So, She Didn’t. And, It Did.
By: Kylee Leach
Everything looked exactly the same as before. Exactly the same as the last time she set foot in the secluded town on the lake, and she couldn’t exactly remember the last time all too well to begin with. But as she drove along the winding dirt roads, the feelings that rushed through her body and out her fingertips were the same. She peered above the tall trees, as the sun peeked out through every possible nook and cranny. The grass was dead, but the fallen autumn leaves made the ground look like a blanket of rolling flames, with the occasional breeze picking up spirals of color in magnificent gusts of wind. There was wildlife everywhere. Trees, sky, dirt.
A deer skipped across the gravel. She slammed her breaks and paused for a long while before continuing her drive. As she sat at the wheel gathering her composure, she studied the houses that had previously been there back when she was a child, all those years ago. They didn’t feel as full of life as they once did. They looked dull, she thought, as if they had somehow managed to fade into the background of the scene like a still painting. She craned her neck in hopes of getting a good look inside the house closest to her, but it was coated with the years of her absence. She continued her drive through the area, which at first glance looked exactly the same as the memories she stored in comfort. But now the little nuances of a decade made her apprehensive about her arrival. She drove along the bank of the water until she reached the house at the edge of the cove. She thought back to the very first time her grandparents brought her and her sisters out here.
While everything looked faded and slightly rundown, not even a rock had been moved out of place. Everything was as she left it, as they all left it. The bird bath was full. The giant towering tree in the middle of the yard still held the tire swing her grandfather put up for them some time ago. She recalled the way he would spin all of them around until they begged him to stop, though she didn’t recall until now how tiring the activity was for him. Leaves were falling from the tree. She stepped through the front door into the kitchen. There were pots and pans strung along the countertops, as if someone were just preparing to cook a meal.
She took a deep breath. Even after all this time, the tiny house on the edge of the water smelled of her grandmother’s cigarettes and essential oils. She wasn’t sure, but she could’ve sworn she smelled the faintest hint of char from the fireplace as well. She stepped into the living room, and there hung frame after frame of pictures filled with a thousand memories each, it seemed. Pictures of her and her parents, her and her cousins. Pictures with people she saw last month, pictures with people she’ll never see again. She noticed the phone on the table next to her, and how it was still off the hook. She laughed out loud, because she knew how her grandmother would keep it unhooked to avoid phone calls during dinner. Back then she didn’t realize the grand gesture behind not picking up the telephone, but now as a grown woman she was grateful for the uninterrupted time with her family.
Standing there next to the phone, she thought back to one very specific meal they all shared together. Her grandma had everyone on the dock fishing that day, even her mother who had a laundry list of things she’d rather do than pick up a fishing pole. But her grandmother had her ways, and she had everyone fishing that hot summer day. She remembered thinking that catching the fish would be the hardest part, until she caught it. Everyone deboned and gutted their fish together, and she remembers her grandfather kindly taking care of hers because there was no way she was sticking her hand in its mouth. All that hard work paid off at dinner time. She had never tasted fish before, or at least that she could remember, and also decided that meals taste better when you spend most of the day preparing for it. She thought back fondly on this day, even the part where she choked on a fish bone and saw her short-lived life flash before her eyes.
As she turned her attention back to the present, she noticed that the chairs at the kitchen table weren’t even pushed in all the way, as if whoever was sitting there previously had every intention of coming back. The dust covering the chair suggested that they never did. She turned her attention to the bedrooms.
Every single bed was made, which came as no surprise to her. She thought back to every morning she woke up in one of these bedrooms. Her grandmother would pop her head in the door to ensure they would make them up exactly as they were the day before. She always, always, stressed the importance of starting the day off right. Even now in the present she finds herself tidying her bed in the mornings without so much as a first thought, let alone a second.
Just out of curiosity, she opened the closets. One was filled with all her grandfather’s old button-downs and heavy coats. She saw his work boots on the top shelf and pictured him wearing them for just about every activity except for swimming. She took a long, slow, deep breath, as the closet smelled just like him. It was strong too, his fragrance, as if he had just been inside every item that was hanging.
The next closet had all her and her sister’s old belongings. Clothes that they all used to pass around, toys that she hadn’t seen since the last time she played with them. She picked up a stuffed animal, which was just a regular stuffed bear. She recalled a time when her and that stuffed bear were inseparable. It wasn’t anything special, her grandmother just picked it up one day when they were grocery shopping together. She thought it was cute and gave it to her as one of the many gifts she received from her grandmother. It was a cute bear, covered in faded polka dots and wearing a little hat. The final closet was filled with life jackets in every single size, color, and shape one could think of. Towels and swimsuits hanging from hooks, she would’ve never learned how to swim had it not been for her grandfather taking the time to teach her.
They didn’t even have a dock back then. They would jump off a cement stump to take a dip, and her grandfather was always there to pull them out so they could jump in again.
After a while, she left the bedrooms and went down by the water. The dock was just as creaky as it was when she was a little girl, and she was just as cautious on it now as she was back then. She still remembers when she fell in for the first time, the shock that entered her body when she hit the freezing cold lake because it was only February. She learned her lesson once and never had to learn it again. She looked up to see the boat just as it always was, covered in its tarp on the lift. She removed it to see the boat in all its glory. Her grandfather took so much pride in it, and it showed through in the way it shined. Its yellow tint seemed to radiate in the sun, and there wasn’t so much as a scratch on it. She wished that her grandfather would have taught her how to drive it, but she also recalled the nightmare when he attempted to teach her older sister first. The only other boat on the water that day was them, yet she still found a way to make their grandfather sweat with every twist and turn she made. That was the first and last time he let any of them behind the wheel. She knew deep down however that it was more enjoyable to be a passenger on the boat anyway. If she stood still enough, she could almost feel the mist of the lake water spraying up into her face. The hot summer sun beating down felt warm against the cool crisp wind.
She took a seat on the wooden swing and was surprised at how well it was still holding up. It was crooked and had been like that ever since the day one of her sisters broke it trying to swing side to side rather than back and forth. Her grandparents always used to say that none of them would be satisfied until everything in the house was broken. She laughed. How her grandparents managed to survive every summer with them she never could fathom. She thought back to the time her and her sister broke into a house they thought was abandoned. Of course it was anything but, and ended with a silent truck ride back to the house with a baffled grandpa. She laughed again. She would have wondered why her grandparents had the notion to put up with half the things they did, go through the stress of keeping four wild girls in line. She would have, but she didn’t have to. She knew exactly why, and the reason was so simple it could go without saying or thinking. So she didn’t, and it did. She just took another deep breath, another look around, and she continued to think back. She continued to think back to the time when everything looked the same, but it was all different.
Kylee Leach is from Kansas City and has always enjoyed writing and photography. She is inspired by many films and other forms of media and hopes to make a documentary one day.