Steven Carl Gilbreath

(321) 206-3643

[email protected]

545 Daniels Avenue

Orlando, FL 32801-4028

The Blues and the Greens

by Steven Carl Gilbreath

He felt it as numbing cold, and the wind poured out from the north in staccato bursts, shaking the trees and dragging violent, jagged gashes across the lake. Inhaling sharply, he let the light mist slowly dampen his face and drench his hair, as it beaded his glasses. All the life of a lake before him, and the sky above him, and the forest beside him seeped in with the mist. Muscles loosened from deep within and his breathing felt as natural and easy as he could remember. The impulse came to jump in, to let the lake waters wash all the noise and electricity from his mind.

They thought he was inside, his aunt and uncle, tucked away warm, cozy - resting his pale skin and tired body. They thought him still on the couch, flipping through the channels, the television latched on like a flashing manacle. It was getting dark, and they might worry. But it was the first time he had left the city in over 10 years to spend the last weeks of October with them, and he had wanted to see the lake. So he left the television, still on, and made the short hike through the back yard to the water�s edge. An unpleasant thought kept pace with him. His relatives had greeted him and then questioned while he searched the channels for the show he was about to miss. It was almost eight o� clock after all

He couldn�t remember the questions, that was the unpleasant part, though he thought he gave answers enough to satisfy them. At least they seemed to be when they finally faded away. Why didn�t I ask them anything? he thought.� Well, I�ll get around to it.�

A dog barked at him from across the lake and the echoes brought him around just as the clouds chose to open up. He was sopping to the skin now and shook his heavy head of hair, throwing off large drops to earth, careful not to dislodge his thick glasses. The dog seemed tiny but he could tell it was a big one, golden (or rather a wet and dark gold). When was the last time I pet one?� The excited animal padded back and forth along the far bank, barking playfully as if to call him over for a game. The youth smiled at the animal and twisted to walk back, thinking of his favorite show, the soft couch, and warm dinner. Wet and cold, that was what he felt.�

The dog doubled its efforts to call him, putting a jerky paw into the water, testing it. Stopping, the young man began to ache in his shoulders and back, and the nape of his neck prickled at every drop of fallen rain. His head slowly began to pound as his face pulled inward. Tears mixed with the drops that ran from the clumps of his hair. The dog was calling, calling still, and he had turned away.�

Wiping his nose and the water from his glasses, he paced the bank, searching for a canoe, remembering one from his first visit to the lake years ago. About to stop, he saw it lodged in a grouping of trees, forgotten. The craft was filthy and peeling, and murky water had pooled up in the bottom. The young man couldn�t see these things, he saw only the blues and greens now through his misty lenses.�

Wading out into the frigid water, he climbed into the tiny canoe with an awkward plop. Aren�t canoes larger? While he pushed out from the bank, a gust of wind, stronger than the others, nearly turned him over. The tears all done now, he let out a whoop and he laughed hard enough to shake the canoe, causing tiny ripples all around him that died in the torrent. Barking louder the dark gold animal ran up and down his side of the lake again, refusing to tire. The youth kept paddling toward the call - his beacon.�

Halfway out, or so it seemed to him, he began to bark back. It was sound not from the throat or lungs but from the body and bones. It was a noise that challenged the blasting wind and the pounding rain.�

And then a cough, deep in the lungs, cut his yelping and barking off. The dog stopped and rested on all fours, head cocked to the side, tongue drawn in. The cough became coughing and the short canoe picked up the rhythm. A quick inhale opened his eyes wide as the craft tossed him out into the living lake.�

Panic, then more laughter and barking mixed together as he broke the surface. He was halfway, wet and cold, and everything ran together.�

But the young man forgot and swam hard toward the other's call, like picking apples off the tree, hand over hand until finally he stood in the muck, the skin of the water tearing off and washing him. Feeling like a man on the moon in lead boots, he pulled himself onto the bank and stood over his partner, his dark gold, and bent to place his hand where the head should be. A warm pink smear lashed out to meet the hand, but he did not feel it. The dark gold lay down and let his chest be rubbed, but the young man could not feel it.�

Numb.�

There was a voice. It was an urgent one and he turned to see it but his glasses were gone under the water and the colors were washed out with the storm. The voice repeated and a dark brown was above him somehow, shifting, calling someone else over.�

It was his name. Of all the words he knew, that one could carry even into his dreams. It was all blues and greens and they finally faded right after sound and all he had was the smell of the muddy grass on the bank of the wind-blown lake.�

* * *

Everything is different when one is very tired and he was that and more. But sleep left with the gentle shaking.

"Wake up. I need to talk to you," a voice said tensely.� The young man turned his head to look at the cream colored splotch.�

"Here�s your glasses hon." and he felt them in his hand.�

"I lost them in the lake," was all he could manage.�

"I figured. Your mother packed your other pair in the suitcase." his aunt told him. He knew the voice now and a second later he could see her clearly.

"Thanks. Hey." He called out, noticing his uncle at the foot of the bed. "What happened? Did I�get frostbite?" he asked, for his arms and legs were heavy.

"Oh no, no hon� it wasn�t nearly cold enough for anything like that. Oh, but you about gave us a heart attack. I though you had been attacked by a pack of dogs for all that yelling I heard. And thank God, there you were laid out cold without a scratch."

"Why didn�t you just walk around, I mean what were you doing out there, in all that rain?" his uncle asked.

"I was� well, I saw a dog, and I took out the canoe� and it just tipped over in the middle of the lake..." he finished with a yawn.

"Well it�s made for little kids, of course it tipped over. Why didn�t you just swim back to the house?"

"It didn�t occur to me." The youth replied.�

"Hmm, I�m not sure what to say about that."

"Darlin�, do you remember anything? Did you hit your head or feel real queasy?" prodded his aunt while rubbing his forehead.

"No mam, all I remember is, well, I got real tired." He said, turning his head away from her.

"Tired of what? Of swimming?" his uncle pressed.

He swung his head back. "Huh? Oh, yeah, of swimming."

"Well you look all right and you don�t have a temperature." His aunt smiled weakly, the corners of her mouth trembling.�

"Don�t never pull a stunt like that again, you could�ve drown." His uncle warned, pointing for emphasis.

The young man turned his head away and answered with a weak "Yeah, OK."�

His uncle reached behind him and flipped on a small television perched on the dresser. He hadn�t noticed it till now.

"Please, don�t." he pleaded in a tired voice.

"What?" his uncle said, suddenly confused.

"Could you shut it off please?"

"Is it giving you a headache? I�ll get some aspirin," his aunt said as she turned to go.

"No�well yeah. But I don�t need the aspirin. Thanks."

His uncle switched it off, the static-popping dying quickly. The young man licked his lips and rubbed the sleep from his left eye underneath his heavy glasses. He could feel the dog�s tongue in his hand, warm and sloppy, the breath flaring in cold blasts. Its back was tangled, wet fur that slid under his palm. And his clothes were his own skin, weighing him down. He felt it all at once in the soft covers, no longer numb. It wasn�t nearly cold enough for that.

"I was wondering," he finally asked "how did you two meet?"