Practice #3: Longing for the Lake

Raquel sighed as she picked up the picture frame. A mess of tiny plastic fish, bobbers, and fishing rods lined the edge of the frame, looking like someone had dumped a miniature tackle-box onto an oval covered in glue. The jumble of fishing paraphernalia hugged a photo of a young girl standing on a dock next to an old man. The girl was beaming, a wide, proud smile showing off two missing front teeth as she held up a fishing rod with a large sunfish dangling from the end. The old man stood by the girl's side with a similar smile, though his wasn't missing any teeth. Both smiles were so wide that neither the girl's nor the old man's eyes were visible.

Raquel gazed at the photo and smiled as a wave of memories washed over her. Days spent swimming in cool water and digging in warm sand, nights spent around the campfire listening to stories and eating s'mores, thunderstorms weathered indoors playing cards and watching movies. She'd spent many afternoons at the end of the dock in the photo, baiting hooks with corn and worms, but she'd always had her grandpa handle putting on leeches or taking off the dozens of tiny fish she caught.

Raquel looked up from the photo and around at the rest of her room. She saw dozens of picture frames scattered about her walls and the tops of furniture, each showing herself at a different age. The photos of her younger years often featured the same lake as the picture in her hands, but as she aged, the backgrounds became more and more varied. There were school cafeterias, summer camp dormitories, university apartments, church chapels, cemetaries, city skylines and mountain ranges, festival crowds and empty landscapes, tropical forests and snow-filled plains. The taller she was in the photo, the further she seemed to be from that lake.

The dozens of photos tugged her heart in as many directions, each memory a thread in a gordian knot of emotions. But the photos of the lake were all twisted into a thick rope, pulling together towards happier, simpler times. She couldn't help but wish she could go back.

Raquel's phone buzzed in her pocket. Putting down the photo of her and her grandpa, she pulled her phone out of the breast pocket of her black dress suit. She looked at the caller ID and saw it was her boss calling. She began to swipe to dismiss the call before pausing. After another ring she accepted the call.

"Yes, Jacob?" Raquel asked, her voice dripping with annoyance.

"Sorry to bother you while you're on leave, Raquel, but I need to know when you're going to be back. N-Corp just pushed up the deadline for the contract and I need you in the office."

Anger flared in her chest as she briefly considered cursing him out. Instead, she took a deep breath before responding. "I'll be back on tomorrow."

This prompt was a challenge. I wanted to convey longing for the simplicity of childhood, something I think many adults feel after entering the working world. However, I struggled to figure out how to show the emotions Raquel was feeling rather than just stating them. I knew that I needed to build up the desire for those times by describing relatable experiences, but I didn't know how to make the reader long for them like Raquel was. In the end I decided that having her deny herself that desire would be the best way to achieve this, as this is something every adult has to do.

I'm not sure this was an entirely successful vignette. I'll let the story "rest" for a bit before looking at it again to see what I think of it.