The sun shone down on a beautiful day. Wisps of clouds drifted slowly through the ocean of blue sky above. Birds flew and chirped their midday tunes. A young man strolled along the path, taking in all the sights and sounds of the lake. His skin warmed by the bright sun, but was instantly cooled by the firm breeze blowing past him. Besides the young man, the path around the lake was deserted, until he came up to a small area for fishers. It was a flat opening to the lake, a few boats scattered around the edge for anyone to use.
The sun shone down on a beautiful day. Wisps of clouds drifted slowly through the ocean of blue sky above. Birds flew and chirped their midday tunes. A young man strolled along the path, taking in all the sights and sounds of the lake. His skin warmed by the bright sun, but was instantly cooled by the firm breeze blowing past him. Besides the young man, the path around the lake was deserted, until he came up to a small area for fishers. It was a flat opening to the lake, a few boats scattered around the edge for anyone to use.
As he approached, he saw an old man facing the water with a fishing pole. He sat in a foldable chair he obviously brought. While his face was mostly hidden by his faded green hood, his long white beard draped down on his chest. His sweatshirt was well worn with a large sewn-in patch on the right shoulder. His blue and white tackle box sat beside him on the left. A few feet behind him was the old picnic table barely holding together from decades of use. The young man’s legs burned at the sight of the table; it was a long walk with no rest. As there were no other seating in the immediate area, the young man decided to sit. He slowly walked on the table, hoping to not spook the old man, but unfortunately his first steps ended on a fallen twig. The loud snap carried for miles. The young man spoke out almost as a warning, “Excuse me? Would you mind if sat here for alittle?” He waited patiently for an answer. All there was a short and unsweetened, “Don’t mind.”
The young man nodded and sat, resting his exhausted muscles, catching his breath in the watery air. The old man remained still, holding his fishing pole and not talking. He would have been a statue if he had not spoken a few moments ago. The young man looked over the old man. He was unquestionably a frequent fisher. His chair was rusted and had a fish logo that the young man could not identify. His tackle box was filthy and had numerous stickers. The young man read them, most were from various cities and fishing locations. From the way the stickers were placed overlapping each other, the old man’s travels could be traced. First was Lake Allatoona in Georgia, Venice in Louisiana, Deep Creek Lake in Maryland, and Lake Norman in North Carolina. There wasn’t a sticker for the lake they were on that day. The breeze died down to barely a whisper, the birds calmed. After a few minutes of sitting and nature watching, the young man turned to the old man. He still had not moved. So, the young man, wanting to break the silence, asked “Any fish biting today?” The wait was less this time, “Lake is calm today.” The chuffed and vague response was all that was needed to end the conversation.
Slowly the sunshine disintegrated, and the blue sky transformed into grey clouds. The young man’s breath turned to steam as the air chilled rapidly. He looked around confused and terrified. “Is there a storm? His teeth chattered out his words. His eyes darted to the old man hoping for a response. He had gotten up from his chair and walked knee high into the lake. This time there were no words, just the sound of splash. The old man slumped and fell into the water. The young man jumped up. The last thing he saw were the bottoms of the old man’s boots sinking into the water. Bubbles followed but soon stopped as the water returned to normal. “Sir!” He shouted. His hesitation shamed him, forcing his body to jump into the water. He dove deep into the cold dark water. He just was able to see his hands reaching out into the blackness. His fingers felt nothing besides water. There was nothing. Feeling the searing in his lungs, the young man rose to the surface to breathe life back into himself. Once he had another lung full, he dove back down deeper searching for the old man but to avail. He was lost, he was gone. The young man rose again digging his fingers into the mud of the lake bed to pull himself out of the water. Once he was free of the water, he turned over to his back. Wet and exhausted, he panted looking up at the grey sky. Wanting to gain as much depleted oxygen as he could, he just remained there, watching the clouds. They started to move again and dissipate, letting the blue peek back out. The sun rayed down and warmed his cold skin. It was a bright sunny day again. Warm with a cool breeze, as if nothing happened.
A voice called out, “Hello?! Are you okay?” The young man sat up and looked for the voice. A younger boy, maybe 14 years old, was walking down the path. “Help me!” The young man shouted, causing the boy to run to him. “Are you ok mister?” he asked as he placed his belongings down and knelt beside the man. “An old guy fell into the water, but I couldn’t save him.” The boy stood up to the edge of the pristine water, searching for the old man. The young man sat up and looked around behind him to find some sort of ID for the old man. But when he did, there was only one chair, the one the boy put down. It was folded and newly brown. The logo peeped out from the material, it looked familiar to the man. He moved the material covering it, the logo was the same as the old man’s chair, the same indiscernible fish logo. Puzzled, he looked for the old man’s tackle box, but it too was gone. The only one was the boys, blue and white, but never used. The man turned it to open when he saw the stickers. They were old and weathered though the box was new. The stickers read: Lake Altoona, Venice, Deep Creek Lake, and Lake Norman. But there was a new one, the lake the man was sitting on. His heart raced, mouth agape, eyes blinking in disbelief. He looked up at the boy. He just stood there looking out on the water, his clothes were new. But his sweatshirt was green, just like the old man. The boy then spoke, not turning around to the man to do so, “The lake is calm today.”
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