One Boring Day

Welcome to The Spot Writers.

The task this month is to write a story where something yellow is important in the plot. It can be any object but using the colour yellow or whatever yellow you can think of.

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.

 

Last month, Cathy continued Melvin’s story. If you’ll recall, Melvin was in rant-mode, upset at the world, what with a dragging winter and spring, not to mention Covid and his usual life issues. He was looking forward to summer—to be kayaking and, hopefully, seeing Kailani again...

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One Boring Day

by Cathy MacKenzie

 

I yawned and lazily rolled over, sensing without reaching across the bed that Marie was long gone. A second later, I heard dishes rattling in the kitchen. A little too loudly for my liking, almost as if to tick me off. And on a Saturday when a man should be able to rest in peace!

Despite wanting to satisfy my growling stomach, I pulled the comforter over my head to drown out the echoes in the hopes of another hour of shut-eye.

Didn’t work.

I got up. Joined the dull, gloomy day with its forecast of rain.

The rainy morning passed, as boring as Saturdays always are in this household. The kids were with their grandparents for the day, which gave major respite, and after lunch, Marie left for her quilting bee. Or maybe it was her knitting klatch—whatever it is she does with her group of women. Most likely gossiping and such.

After lunch, I napped on the couch. Woke up around two o’clock to a bright light streaming through the living room window.

I raced to the window. Had to shade my eyes from the blinding ball.

The sun!

The rain had ceased, and the lake was as calm as melted butter on a sweltering summer’s day.

My heart raced! Kayak time? Could it be?

Yes!

My mouth salivated. Would this be the first time this season to see Kailani?

I changed into shorts and T-shirt, grabbed the cabin keys, and sprinted down the narrow path to the lake. All the while, my heart beat a million miles a minute. Anticipation, of course!

I unlocked the cabin door. My kayak, which I had named the “Blue Origin” after Bezo’s rocket ship, rested on the red shag rug, where I’d left it in the fall. I dragged it out of the cabin and onto the lawn. I returned inside for the paddle and life vest. Gotta be safe in the great big sea, right? Can’t take chances on a storm coming out of nowhere. Gotta be prepared at all times. I learned my lesson the hard way though I do believe all three of my kids wore life vests. Whether they did or not, one died: William, my only son.

I looked to the sky, to the ball of yellow that still nearly blinded me. I shook my fist at the heavens, at a god that would take my only son. He—God—wasn’t watching, of course. Never is. Doesn’t pay attention to us atheists; I’m quite certain of that. Never mind. Kailani will make me forget my troubles.

I hauled everything down to the water.

Porters Lake, connected to the Atlantic Ocean near Lawrencetown Beach, was as calm as it had appeared from the house. Looks are often deceiving, but—hurrah!—not on this day. The sun beat down, hot to trot on this early June day. Had to have been close to ninety degrees Fahrenheit. Just as I like it.

I waded into the nippy water and hopped in the kayak. Off I went, paddling into the middle of the lake toward the beckoning myriad of small islands. A body could get lost on one of them—if one so desired—perhaps never to be found again. Even someone not-so-desiring.

A sudden thought! Could William be stranded on one of them? Could he be awaiting rescue by his father? It had been many months since he disappeared—gone all winter, in fact—but miracles happen, right?

I was close to home, not down the lake to the right where we’d had our mishap the previous summer. No way could he be here. He’d be out farther, at the other side of the lake and closer to the ocean, where the waves and wind would have taken him, not in this calm area.

I shook my head. Memories, be gone! Look to brighter things. Kailani—the gorgeous mermaid who’d come to me the previous summer and took me for a soaring kayak ride into the sky and deposited me safely back on ground. We’d soared as if my kayak was Santa’s sled. And me—it was as if I were Santa, high upon the throne! She was like Rudolph, leading the way.

I yearned to see her again. I furiously paddled. Yelled to that ball of yellow in the sky: “Kailani, you there?”

I paused. Let the oar relax in my hands.

Silence.

Nothing.

Alas.

Then—a shadow. Could it be?

I looked around, just having gotten my hopes up, when darkness surrounded me. In the distance, the heavens roared.

I paddled furiously toward shore, against the sudden rain and wind that threatened to overturn the kayak.

Kailani, where are you? I pictured joining William in the depths of the ocean (wherever that was) if she didn’t rescue me.

But, somehow, miraculously, I reached the dock. I hauled the kayak out of the water. My stomach growled even though Marie had prepared me a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast. A thick, juicy steak would do wonders to calm my spirit. I can only hope that Marie stopped at the store on her way home. If not, I’ll stick her in her yellow 2012 Kia Soul and point her in the direction of Sinclair’s Meat Market.

God willing, the rest of the summer awaits. I’m confident Kailani will appear another day.

 

(This was a boring day, but it was the first day of the kayaking season and you can’t expect much on the first day, right? Stay tuned for upcoming amazing adventures.)

 

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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/