Pond Reflections

Pond Reflections

By Sherry Lynn Howard

My best friend doesn’t come to visit anymore.

            I can still recall when he was a young boy, treading through the tall grass on wobbly feet, hurrying to reach my muddy banks. He would slip his bare toes into my cool wetness, splashing as if jumping down into rain puddles. He wore an expression of happiness and guiltless wonder danced within his eyes.

            When he was a school-aged child, he would rush down to me with the neighbor boy in tow, fishing poles swung over their shoulders, anxious to cast a line into my middle. They hoped to get a few bites and told tall tales of catching the “big one”.

            As a teenager, when the January air had chilled me to my core, he sat along my banks with a pretty faced girl at his side. Their faces were flushed as they laced up their skates and stole innocent glances at each other. They carefully stepped onto my iced over crust, twirling and giggling as they enjoyed each other’s company. The girl fell on my iced over glaze, so my friend held out his hand to help lift her up. It was glorious to witness the moment when the laughter ceased and something magical took its place. He leaned in, digging the toe of his skate into my frozen cover, and softly pecked her lips. Time stood still as they locked eyes. It didn’t tick until their smiles grew infectious and they held hands, taking off to skate again.

            After that, the three of us spent our days together. They would come down to my shore often, spreading a blanket out next to me. Sometimes we would share a nice picnic. Other times, they would lay on the blanket as we watched day fade into night. The world would open up for us, revealing a magnificent sky full of twinkling stars.

            One day, my friend came down to my banks, pacing back and forth, dressed up in black and white. His family had gathered around to watch the pretty faced girl walk toward him. She was wearing a lacy vintage dress. They exchanged kind words, tears pooled in their eyes, and rings were placed on their fingers. My friend was smooth when he leaned in to kiss the girl, dipping her back as the crowd erupted in cheers.

            It wasn’t long before the girl’s stomach grew. They would still come down to visit, spreading the blanket out beside me, but they would read stories aloud and listen to soft music. My friend would spread his splayed fingers on her belly, staring in awe when it jiggled. She would giggle, at times she would slip her toes into the liquid pooling at my shore. My friend would tuck her into his chest to keep her warm against the chill coming off my liquid surface.

            They stopped coming to see me. I thought my friend had forgotten about me, but one day he showed up to visit with a tiny version of the pretty faced girl. They stood beside my shoreline, sadness waging wars in his dull eyes. He held the toddler’s hand, a smile trying to peek at the surface of his face. He nudged her toes into my dampness. She shrilly giggled and a grin temporarily stole the sadness from him. The girl waded in my liquid and he chased after her. We taught her how to swim. Soon after, they walked down to me with poles in their hands. We taught her how to fish. It was a splendid day when she slid into skates, for the first time, and we taught her how to twirl. My friend watched her, despair snuck up on him as the past came to light once again. He fell to his knees at my banks, tears pouring from his eyes. The girl went to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. They cried together.

            He stopped visiting after that. Years went by and I didn’t hear him. I became lonely as the seasons passed by and weeds grew up around my shoreline. I would look up at the night sky, but the stars didn’t twinkle as brightly as they once did. In the winters, my iced over glaze would go un-scathed. Our friendship seemed to fade away.

            One day, out of the blue, I heard the roar of an engine. To my surprise, it was my old friend. He stopped the mower at my shore. I noted the way time had changed him. His pale skin was wrinkled with age and his hair was a timeless gray. His hands shook as he stared out over my reflection. He squinted his eyes, seeming to replay our history, as we sat reminiscing.

            Sometime later, with anguish on her face, I saw the grown-up replica of the pretty faced girl again. She cried at my shore holding an urn in her hands. She took off the lid and let the ashes, of my friend, spread out onto my bank. My gentle waves welcoming him as we became one.

             My best friend doesn’t come to visit anymore. Instead, he rests peacefully inside me.

             It’s going to be okay though. We will not be lonely because I hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet treading through the grass.