The Lake

On holding two emotions at the same time

I love the way some places never seem to change (even though I know they do). My family spent two weeks in Michigan, in the Little Blue House in the Prettiest Little City where I grew up, in the beginning of July. 

Standing on the beach at Sylvan Lake, my toes sink into brown sand. Small granules coat the bottoms of my feet and encase my toes. If I wade ankle deep into the water, pebbles the size of quarters surprise tender arches of my feet. Small waves curl over themselves to lap at the shore. The large willow tree holds and drops her branches over the side of the swimming area, inviting us to dance. A light breeze blows flyaway hairs off my face, and I raise my chin to a cloudless sky, sunshine warming my cheeks. Inhale. Exhale. My shoulders descend from my ears. My stomach unclenches. Thoughts tightly held begin to unwind and wander. I am safe, I am home. 

---

A few days into our vacation, Michigan offers a gift: a perfect summer day, the kind of day that gives you amnesia about the seven months of winter. Temperatures stay in the low 80s without a trace of humidity. Sunshine chases all clouds away to show off her best robin’s egg blue hue. I ask Ethan if he wants to tube behind my parents’ boat, the same boat I learned to waterski and wakeboard and tube behind. I promise to be with him and that we’ll stay safe.

Ethan’s brown eyes meet mine and he says, “I feel both scared and excited.” We have been talking a lot about holding two emotions at one time. “I feel this much scared,” he says and pinches his thumb and index finger tightly together. “And I feel this much excited!” he shouts and throws his arms wide. 

“Is that a yes?” I ask with a smile.

“Yes!”

In the middle of the lake Ethan and I climb onto the giant red tube my parents affectionately named Mabel. I teach Ethan the universal hand signals -- thumbs up to go faster, thumbs down to go slower, and hand out in front of you to stop. I remind him our life jackets will keep us afloat as well, no matter what. I sit in the middle of the tube, and Ethan sits to my left. I wrap my arm around him, and we grip handles with our other hands. The boat slowly pulls away, and our tube rocks back and forth over small waves. Our hearts beat quickly, and our eyes are wide open.

“Ready!” we yell to the boat, and my dad hits the gas.

Water splashes our faces, and wind whooshes by our ears. Swans swim away from us, and sunshine winks diamonds on waves across the lake. I turn to look at Ethan. His mouth is open, and his grin stretches across his entire face. His right thumb already faces up. We lock eyes and laugh. I put my thumb up too. I let out a laugh lost to the wind. 

“Faster!” we shout.

My mom and sister share the spotter’s seat, and they sit shoulder to shoulder, leaning into one another. Dark hair escapes from hair ties and blows into their faces. They push it away and see Ethan’s request to go faster. My mom’s and sister’s lips part and open. I cannot hear their laughs but imagine this perfect Michigan summer day does. My mom turns to tell my dad about our request, and the back of his hat moves when he presses the throttle forward. I see the back of my husband’s dark head in the back of the boat, his arm wrapped around my daughter, wisps of her blonde ponytail dancing with the boat’s speed.

My favorite childhood memories are on this boat, lodged into the carpet amidst the sunscreen. Saturday mornings spent skiing and saying “we’ll only stay out for a little bit” and then devouring snacks to avoid going home for lunch. Afternoons spent listening to the same John Mayer and John Mellencamp albums, singing about breathing in this small town and slowing our roll. So many books read laying in the bow of the book. Invented games jumping off the back of the boat. 

My heart rises in my chest and electricity goes through my fingertips. I wrap my arm around Ethan and give him a squeeze. I am so buoyant I imagine I wouldn’t need the life jacket if I jumped into the lake.

---

At the end of our trip Ethan tells my parents, “I want to stay forever.” Me too, buddy, me too.

We had a wonderful time with family and old friends. We saw fireworks, ate delicious food, enjoyed daily icecream. We went to the lake almost every day to play in the sand, play at the park, swim, and boat. We read books and played Candy Land (so much Candy Land). We said yes as much as possible. Nick and I got to spend 24 hours away at an adorable boutique hotel for uninterrupted conversation, window shopping, dinner out. (In case you’re wondering, 14 hours in a car with a 2 and 4 year old is too many hours; we will be staying at a hotel to break up the drive next year.)

It feels good to be home again here in Alabama, and I wish we didn’t have to leave Michigan. Until next summer, Michigan!