that’ll let me propose tomorrow.