The sky is so blue today. It is so clear. Much clearer than the water of this murky old lake. I sat at the one of the picnic tables under the large, long pavillion. I've never been to this part of the lake before. Now that I think of it, I don't think I've been to this lake at all. I drive through here at least twice a month and look at it everytime but I guess I never really tried to come here. It's one of those things that it's nice to look at and gaze upon because you know it'll always be there.
The sun was shining on the soft, green water. Little ripples here and there from boats driving around in the distance. I sat there thinking about what I was going to do this summer. My birthday was in six days. I'll be 21. I think I'm was more nervous than scared, more so in the amount of money I was going to spend on alcohol.
I picked up a leaf I saw on the ground and started to play with it, twisting it in my hand, tearing little bits off at a time. She loves me, She loves me not , She loves me, She l.." My train of thought was cut off by the boat that drove up to the part of shore where we were. It was small. Really only big enough to hold maybe four or five people other than the driver. Jackson's dad was driving it. All the kids that were closer to the shore were eagerly wait to get in. I sat and watched as about ten or so of them swam frantically to get to the boat. On the back was a rope tied to it holding an inner tube.
I continued to sit there. I rubbed my hands on the table and ran my fingers through the grooves that had formed from all the summers before and all the people who sat here before me. I felt the dirt that had gathered there over the years. Each groove told a story of some person, some memories. Whether it was good or bad, it was marked here. I sat there lost in those grooves.
"Hey! Sorry, I didn't see you pull in. How are you?"
The use of setting is slowing down the story, so one thing to consider is this: what pace are you aiming for?
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