Wavedancer, part one
Apr. 29th, 2009 06:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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When I finally awakened the warm fall sun had all but disappeared beneath the willows, leaving behind the chill that heralded night. I made no move to pull my faded overshirt on, preferring instead to lay in the gentle rocking of the skiff. It was kind of odd to spend this rare moment of free time on the water, given that I was the owner of a charter fishing company, but this was slow-moving river water, far different than the choppy Lake Michigan waters I wrestled with daily. As long as the mosquitoes held their peace I could drift here, alone and uncomplicated.
As a child this cove was the eye of the storm for me, a place I could escape to, a safe haven from my family. I discovered this tiny sanctuary quite by accident in my early explorations of the Moray River, as the twin willows that guarded the entrance grew down to the very surface of the water and camouflaged it well. Only close scrutiny revealed the tiny cove behind the boughs, the quiet and sacred secret of my childhood, only once entrusted to another.
Memories I did not wish to recall surfaced, and I closed my eyes, pressing the heels of my hands to them. The boat shifted in the water and my thoughts returned to the cove. The river wound past it and emptied into Moray Bay, the other fork twisting around Moray Island, where I lived now.
The cold began to bite, and I thought further of the shirt lying in the bottom of the boat. I watched unmoving as the last of the sunshine began to fade. Gradually I became aware of the rhythmic stroke of oars. The sound called me out of my reverie, and I half-smiled, as it was Mike. For a solitary moment I was glad that I had shared the hidden cove with him so many years ago.
The bright splash of his rowing drew nearer and brought with it unbidden thoughts of the many times we'd been here as children. He'd been a perfect companion to me for three glorious summers. Together we'd experienced all Moray had to offer, despite the fact that he was three years older than me and my brother's friend during the off-seasons. The sunny days found us setting snares for wild game, racing canoes in rapids, playing pirates in the Bay, and still having time left over to go fishing, the true lifeblood of not only our families but of Moray Town as well.
Everything always came to an end, and these carefree memories were no exception, leading me down a darker path into one harsh evening that changed my life. After that terrible cold night in the cove Mike became year-round friends with my brother Corny, and I avoided both.
I had warned Mike before of Corny's falseness, but after that night Mike seemed to gravitate towards him in defiance of me. Mike and Corny went to college together, and graduated together, and Corny went to work on Wall Street, where he'd always wanted to be. I hadn't seen Corny since the day he left for college, which was fine with me. I never even got any correspondence or call when I sent him the inheritance checks, even though I knew he cashed them. Mike never came back either; his father, Joe, told me he head tried to make a go of it, worked for some firm out in Kalamazoo, and eventually returned after a couple years when Joe could no longer hold back news of cancer. When Joe died that fall I offered Mike the captaincy of Wave Dancer II, the fishing boat my father had bought for Corny on his thirteenth birthday. At that time it had been named the Cornelius, after her owner, but Corny hated fishing almost as much as he hated his given name. I rechristened her and used her myself until my father's death gave me Wave Dancer. This was the end of my sixth season as her captain and full owner of the company, and the end of Mike's third as captain. It had been a rough go, but we both worked hard, and I was making more of a profit every year.
I was ready for any situation, and, given the unpredictability of life, I was quite relieved that Emil was turning sixteen this year. He'd finally be able to take charters of his own if Mike decided to leave, as long as the Champlains didn't forbid it, and I doubted they would. Half the time they didn't even seem aware he was there.
The sweep of the oars was clearly audible, and the willows parted as Mike rowed through. His long, white-gold hair was gathered into a ponytail, and he smiled when he caught sight of my skiff, his teeth shockingly white in his darkly tanned face. Even in the approaching twilight I could see the startling blue of his eyes. His presence here was a conduit to old emotions, pulling me back to that cold night so long ago.
"I thought I'd find you here," he said, his warm voice loud in the quiet of the cove.
I refused to cling to old heartaches, and pushed them to the back of my thoughts. "I just wanted to be lazy," I replied, sitting up in my skiff and stretching. "My afternoon charter canceled, and I was too tired to get any real work done."
"Definitely a good day to take an afternoon off," he remarked, and seemed pleased, which puzzled me.
"How did your charter go?" I asked, slipping on my extra shirt.
"We limited," he said evenly, his eyes focusing on the skiff. There was a rough patch where the boat name was traditionally displayed, and I wondered if he was remembering the time he had returned from an afternoon charter to find me furiously filing the name Bear off. There just came a day when I couldn't stand the name or the painted teddybear anymore; even as a little girl I'd been too old for it, hadn't wanted it.
"You must have finished early," I said, rubbing my eyes drowsily.
