This City

Twilight at Carbon Lake.

There are a few things he can’t admit to himself. He’s toyed with these ideas, looked at them from various angles, but he still finds himself unable to accept them.

The idea that the lake he’s standing in front of isn’t a cesspool, it isn’t a trap. It’s a lake. A muddy, unclear lake, but that’s all. Nothing lingers beneath the surface.

The idea that maybe every lake he’s ever stood in front of was like this one: just a lake.

The idea that, if those other lakes were dangerous, it was his fault. The idea that he had dumped a barrel of cyanide into every lake he had ever come across, or worse: The idea that he is a barrel of cyanide, destined to poison every lake he ever swims in whether he likes it or not.

He believes that maybe these ideas are true and he believes that these ideas are patently untrue and this conflict defines him.

Here is how he came to be standing at this lake on this day:

A long time before this there was a girl. She was a nice girl, a shy girl, and she caught the boy’s eye. He worked very hard to win her over and he did and they were happy for a long time. One day the boy realized that she was no longer happy. She still loved the boy (who by now had grown into a man), but she did not love herself or her life.

His life only continued to improve. He had friends, he had a home. He was comfortable with himself for once, and he did love his life. He no longer loved the girl.

When he thought about this it hurt his head. He couldn’t leave her. She would get depressed. She would spiral. She would hurt herself. These were excuses, of course, because he was complacent and lazy and afraid. The girl had grown into a woman. She could live her own life. She did not need him, and, more importantly to the man, he could not be there for her any longer if she did. Maybe these were excuses too.

He kept coming back to those same ideas, ideas he wouldn’t allow himself to accept, and each time he pushed them out of his head. At this point, it didn’t matter who was to blame, it didn’t matter why things weren’t working, it only mattered that it ended.

This time there was no vitriol. Things had changed and the man was different from before. He was not mature, but he had matured, and he did not rage or weep. He merely did what needed to be done. He got on a train at twilight and went to her. It was a long train ride, and the only thing he could do was sit and fester. He wanted to be done with this, and done with her.

When he arrived, it was dark, and he found himself filled with fear and anticipation. He walked along the dock for a long time, staring at that lake, contemplating it, planning the scenario in his head over and over, each time scrapping all the previous work and starting fresh until he suddenly found himself standing at her door with no idea what to say.

And that was it.