One early morning, I began rowing on a stolen boat, working myself toward the center of the lake. I had always seen this boat by the deck nearby my cottage, but I had never seen its owner. It was a simple wooden-boat with no mast, a pair of paddles made from pine and its body painted yellow. With care, it had aged well. There was a name engraved by the right rowlock, which read "Emily". I didn't see a last name, and I did not know an Emily. Perhaps, it was the name of the boat, I thought.
Slowly paddling the calm, blue lake, I drifted agaze at the echoes of water ripples created by each stroke. I had always loved the waters - lakes, rivers, seas, and waterfalls. I find myself transfixed at the sight of its vast body, and all calamities of thoughts cease. The anxieties evaporate and peace settles. There's an element of healing to the waters, I always say. And perhaps, each time I long to go out to the waters I'm looking for healing. And perhaps, that's why on that day I decided to steal the boat and row into the waters aimlessly.
By the time I reached the center, the morning mist had cleared. I could see the sky, light blue with a temper of orange at the edge of horizon. I gathered the paddles and placed them below the center thwart. I slouched, bedding my shoulders on the front thwart and resting my head against the front edge of the boat. Thinking of which, I realised I had rowed the boat backward, though it didn't matter. With my face skyward, I pictured myself seen from distance in supine position, hovering on water as if the boat didn't exist. Then, I imagined the world upside-down. This was the bottom-end of the waters and I had been peering down into the sky from above. Few minutes passed. I don't remember what I had been thinking then. But I sense that it was ominous. Then, I fell asleep.
I woke up to a woman's voice. "Josh?"
When I opened my eyes, the sun was shining right down on me. I couldn't open them. I heard the voice again, "Josh? Is that you?" Her voice was much clearer.
I lifted my head, and saw the lake. The boat was about as far from the banks as I remembered. There was nobody in sight. Then, I heard the voice again. It came from below. "Josh, is that you?"
I straightened up and looked down. And unbeknownst to me, the next two minutes would be the strangest two minutes of my life. There was a catfish, the size of a small child. And I heard it speak, the words as clear as the day. But, I would not believe it. It motioned, it gestured, it spoke fluidly, but I would not accept it. I felt the blood rush into my head, and I froze. My senses had dissociated and I felt inanimate. Like a stone.
When I had collected my senses, I was able to understand again. "I'm terribly sorry," said the catfish. "I didn't mean to alarm you."
"I'm really sorry," repeated the fish.
Then, suddenly, I felt the blood drain from my head, and I felt dizzy. I had a headache. I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead where I felt the pulse.
The fish seemed concerned and asked, "Are you alright?"
I was able to respond. Yet, still surreal-struck, I murmured, "Yes."
I opened my eyes and the fish was still there. Our eyes met. Still in disbelief, I wanted to ask if it had spoke. The question lingered in my head but my lips remained unmoved. A moment passed, and she broke the silence. Her voice softened, "I'm sorry. But I have to ask. Where did you find this boat?"
I replied slowly, "By the deck, that way." I pointed south.
"Do you know the owner of this boat?" asked the fish.
I shook my head. Then, I asked her, "What does he look like?"
"He must be about forty years old now. Brown hair," said the fish.
Almost all of my cottage neighbors were gray-plus. "I don't know," I answered. I asked, "When's the last time you saw him?"
"About twenty-five years ago?" she replied.
I blurted, "How old are you?"
Realising my rudeness, I quickly blushed. She noticed my blush but answered me anyway. "I, too, am about forty."
My eyes widened.
"You don't go fishing often, I reckon?" She would later tell me that you can easily estimate the fish's age by its size.
I shook my head.
"You look about fifteen," she guessed.
"I'm sixteen," I replied.
She smiled. "It's quite rare to see someone come around the waters and not fish. Well, it's rare to see someone so young come around here at all." A beat, then she continued, "How did you come about this boat?"
"I don't know," I answered honestly, "I stole it."
"You don't seem like the type of person to steal," she remarked.
I was a little embarrassed. I replied, "No, I don't know why. I just felt like coming out here." I took a deep breath. "I..."
"Needed to be alone," she filled in.
"Yea."
There was a strange familiarity in the dialogue, as if our encounter had been recited many times before. We chatted for hours. She told me that her name was Emilia, and Josh used to called her "Emily" or "Em". I introduced myself also - Luke. She told me about her summers with Josh. He'd come to the lake, and he'd always have a bruise or a scar from his adventures in the wild. He was small and skinny. He had short brown hair, round hazel eyes, and a smile like Calvin's from "Calvin and Hobbes". He often brought books, magazines, and comics with him into the waters and read with Emily. She really enjoyed "Calvin and Hobbes", she said. One time, Josh had brought a mini-rocket and he shot it into the sky. It missed and actually shot into the woods. And, she would listen to Josh go on and on about how the rocket nozzle design was improper. He'd bring another one, and another one, until he got it right on the 10th try. She said she remembered every one of them. Another time, he brought Emily fruits, mostly berries, just to let her try. She didn't understand how people could eat something so distasteful, she said. Emily told me stories after stories; I listened mostly. I was magnetized. Her experiences and tales compelled me, and I felt myself live through them. But, as she ended her tales of Josh, I experienced the sharp pain led by the premise of our encounter that morning. After 3 long summers, Josh had disappeared, and Emily didn't know why or where. She didn't have a chance to say goodbye. And, after 25 years, she didn't even know whether he was alive. This yellow boat was the only reminder she's had, and I had reluctantly ridden it that day.
Continued on Yellow Boat (Goodbye, Pt. 2 of 2)
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