He nodded. "I started cleaning up and packing up stuff for winter...I was thinking of running down to Glenn's to pick up some steaks, but I couldn't find the grocery list."
"It's on my kitchen table," I said, absently fingering the frayed cuff on my shirt. "I was going to go tomorrow...did you say steaks?"
"That's an affirmative," he said warmly.
"Last one home has to grill 'em," I dared.
He rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Not another race."
I'd already hefted my well-worn oars and was past him. Despite his mock disinterest in racing me he spun his own skiff about expertly and began to row with long powerful strokes. I grinned and really put my shoulders into it, stretching the gap between us as we emerged from the willows onto the river.
The Moray was deserted, especially with the end of the season only a week away. All of the locals were busy winterizing their boats and homes and trading summer's equipment for winter's. The tourists and seasonal residents had almost entirely departed. I had only a week's worth of charters left--Mike's last one had been this afternoon, which explained his celebratory mood--and I relished the thought of a few weeks to myself until the grueling outdoor show circuit began. Traveling from show to show was exhausting but necessary, as it was how we booked the majority of our charters.
The sun was fast disappearing and the chill was beginning to pierce through both layers of clothes. Mike was gaining on me, but if I could underhandedly stay in the stronger current he'd have to work harder to keep up. "Are you ready to grill?" I shouted between oar strokes. My subtle crowding act had worked, as he wasn't aware that I was mostly coasting. We were approaching the delta, which poured into the beautiful Moray Bay. As soon as I caught sight of the house I let fly and easily outpaced him, getting to the beach with enough time to pull the skiff ashore and stand on the dock triumphantly.
He rowed up and raised an eyebrow as I pulled in his skiff and tied it to the mooring post. "The day you win fairly," he grumbled, "is the day I polish the Celestial with a toothbrush." He was referring to my gorgeous old wooden Chris-Craft and the arduous task of revarnishing her every year.
"Aw you're just jealous of my superior rowing technique," I teased. "C'mon, I'll drive."
"Where I come from it's called a superior cheating technique," he said slyly.
"You're just upset that you didn't think of it first," I said, fishing in my pocket for my keys.
"You'll probably want to get a jacket too," he said, turning and heading off to the driveway.
I nodded and went in the house to retrieve one, almost forgetting the list. When I came back outside he was already sitting in my Blazer, waiting.
On to part two
Read the version with added commentary
When I finally awakened the warm fall sun had all but disappeared beneath the willows, leaving behind the chill that heralded night. I made no move to pull my faded overshirt on, preferring instead to lay in the gentle rocking of the skiff. It was kind of odd to spend this rare moment of free time on the water, given that I was the owner of a charter fishing company, but this was slow-moving river water, far different than the choppy Lake Michigan waters I wrestled with daily. As long as the mosquitoes held their peace I could drift here, alone and uncomplicated.
As a child this cove was the eye of the storm for me, a place I could escape to, a safe haven from my family. I discovered this tiny sanctuary quite by accident in my early explorations of the Moray River, as the twin willows that guarded the entrance grew down to the very surface of the water and camouflaged it well. Only close scrutiny revealed the tiny cove behind the boughs, the quiet and sacred secret of my childhood, only once entrusted to another.
Memories I did not wish to recall surfaced, and I closed my eyes, pressing the heels of my hands to them. The boat shifted in the water and my thoughts returned to the cove. The river wound past it and emptied into Moray Bay, the other fork twisting around Moray Island, where I lived now.
The cold began to bite, and I thought further of the shirt lying in the bottom of the boat. I watched unmoving as the last of the sunshine began to fade. Gradually I became aware of the rhythmic stroke of oars. The sound called me out of my reverie, and I half-smiled, as it was Mike. For a solitary moment I was glad that I had shared the hidden cove with him so many years ago.
The bright splash of his rowing drew nearer and brought with it unbidden thoughts of the many times we'd been here as children. He'd been a perfect companion to me for three glorious summers. Together we'd experienced all Moray had to offer, despite the fact that he was three years older than me and my brother's friend during the off-seasons. The sunny days found us setting snares for wild game, racing canoes in rapids, playing pirates in the Bay, and still having time left over to go fishing, the true lifeblood of not only our families but of Moray Town as well.
Everything always came to an end, and these carefree memories were no exception, leading me down a darker path into one harsh evening that changed my life. After that terrible cold night in the cove Mike became year-round friends with my brother Corny, and I avoided both.
