Meet Me By The Dock

Chapter 1

Lake Drive, fitting name for a street filled with lake houses. All of them were unique, one had a wrap-around porch and a rocking chair while the other had a row of bikes and towels strewn across the yard. And then there's mine, fifth from the corner, bright blue mailbox, huge stone steps leading to that familiar bright yellow door. The Lake House.

When we pull into the driveway my mom turns to me with a reassuring smile, the baby hairs flying into her face, "This summer will be different," she reminds me for what seems like the 80th time, "A good different." She adds.

And again, I smile, I nod, and let out a forced chuckle. Of course this summer will be different, it will be the first summer without my dad. The first summer without him taking me fishing at our special fishing spot. The first summer without him here lecturing me about the importance of sunscreen. I tuck my hair behind my ear and step out of the car, the humid air hits me like a slap in the face compared to the whirring air conditioning.

It takes us several trips to finally get all our bags inside. I stand in the foyer and look up at the boho style chandelier. When I was 8 I was throwing a volleyball around inside and it got stuck on the chandelier, I hesitantly approached my mom like she was a sleeping dragon. I got lectured about playing inside for 20 minutes that day. She had to lean precariously over the 2nd floor railing with a broom to get it down. I can't help it when my heart speeds a little. I grab my suitcase and throw my bag over my shoulder and haul it up the steps.

My room is the first at the top of the stairs, it's exactly as I left it. Fresh sheets, clean dresser, and a fresh air smell that wafts through the house. I throw my bag on my bed and unzip my suitcase, I replace my fluffy slippers I wore for the trip with flip flops. I switch out of my hoodie and into a tank top. The same ritual I go through every year, forget about my winter self and become a new person. I turn to the mirror and give myself a reassuring smile. This summer will be different, a good different.

At the bottom of the steps I find the house is the same as we left it as well, with its white walls and tall ceilings. The smell of fresh air wafted through the open living room which was right off the foyer, overlooking the patio and the lake. I passed the kitchen on my way to the back door and was hit with a wave of sentimentality.

This kitchen is where I took my first steps. My dad used to tell me the story over and over. I stumbled into the kitchen like a newborn giraffe and my mom shrieked with joy and then burst into tears, and since I saw her crying I started crying. He says he rushed into the kitchen after he heard her yell just to find us both in hysterical tears.

This was the kitchen where my dad would sing Fleetwood Mac to my mom and they would waltz across the hardwood. My parents were desperately and hopelessly in love. They were the couple other couples envied. They had gotten married fresh out of college even though everyone told them it was a terrible idea and they would be divorced within the year. Well, five years later they had me, and they never looked back.

At the sight of the marble counter and the seashell magnets on the fridge, tears pricked the back of my eyes. But no, I promised myself not to cry this summer. Good different, good different, good different, I repeated to myself, it was apparently my new life motto. I swallowed the lump in my throat and took a deep breath.

I crossed the living room and pulled open the large, glass double doors. I squinted against the sun and ran across the hot wooden patio into a shady spot. I walked down the stone steps off the hot wood and into the grass. June was my favorite summer month, not too hot and not too many bugs. I looked out across the lake and checked out all of the other docks, all of them are shared, two houses to a dock. Looks like the Andersons got a new boat this year. One of my favorite perks of The Lake House is that there are no kids in my neighborhood. These three months are the few moments of solitary I have.

It's glorious.

I don't have to interact with anyone my age. The people we share a dock with are an elderly couple that never come outside, we've never even met them. Normally I'll just lay out on the grass with a book, or sit on the edge of the dock and stare into the water. I may bike down to the farmers market in town or to the park around the corner. My days are filled with tanning, sleeping, reading, and daydreaming.

Absolutely and utterly perfect.