One Day at the Lake

Peter Wiseman is an elderly man with many struggles. A day spent with his son at Owl Lake begins his healing process.

One Day at the Lake

 

     Pete Wiseman silently read the words etched into the frosted glass window: "Dr. Keith Bierce, Psychiatrist." He rolled his eyes and forced himself to go inside. A tiny bell jingled above him as he entered the waiting room. The young lady behind the receptionist's desk smiled and nodded at him while continuing her phone conversation.

     Whoever had decorated the waiting room had obviously wanted it to look and feel like the outdoors. The wallpaper depicted a pristine lake surrounded by mountains and a redwood forest. Potted ferns and other plants were set about the room, and the floor was covered with a rich, dark, hardwood flooring.

     The furniture - a few chairs and a small sofa - looked plush and comfortable, and was arranged around a square, glass table. TIME, Newsweek, National Geographic, and similar publications covered the table. The afternoon sun poured in through the skylights overhead, filling the room with natural light.

     Pete walked over to the reception area and glanced around absently as he waited for the young woman behind the desk to finish her phone call. He adjusted his hat - a large straw-hat - and stroked his long, white beard.

     I should be out working in the garden right now, he thought. What a waste of a beautiful day. But he'd promised his wife that he'd keep this appointment, and he'd never broken a promise to her, not in thirty-five years.

     Pete shoved his plump hands into the pockets of his grass-stained, denim overalls and began to rock back and forth on his heels. The receptionist smiled apologetically as she finished her phone call: "Okay, Mrs. Ambrose... yes, I understand. I'll tell him... Yes... Yes, we'll see you tomorrow at noon... Okay then. Goodbye."

     The receptionist hung up the phone and turned her attention to Pete.

     "Yes, Sir. How can I help you?"

     "I have an appointment with Dr. Bierce."

     "Your name?"

     "Peter Wiseman."

     The receptionist punched a few keys on her keyboard and checked the computer monitor for confirmation.

     "Ah yes... you're his two-o'clock. Have you seen Dr. Bierce before?"

     "No."

     "Okay then. You'll need to fill out these forms. Have a seat right over there, Mr. Wiseman, and just hand them back in to me when you're done."

     The receptionist handed Pete a ballpoint pen and a clipboard with a small stack of papers attached. Pete went to the comfy-looking sofa, and sat down.

     God, I hate all these stupid questions, he thought, as he started checking off boxes and filling out the questionnaires. In answer to half the questions he wrote in, 'none of your damn business.'

     Pete looked at all the medical conditions he'd checked-off on one of the lists: diabetes, heart disease, respiratory problems, glaucoma, and on, and on.

     Well, damn it, if I wasn't depressed when I walked in here, I sure as hell am now. He straightened his stack of papers, re-attached them to the clipboard, and handed everything back to the receptionist.

     "Very good, Mr. Wiseman. Please have a seat. The doctor will see you shortly."

     Pete sat back down on the sofa, then shut his eyes and did the only thing he could do: he waited.

 

     The bell above the door jingled softly, and Pete casually looked over to see who had entered the room. At the door stood a young man, mid twenties, wearing Navy fatigues and a huge smile. Pete immediately did a double-take, and nearly tumbled over the glass table when he sprang from the sofa.

     "Hey, Pops," the young man said.

     "Abraham? What are you doing here?" Pete asked, as he quickly made his way over to the young man.

     "Navy gave me a couple weeks leave before my next deployment, so I thought I'd come to Cali and surprise you guys. I stopped by the house and saw Mom; she said I'd find you here."

     "My God! It's good to see you," Pete said, as he embraced his son.

     "It's good to see you too, Pops," Abe said, returning the hug. "Do you need to finish up here?"

     "No no no, just... give me one second." Pete ran to the receptionist's desk. "I'm sorry, Miss. I'm going to have to reschedule my appointment." Without waiting for a response, Pete raced out the door with his son.

     Pete immediately noticed his Ford F-150, and his aluminum, Triton fishing-boat waiting in the parking lot.

     "Mom said I should take you fishing," Abe explained. Pete threw his arm around his son's shoulder and smiled.

     "Alright then! Let's go fishing," Pete said, "I'll drive."

     The two men jumped into the pickup and started for the lake. For most of the trip they sat quietly and listened to Kenny Chesney and Tim McGraw on the radio.

     "I've missed you, Son," Pete said, breaking the long silence.

     "I've missed you too, Pops," Abe replied.

     Pete turned the truck onto the dirt road that lead to his favorite fishing spot.

     "So how've you been?" Pete asked, trying to keep the conversation alive.

     "Busy. You know what it's like. Things haven't changed that much since you left the Navy."

     "Oh, I don't know about that. We didn't have all the newfangled gadgets you boys have today."

     "Yeah, but sailing is sailing ... isn't that what you always told me, Pops?"

     "Bah... What do I know? And since when do you listen to me anyway?"