I had warned Mike before of Corny's falseness, but after that night Mike seemed to gravitate towards him in defiance of me. Mike and Corny went to college together, and graduated together, and Corny went to work on Wall Street, where he'd always wanted to be. I hadn't seen Corny since the day he left for college, which was fine with me. I never even got any correspondence or call when I sent him the inheritance checks, even though I knew he cashed them. Mike never came back either; his father, Joe, told me he head tried to make a go of it, worked for some firm out in Kalamazoo, and eventually returned after a couple years when Joe could no longer hold back news of cancer. When Joe died that fall I offered Mike the captaincy of Wave Dancer II, the fishing boat my father had bought for Corny on his thirteenth birthday. At that time it had been named the Cornelius, after her owner, but Corny hated fishing almost as much as he hated his given name. I rechristened her and used her myself until my father's death gave me Wave Dancer. This was the end of my sixth season as her captain and full owner of the company, and the end of Mike's third as captain. It had been a rough go, but we both worked hard, and I was making more of a profit every year.
I was ready for any situation, and, given the unpredictability of life, I was quite relieved that Emil was turning sixteen this year. He'd finally be able to take charters of his own if Mike decided to leave, as long as the Champlains didn't forbid it, and I doubted they would. Half the time they didn't even seem aware he was there.
The sweep of the oars was clearly audible, and the willows parted as Mike rowed through. His long, white-gold hair was gathered into a ponytail, and he smiled when he caught sight of my skiff, his teeth shockingly white in his darkly tanned face. Even in the approaching twilight I could see the startling blue of his eyes. His presence here was a conduit to old emotions, pulling me back to that cold night so long ago.
"I thought I'd find you here," he said, his warm voice loud in the quiet of the cove.
I refused to cling to old heartaches, and pushed them to the back of my thoughts. "I just wanted to be lazy," I replied, sitting up in my skiff and stretching. "My afternoon charter canceled, and I was too tired to get any real work done."
"Definitely a good day to take an afternoon off," he remarked, and seemed pleased, which puzzled me.
"How did your charter go?" I asked, slipping on my extra shirt.
"We limited," he said evenly, his eyes focusing on the skiff. There was a rough patch where the boat name was traditionally displayed, and I wondered if he was remembering the time he had returned from an afternoon charter to find me furiously filing the name Bear off. There just came a day when I couldn't stand the name or the painted teddybear anymore; even as a little girl I'd been too old for it, hadn't wanted it.
"You must have finished early," I said, rubbing my eyes drowsily.
He nodded. "I started cleaning up and packing up stuff for winter...I was thinking of running down to Glenn's to pick up some steaks, but I couldn't find the grocery list."
"It's on my kitchen table," I said, absently fingering the frayed cuff on my shirt. "I was going to go tomorrow...did you say steaks?"
"That's an affirmative," he said warmly.
"Last one home has to grill 'em," I dared.
He rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Not another race."
I'd already hefted my well-worn oars and was past him. Despite his mock disinterest in racing me he spun his own skiff about expertly and began to row with long powerful strokes. I grinned and really put my shoulders into it, stretching the gap between us as we emerged from the willows onto the river.
The Moray was deserted, especially with the end of the season only a week away. All of the locals were busy winterizing their boats and homes and trading summer's equipment for winter's. The tourists and seasonal residents had almost entirely departed. I had only a week's worth of charters left--Mike's last one had been this afternoon, which explained his celebratory mood--and I relished the thought of a few weeks to myself until the grueling outdoor show circuit began. Traveling from show to show was exhausting but necessary, as it was how we booked the majority of our charters.
The sun was fast disappearing and the chill was beginning to pierce through both layers of clothes. Mike was gaining on me, but if I could underhandedly stay in the stronger current he'd have to work harder to keep up. "Are you ready to grill?" I shouted between oar strokes. My subtle crowding act had worked, as he wasn't aware that I was mostly coasting. We were approaching the delta, which poured into the beautiful Moray Bay. As soon as I caught sight of the house I let fly and easily outpaced him, getting to the beach with enough time to pull the skiff ashore and stand on the dock triumphantly.
He rowed up and raised an eyebrow as I pulled in his skiff and tied it to the mooring post. "The day you win fairly," he grumbled, "is the day I polish the Celestial with a toothbrush." He was referring to my gorgeous old wooden Chris-Craft and the arduous task of revarnishing her every year.
"Aw you're just jealous of my superior rowing technique," I teased. "C'mon, I'll drive."
"Where I come from it's called a superior cheating technique," he said slyly.
"You're just upset that you didn't think of it first," I said, fishing in my pocket for my keys.
"You'll probably want to get a jacket too," he said, turning and heading off to the driveway.
I nodded and went in the house to retrieve one, almost forgetting the list. When I came back outside he was already sitting in my Blazer, waiting.
On to part two
Read the version with added commentary