Rowing

I’m reminded of a summer I never met someone.

A summer where I never made a friend who loved the water like I love the sky.

We sat on the dock of a lake. I asked him what he plans on doing once summer’s over. He looked at me with that look that said something like, “Nothing can take this away from me. I am the water and this is where I belong. But you wouldn’t believe me if I said this.” He smiles, and shrugs. His dirty blonde hair glistens as he turns his head away to scan the great expanse of another world. The sun dances over our faces and across the lake. My criss-crossed legs start to burn on the wooden planks.

“What’s rowing like?” I asked.

He stood up. And there it was. That coy smile. I’ll never know the answer, as he back dived into the unknown, eyes closed, the most peaceful grin spread across his face – completely giving himself to the lake.