     Abe chuckled and shook his head. Pete looked over and smiled. Abe had his mother's green eyes and tan complexion, but his roman nose and square jaw had clearly come from his dad. Pete could hardly believe that the man beside him had once been the tiny baby he'd cradled in his arms, or the little boy he'd watched on the soccer field.      

     Where did the time go? Pete wondered. 

     The truck crested a small hill, and the lakeshore came into view. Pete found a good spot to launch the boat and backed his truck into position. He and Abe tossed some gear from the back of the pickup into the boat, and moments later, they were cruising across the clear, blue surface of Owl Lake.

     Father and son sat in silence. They each had a fishing-pole in one hand and an ice-cold Miller Lite in the other.

     After a while, Pete set his empty beer bottle down and removed his straw-hat. He took a deep breath and filled his lungs with the crisp, mountain air. He stared out across the lake - so peaceful and serene - and stroked his long, white beard.

     "Do you remember the first time I brought you out here?" Pete asked.

     "Vaguely. I was pretty young."

     "It was on your sixth birthday. You were so excited to finally go fishing with your old man. You had your own little pole, and vest, and everything."

     "Oh yeah! I remember... the little green vest with all the pockets."

     "You woke me up at the a*s-crack of dawn that morning. You just couldn't wait to get to the lake and start, 'catchin' dem fishes'."

     "Catchin' dem fishes? I really said that?"

     "As God is my witness... Anyway, I hooked a big one that day; a real beauty. While I was reeling it in, you tripped and broke my line. You remember that?"

     "Not really."

     "I yelled at you... and I smacked ya across the face. When you started crying I told you to suck it up and be a man." Pete fought back tears as he continued: "I never got ya to go fishing with me again after that. I was a damn fool, Son. I'm sorry."

     "Ancient history, Pops," Abe said softly. Then to change the subject he asked, "Hey, you want another beer?"

     Pete cleared his throat.

     "Sure."

     Abe dug into the ice-chest and tossed his dad another Miller Lite.

     After that, they sat quietly, enjoying their beers and listening to the sounds of nature. Minutes turned into hours, the sun dipped behind the mountains, and the sky lit up in shades of purple, orange and pink. Pete knew the day was slipping away, and a feeling of heaviness overwhelmed him. He turned to Abe.

     "I'm so proud of you, Son. I know I never told you, but I am."

     Abe looked at his dad and smiled.

     "I know that, Pops. I've always known." He was about to say something else when he saw movement on his dad's fishing line. "Pops, look. You've got one!"

     Pete dropped his beer and grabbed his fishing-pole with both hands. The pole bowed severely as the fish struggled to break free, but Pete fought hard to keep his prize on the line.

     "Holy s**t, it's a big one!" Abe exclaimed, "Here, let me help."

     The two men worked together - tugging, pulling, reeling - until finally they wrangled a monstrous, seventy-pound, bass into their boat.

     "HooRah! You got him, Dad! You got him!"

     "We got him, Son. You and me, together!"

     The two men embraced, relishing their moment of triumph.

     Suddenly, Pete heard a strange voice: "Mr. Wiseman?" He opened his eyes and saw the face of Dr. Bierce's receptionist. He sat up on the sofa, a bit disoriented.

     "Mr. Wiseman, the doctor will see you now."

     The receptionist directed Pete into Dr. Bierce's office and shut the door. Dr. Bierce asked Pete to sit, and after they exchanged pleasantries, Dr. Bierce said,

     "So, Peter. Tell me why you're here."

     "I'm here 'cause my wife thinks I need help dealing with things."

     "What things, Peter?"

     "Well, our son, Abraham. He was in the Navy... He was killed in action a few months ago."

 

The End

Reviews

[J_Star]

It's funny, as I read this, I felt the tinge of unreality in the interaction between father and son; it was a little too idealistic, too perfect. So I wasn't surprised by the ending, but it did give me cause to rethink what they said to one another; it made me understand and deeply Peter wishes he could have actually said the things he says to Abraham in his reverie, and now how deeply he regrets not saying them.

Laughed at the "none of your damn business" comment. How ironic, to write such a thing on a psychiatrist's paperwork. It goes a long way toward showing his reticence at being here.

You write very naturally; your dialogue and descriptions flow together without a hitch. Nice work on this.

[Karen Redburn]

The writing was flawless, the story line interesting and the end was a surprise. Great read!

[Rita L. Sev]

You paint a wonderful picture with your words - I loved this story from beginning to end. This sad reality for many, handled beautifully by your pen. Excellent write.

[Jack...]

I loved this story the first time I read it and have now enjoyed it just as much the second time around. Welcome to the site Seth. Your wonderful stories will fit in nicely around here. Great job as always.

[NCalebD]

Great story, solid characters, and a twist in the end. Good read!

[Marie]

Excellent story. Really neat twist there. I was expecting somthing quit diferent.