Monday, July 23, 2012

We sat under a maple tree at the end of the season catching leaves as they fell- yellow maple leaves with brown spots on them like they were beginning to rust.

She was a summer resident at one of the lakeside cabins and I was the local boy. With my boat I had gone from cabin to cabin selling bait and taking grocery lists- I charged fifty cents for a container of crawlers, a dollar for minnows, and ten percent of the bill to fetch groceries.

She was bored and I was in love. We both had our reasons for seeking each other out.

She talked about finding an arrowhead near the shore, and how it made the hair stand up on the back of her neck to think that the last person to touch it had been a real indian maybe hundreds of years ago.

I told her how my Grandmother was surprisingly strong when she grabbed me. Old people strength I called it.  And I told her how the owner of the little store down the lake let me take rotten produce out back and smash it with a golf club sometimes.

She laughed.

Then I said that I would miss her.

She laughed.

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