Chapter 3

I stared longingly at the pale ashwood frame, not daring to even glance at the picture it holds. I’d look everywhere, my room, out the window, the floor, the desk even. My room was dark and dusty, like an old molded cave, old stuffed animals hiding in dust coated corners. The only light was my window, which was opened all the way, letting in a cool breeze and a salty smell. I slowly ran my fingers down the carved frame, taking in the effort put into it. I let out a slightly aggravated sigh as I picked up the picture frame. Turning it over in my hands, I pushed the small black tabs keeping the back of the frame in place; as they moved, the back started getting loose.  Once it was loose enough, I carefully took the back off and grabbed the paper picture.

My gentle irritation turned to hatred as soon as I had grabbed hold of that vile picture. The picture, black and white ,blurry and faded, like a hazy memory. I identified my younger self, dark hair, healthy looking skin, and then turned my view to the tall male next to me holding a small, barely alive fish we caught. That was my dad. I remembered his appearance well; he was a lanky man, with deep blonde hair and crystal blue eyes, skin as pale as the paper they create at the printing companies. 

That picture held memories that I hated with a burning passion. I crumpled the picture up and threw it to the floor, starting to get watery eyes. I looked out the window, staring at the gossy water and clear blue sky, remembering that day.

It was a warm summer day; the water glistened like crystals and shone under the beaming sun. I stuck my hand into the water, feeling many small fish dart past my fingers and palms. 

Dad handed me my fishing rod and asked, “Are we gonna catch some fish or not?”  

I laughed a bit, replying with a teasing, “Maybe.”

He laughed back and then patted my shoulder.

“C'mon kid, your mum is waiting for us to catch dinner,” he had said, though I had moved my gaze, staring at the leafy green shrubs and trees surrounding the small lake. I didn't notice when dad had started getting his bait on the hook. Though a few minutes later, having heard the sound of his yelp, I looked back. He had hooked himself; I had laughed. 

“Dad! Mom told you to be more careful!” I said, though still laughing.

I snapped back to my senses when I heard someone frantically knocking on my door.

“Hello?” I called out, approaching my door slowly.

“Vinny! Vinny! Have you seen the paper?” my mother yelled from the other side of the door.

I opened my door, allowing the small, panicked, woman to enter my room. She had nearly tripped over her own feet in her panic. She sat on the bed; instinctively I sat next to her. She started spitting out jumbles of words; I could tell she was really worried. 

“Mom? Are you okay? What's wrong?” I had asked, and then I tried to calm her down so she could speak properly and tell me what made her so worried.

“I don't want you going down to the shore anymore, Vincent!” she demanded. She was stern, almost angry.  Now I was getting worried; I thought I had done something.

I still asked her why. “Mom, why can't I go to the shore? Did I do something? If so, I am truly sorry, and it won't ever happen again.” 

“No, no, it's not you.” She held the paper up to my face, “Read it, Vinny, read it!”

SHARK KILLS SPRING LAKE BATHER

A young man swimming beyond life lines has both legs

bitten off--dies on beach.

_____________________________________________

Hundreds of men and women and many children were on the Spring Lake Beach yesterday afternoon when a swimmer, far out beyond the outer life lines, raised a cry for help. Geo White and Chris Anderson, life guards, who had been watching the swimmer closely because of his distance from the shore, launched a life boat and started for him, while the crowd watched in suspense and fear.

As the life guards drew near him the water about the man was tinged with red, and he shrieked loudly. A woman on the shore cried that the man in the red canoe had upset, but the others realized it was blood that colored the water, and women fainted at the sight. As the life guards reached for the swimmer, he cried out that a shark had bitten him and then fainted.

My blood turned to ice. 

“A shark? Attacking a human? Mom, that's impossible. Sharks are just big, stupid f**king fish. With jaws so weak it could never grasp a human,” I started, but then she interrupted, smacking me on the leg with the newspaper.

“Watch your mouth, young man!” she yelled. 

“Oh hell, I speak the truth mom. And you didn't hit dad when he swore.” I pouted a bit, crossing my arms against my chest.

“Because I had no authority to hit him, but I have all the authority to hit you,” she said, angry that I was swearing.

I sighed, giving up, letting the small woman win another battle. I fell silent. Five, then ten, then fifteen minutes went by before another word was uttered. I glanced over at my mother; she was fiddling with the hem of her dress. Then she looked back at me and took my hand, holding it tightly in hers. She ran her thumb over the back of my scarred hand a few times. I could feel her soft skin being scraped by my cuts and bruises. Her eyes met mine, and it was almost like looking into a mirror. I could see my forever dull face, my messy matted brown hair, my ugly scarred chin and jawline. My mother interrupted my degrading session.

“I don't want your name in the news as the most recent dead simp who got eaten by a shark, not obeying the life lines,”  she mumbled, seeming upset just by the thought.

“I promise I won't end up in the newspaper,” I replied, hugging the fragile woman gently.  I stroked her soft, honey brown hair, feeling its cloth-like warmth against my cold fingers.

-Madelynn C.