💾 Archived View for spam.works › mirrors › textfiles › stories › tree.txt captured on 2023-06-16 at 20:39:46.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-
The marina was full of its usual Saturday morning noises on this particularly halcyon August day. There had been a spell of heavy rain the week before, and with the skies clear and temperature high, vacationers and lakegoers were abundant. A small troupe of gulls were making their way across the fairway, catching many an unwary fish who ventured too close to the surface. The ten o'clock sun cast its rays into the water, causing the few belly-up fish on the surface to glisten. The sailboat masts pierced the sky and the speedboat engines chortled in the morning air. Boaters were washing their vessels, readying for a lovely cruise on Lake Erie. A few children, accompanied by their parents, seemed calmed by the lake's hypnotic serenity. Kevin drove by the dock which held his parent's boat. Nope, his parents weren't there yet, just as he figured. When his parents go boating, they usually don't arrive at the marina until about noon. "You wanna drive around for a while? " Kevin asked his girlfriend, Sloane. "Yeah. Let's go up to East Harbor," she replied, pushing the long, brown hair out of her face. With that, Kevin maneuvered the car out of the marina and onto the main raod. Sloane hit the power button on the radio which caused the speakers to emit an upbeat tune. Sloane was lightly entertained by the scrolling trees and lake backfront as they drove. "The shore looks picture perfect today." "You want me to get my camera out?" he mocked her, half serious. "No, I'm just saying, it's pretty, you know?" Smiling, Kevin pulled the car onto the side of the road. "Okay, now where's my camera?" he said as he groped along the back seat of his late-model sports car. Finding it, they quickly left the car and went over to the trees. They were in a roadside cemetary, about fifty yards from the lake. "It's sort of pretty, in a wierd sort of way," Sloane commented on her surroundings. "Yeah," Kevin replied, fiddling with his Minolta. "Why don't you go over there?" He pointed toward an old oak stump, about eight feet high, whose branches had long fallen off. It stood just beyond the last and oldest footstone, like a lighthouse on a rocky beach. With the light blue sky and tranquil shoreline both readily in view, it would be a great backdrop. "Now turn around and smile," he called out to her. She was in perfect focus in the viewfinder, next to the massive stump. An occasional boat dotted the lake. "Kev, c'mere. This isn't a tree." He was momentarily confused. "What do you mean, it isn't a tree?" He went to see what she was rambling about. "Look." She was right. It was a large, intricately carved granite replica of a tree, with elaborate bark lines and even a small bird's nest accurately depicted on top. From a relatively close distance, even five or six yards, it looked like a venerable old tree. Closer inspection revealed a small cross emblazoned on its south side, and an inconspicuous epitaph on the bottom. In small letters it said, 'Ledge, 1852-1891.' "It's pretty - must have cost a lot," Sloane said. "Almost as good as Kennedy's memorial, with the burning torch." Kevin sort of thought about what HIS headstone would one day read, but quickly dismissed the thought. "Who cares, I'll never be around to see it." "What?" Sloane asked. "Nothing. Let's get something to eat. I'm hungry." - * -