A Pond in the Middle of Nowhere

A Short Romance 
by
Bernard Fancher

Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Bernard Fancher
All Rights Reserved

The story that follows is fiction.

*******


A Pond in the Middle of Nowhere


Not until Julie turned off the main road to go up a small hill did it occur to her she had only the vaguest notion of where she was going. But she enjoyed the sense of freedom and adventure that came from having no set destination and as the car rounded its way to the top of the hill she settled back in the seat, content to let the road lead her.
Still, the road could lead her only so far. She herself had to make the decision to bear right where the road forked a little ways beyond the top of the hill, and then bear right again at the bottom of a depression a mile later. For a moment, remembering the swimming hole waiting down the dirt road on the other side of the creek, she considered following a course across the bridge spanning the partly frozen water before deciding against it for the same reason she had set off in a direction opposite the river to start with: She feared the underlying current.
Her father, who had given her as his last present the ice skates that lay beside her on the car seat, made her promise never to go alone onto ice formed over moving water. You could not trust it, he had said. Even though he himself had grown up skating on the river, he had also once fallen through and might have drowned had his brother not been there to throw out a rope to save him. 
Julie knew the ice that formed over still water, if not thick enough, could be dangerous too. But the weather had recently been cold, the snows nearly non-existent, and as she turned from the creek to go back up into high country she was sure the ice formed on any farm pond would be sufficiently thick to skate on.
Even so, it was a little scary to venture out all alone on a pond in the middle of nowhere. She would have preferred an ice rink expressly built for the purpose, like the one she remembered going to as a young girl after the firemen ran a hose from the creek and flooded the village park. That was the winter her father bought her a used first pair of skates. She remembered her initial excursion onto the ice, being run into by a boy playing hockey at the end of the rink. Actually, she hardly remembered the collision at all. What she remembered mostly, and held onto, was how nice he had been afterwards, lifting her up, brushing her off, apologizing profusely and asking again and again if she was all right as he held her arm and skated with her, ushering her to the quiet safety at the far edge of the ice.
She wondered now idly what had become of that boy. In days past she had daydreamed about him, and once or twice even dreamed in her sleep, but so much time had passed since their meeting she had long given up on ever seeing him again.
The road went on straight ahead, though she almost turned off at a place that held a small pond enclosed by a fence containing two bay horses that looked out at the car and flicked their tails as she passed. She began to consider the possibility she might not find a suitable place after all when, starting the long descent back into the river valley, she spotted two ponds below and to the right of the road. A little beyond them a house stood on a bluff overlooking not only the ponds but a barn and the road as it passed on below. She slowed, hesitating at the bottom of the driveway before deciding to go up, feeling the guilty adventurousness of a trespasser. 
Before she could emerge from the car a young man came out the back door of the house; she rolled down the side window to address him.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said. “It’s just that I’ve been looking all over for a safe place to skate. I was wondering if I might have permission to go out on one of your ponds.”
“Actually,” the young man said, half turning away. “I own just the one, nearest the barn.” 
His eyes caught hers as he turned back and smiled. “I’ve been keeping the ice clear, thinking I might eventually do some skating myself.”
She hardly needed to ask: “You wouldn’t mind then if I did?”

The young man watched from a window as the young lady stepped out on the ice and took a few long gliding strides which ended in a tight twirling pirouette. After another minute of watching, he decided to get his own skates and join her.

Julie wondered as she moved on the ice if he might be the same young man she remembered. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t be sure. What were the chances? No, it wasn’t plausible. More than likely her imagination had just played a trick on her.
Still, she felt a cold shiver go through her as she watched him come down the length of the barn towards the pond dangling a pair of skates from one hand. She watched out the corner of one eye as he sat on a fallen tree, removed his boots and replaced them. 
After tying his skates he paused, as if thinking, before stepping onto the ice. Wordlessly, he took her raised hand and skated with her the length of the pond towards the reddening sky. Rounding the periphery he asked her, “Where did you learn?”
She told him the story about the ice rink in the park; after an interminable silence, he whispered: “I remember.”
Julie tilted her head back towards the endlessly deep sky and watched her white breath dispersing like smoke. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to be carried along—gliding effortlessly, safely, across the unyielding ice—and imagined her father looking on from above. 


*******


If you enjoyed this selection and would like to read more, (as well support the work of the author,) please check out The Empty House and/or Resurrection, Stories for the Living and Dead

Thank you