That’s that old shit right there.

Found some old stuff!

——

The last time I saw the dock I was sitting with James eating a peach and dangling my feet in the murky water. He sat next to me on the hot wood, tracing circles with the end of a burnt match. We had rented a paddle boat. The day was hot and still; the air lay close against my face. My stomach turned an easy somersault.

“So do you want to get in this boat or what?” he said.

His car was in the parking lot, packed with the detritus of four years gone wrong: books with endearments scrawled in the front, sweaters that my mother sent for Christmas, the tags still on. The cat had left the house when she saw the boxes in the hallway and returned three days later, all matted fur and contempt. She slept in the space between us in the bed, stretching her body across the distance.

“I guess we can get in the boat. I paid for it,” I said.

The boat wobbled and water sloshed over the edge as James set a wary foot inside. Our pace was slow and we moved in silent, deliberate circles around the lake.

“This is fun,” he said. He trailed his hand in the water and avoided my eyes.
“Yeah, this is great. What a good idea. Paddle boats. Who rents paddle boats anymore?”

Four years of living together had reduced us to an awkward first date, paddling aimlessly around a lake in July. We were tired.

The boat came to rest after ten minutes and bobbed gently on the waves created in our wake.

“Are you going to come visit me in Seattle?” he asked.
“I don’t know. No. Probably not.” I said.

We lapsed into silence, looking across the lake to the camp that was there. Kids in bathing suits and life jackets ran full til on the dock, bright colored dots moving on skinny legs. A girl sat on the dock, hugging her knees. Her friends looked back and waved and she shook her head as they jumped into the water one by one.

“I guess we better get back,” James said.

He started pedalling and I followed suit, going at a languid pace until we reached the dock.He offered his hand as we got out of the boat and I grabbed it. His palm was sweaty. We walked back to the end of the dock in silence.

“I guess I’m going to take off. You want a ride?” he asked.
“I can walk, it’s fine,” I said.
“I’ll call you in a couple weeks,” he said. The words fell flat.
“Have a good flight,” I said.

I watched his back disappear as he walked up the hill towards his car.