Echo

You know the way that October leaves a bite on your skin? It just nips at ya. Breaks ya down enough to grab a jacket and surround yourself in warmth. Better yet, sip on a cup of coffee from your old favorite shop, convenience store, gas station if you dare. You take a giant gulp of delicious heaven. Warming. You take in a deep breath. Icy. 

I remember the days my best friend and I used to come out here and mess around. This lake was our place. A lake spread across what seemed like miles of land, surrounded by the green of the forest and trails that we would walk along. It was filled with benches memorializing those who had passed, welcoming the patrons passing by to take a seat and enjoy the view. If anyone asked who owned Echo Lake, it was Joel and I. He was my first love. We'd come out here and watch the stars stand still in time. It didn't matter if it was hot, cold, rainy, snowy, or even purple outside. This was where we were made.

He worked right around the corner. On his breaks, we would meet there, he would tell me how much work sucked as I nodded along smiling, gawking, at his face. Every word he said I fell deeper. I couldn't help but just stare at him. His eyes shimmered off the ripples from the water. It made his seas of green sparkle. 

He would always catch me. He teased, what are you looking at pretty girl? I would just smile and laugh. 

Joel and I weren't dating, or rather, there wasn't a label. There wasn't a need too. He made me happy. His laugh. His smile. His heart. His mind. It complemented mine so perfectly. Why would I want to let a simple word create a catastrophe in our world? 

We would create stories here. One thing that brought us so close together was our passion for writing. We studied people: their likes, dislikes, ticks, pleasures, hopes, dreams, failures. We would watch people fish and wonder if they learned from their dad or their neighbor. We would see the kids playing and makeup stories about the rest of their lives. We'd even see people like us, just chatting, and making up their conversation for them. 

He told me much better stories than I ever could. His imagination wandered far beyond our little lake. He enticed me further into his mind with his tales of love, success, grief, sadness. He knew how to grab my attention. His charisma kept me on my toes. 

When we weren't telling stories we'd skip rocks to take a break from thinking. Yet again, he was much better at it than I was. If I was lucky I could maybe get three skips in a row, but ultimately sink to the bottom without his help. He'd make the lake move. Thousands of different ripples were created by the numerous amount of skips he was able to make. I'd say it's unfair, but he'd just say it's luck. 

September nineteenth, 1988, we were sitting at the edge of the lake, real close to the water. Butts damp from the dewy grass. It was my last night before I left for my first year of University. Our usual chatter was silenced by the idea of each word spoken being the last one for a while.  Mr. Toughguy didn't want to show his best friend how broken he. That he was crumbling at the mere thought of not being able to see her every day. Granted, I wasn't all too fine myself. I held back tears. Grief. My body, shattering quietly. The chirp of the crickets we're like ticks on a clock counting down until I lost control of my emotions. 

Despite it being the end of the summer, the air that night was brisk. An omen of what was to come. How having to leave the one person I loved the most would bite just as hard as October did on it's coldest days. That from every moment past this, coffee wouldn't give the same warm relief. I wouldn't be able to listen to a story in his voice for a long time. 

I told him I loved him. I broke the silence. It was never something we had said, we had just always assumed. He looked to me, speechless. For the first time, the storyteller was at a loss for words. He didn't have to say anything. I knew he felt the same. I always did, but yet, he spoke. 

I love you. 

The breeze brought along another prolonged silence. We were no longer sitting at the lake, with the green trees, the benches, and the park. We were just with each other. Eyes locked. Sounds drowned out. Completely indulged in the other's presence. 

His eyes began to rile, stirring with emotions of fear, passion, hope. 

I love you, he exclaimed for the empty lake. His voice was shaky but it resonated over and over in the empty space. He was proud to love me. Yet again, we were connected. 

He kissed me...then I left. 

Joel passed away a month later.

It's September nineteenth, 2019, and this is the first time I've come back to Echo Lake since that night. 

It's September, but it feels like October. The October of Eighty-eight. I want to cuddle up in a jacket but I'm just being nipped at. I have a cup of coffee but it stings with every sip. I'm sitting at our lake on a bench memorializing Joel, the date October nineteenth, 1988, inscribed into the wooden panel under his name.  

I stare out at the lake and decide to re-test my rock-throwing skills. Maybe with age, I have gotten better. I walk over to the edge of the lake, exactly where we had always sat. Carefully, I select my rock. Three, two, one, and... it sinks. 

I let out a weak smile. If Joel were here he'd get so many skips. 

I return back to the bench and stare back out to the lake.

I see a ripple in the water.