Springing!

Welcome to The Spot Writers.

April’s prompt: “spring has sprung.”

Catherine A. MacKenzie’s novels, WOLVES DON’T KNOCK, a psychological drama, and MISTER WOLFE, the darkly dark sequel/stand-alone novel (18+), are available on Amazon.

Cathy continues with Melvin and his umpteen tales of woe... (Melvin’s voice is NOT the author’s voice; it’s his alone.)

 

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Springing!

by Cathy MacKenzie

 

Spring: gala, celebrations, Oscars (let’s hope no more “slaps” heard around the world)—see, this Melvin is always relevant.

It’s been such a long, hard winter, and my poor dejected kayak’s been in hibernation for what seems like forever. I need to get it out.

Out

Out

Out

Today is a mildish day here in Nova Scotia. Ten degrees Celsius. I’ll take it! The snow is gone. The lake never froze completely any day this past winter and invites me with its tranquillity. I proclaim today: “Kayak Day”!

It’s gonna be my first day back on the water since William died on that horrid kayak adventure last summer. I’ll never take my girls out again. Marie won’t let me even if I wanted to.

And I don’t want.

I don’t want to be responsible for another person ever again. The lake is mine. The kayak is mine. I need a third “want”—but can’t think of another (everything needs to be in threes; everyone knows the power of threes, but alas, I’m down to two). Suffice to say, I’m on my own from now on—at least as it pertains to the lake’s waters. Marie can handle house and home.

My Blue Origin Kayak (my name for my kayak) has been hibernating in the shed since William’s mishap. No remains of him remain. We never did find his body. Gone. Forever gone. Deep into the depths. Taken by selkies or the Lock Ness monster or another water devil.

Doesn’t matter who or what took my son. I just know he’s gone. As does Marie.

But life passes, right? Life goes on whether we laugh or weep.

I desire to laugh.

Hahaha.

No, not quite funny. My son died, after all. How can I laugh?

But life moves on...

Onward hoe to spring! And it’s here!

I open the door to the shed. My kayak is how I left it. The paddle ready and waiting. I haul out the kayak, leave it on the shore by the lake, and return to retrieve the paddle. A kayak ain’t much use without a paddle or an oar. Whatever the damned thing is called: oar or paddle.

I stand on the shore watching the water. It’s still. The air quiet. Not a breeze. I look up to Heaven. Not a cloud.

Nothing!

I can’t pretend I see William looking down upon me. I don’t want to pretend! You hear of those grieving peeps so bereft who see their loved ones in the clouds. Truth be known, I don’t want him looking down. He’ll blame me for his death. Not sure I can handle that. Not like I’m a murderer. Yet...if I had a gun and were in Russia, I’d turn into an assassin. Kill that Putin dead to the curb. The news every night is horrid. Marie retreats to her room in tears; can’t handle it. I must remain stoic, though. Gotta have a man in the house; yet, inside, I’m tearing up for Ukraine. The world should be doing something. It seems no one knows what to do.

Horrid state of affairs. And I’m only one person. One! What the heck can I do?

Not much.

I truly wish I could do something. As I said, if I had the wherewithal, I’d become an assassin. Shoot the fucker dead. Dead! He deserves death more than my poor William, who did nothing to deserve his fate.

I shake my head. Gotta get horrid thoughts out. Out. Out. Out. Begone, thoughts. Go!

My kayak waits...

I shove it into the water. I wade into the water up to my ankles. Jump into the craft while clutching the paddle. Stick the paddle into the water.

And I’m off.

Oh, Spring!

Oh, Spring!

I love you so...

Spring,

Oh, Spring,

Meek and mild.

Oh, Spring,

I love you so...

Never leave.

 

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The Spot Writers—Our Members:

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/