No Vacancy

John took his first step into the black lake. It felt very warm and refreshing The sensation explored the outer regions of his body, from his toes to his finger tips. He took another step and felt the soft, mushy sand fill in the gaps between his toes. Like the water, the sand was warm too. It was early September which meant the water was very comfortable this time of year.

A fish jumped and it distracted John's attention from his toes to the small waves the fish created while hunting for his morning meal. The early morning fog reduced visibility so that he could not see the other side of the lake, but he knew how far it was. He swam the distance one summer in under two hours when Sue and Will bet he couldn't do it at all.

John waded slowly out into the water.

It was quiet out here. These summer homes only saw families when the kids were on summer vacation. Sue, Will and the rest of the gang had gone to bed a while ago. They wouldn't be up for a few more hours.

As the water's surface began to make its way up to John's shins he saw a piece of paper floating his way. He looked down at it; the ink was still clearly legible. Michael John Simmons III. Columbia University. BS in Business Administration. Magna Cum Laude.

The paper sank slowly to the bottom of the lake. The low sun did not provide enough light for John to see it as it sank and before long the paper sunk too deep and was swallowed by the black lake's darkness.

John waded slowly out into the water.

The water's surface closed around his knees and the scar on the back of his leg. It was a while before John could go out this far in water without wincing when water touched his scar. It always reminded him of his football career but he never missed it. If anything, he felt free.

Out of the fog, straight ahead of him, John saw a long black item float his way. From a distance it looked like a coffin. As it got closer, John recognized his old custom-made guitar case. He had a theory that oxygen slowly reduced the quality of guitars and designed his case to be air tight. He also traveled a lot by plane visiting friends and knew that constant change in air pressure was damaging and sought to compromise that with his case. John spent many hours in his dad's basement working on that case, but it was worth it.

Then suddenly, as if the black lake found a hole in the air-tight case, it began to sink. First, the bottom half started to submerge with bubbles popping on the surface. Then the neck began to rise and straighten as it slowly went down too. Just like the Titanic.

John waded slowly out into the water.

The water's surface reached John's waist. He stretched out his arms as he walked and the tips of his fingers trailed across the surface. They created tiny waves that worked their way back to the shore by the cabin. By the time Sue, Will, and the rest of the gang woke up and walked down to the water's edge these waves would be gone.

John waded slowly out into the water.

The water's surface reached his ribs. John felt a paper land on his head. Before he could take it off, he saw another land in front of him. Then another. Then another. He wondered if a plane was over head and dropping flyers over him. But there was too much morning fog to see anything. Besides, with as quiet as it was this morning, he would have heard a plane from miles away. He looked at the paper that was on his head. His eyes went right to the Harvard letterhead on top. A law school acceptance letter. John looked around. Microsoft would love to have him as a part of their team. As would the financial department at his alma mater. As would the State Department.

John waded slowly out into the water.

The water's surface gently gripped his neck. He felt the arch on his right foot step on something, but it wasn't a rock. It had several small components to it and fit easily between his toes. John squeezed it between his two largest toes and brought it up to his hand. Keys. Apartment keys to be exact. Valerie had asked him to move in with him and saw this gift as an invitation into her life. That was a long time ago. She was married with two young girls now. John watched as the keys slowly melted into mud in his hands. Then John washed the mud away in the black water.

The sun was starting to come up but the water was still black. Sue, Will, and the rest of the gang would be up soon. John stared down into the blackness of the lake. Its vastness was amazing. He looked closer but it never got clearer. The closer he looked, the blacker it became. John looked farther into the black lake but it only got blacker. It occurred to John how odd it was that the blackness seemed so infinite when, in fact, it was just the opposite. The blackness was really nothingness. The harder he looked, the blacker it got because there was nothing there to see. He was looking for something in nothing. There was only less and less light.

But John pressed on, looking and looking and looking. Deeper and deeper he went. Searching, exploring, pursuing.

Back at the cabin Sue, Will and the gang began to wake up and thought about their plans for the day. Someone would have to make breakfast. Or maybe they could drive into town and go out to eat. Some would want to go fishing. Some would want to go boating. But before long, they would have to leave. Go back to work on Monday. Back to their jobs, their families, their lives.

It's funny, I read this and went, "I recognize this." Turns out I critiqued something you wrote on here last October. This is miles better. And you've apparently got a pretty clear voice, because I recognized it off the bat.

I think I said something about evocative writing before. You're improving by leaps and bounds if this one is to be held up to the last. I think some of your repetitious devices need fine tuning. Constantly hammering the slowly waded out into the water bit, I think, didn't quite accomplish what you wanted it to. It's a clunky literary device in an otherwise sleek, streamlined story. It holds it up some, I think.

I like your style, though. Succinct, short, compact, powerful. Hemingway-esque, which is a big deal coming from me.

Bottom line, don't let people convince you to stop writing things like these, including yourself. Work through it, which I see you've done.

Thanks, Parch.
I was rereading it yesterday and all I could think was "wow, I was real depressed that day."

But I guess strong emotion is the best vehicle for writing.