Reflections

Water bugs zipped across the surface of the stream’s pool, making tiny waves that traveled to the sides of the rocks. Light filtered through the trees, creating spots on the water’s surface. He could see his face. And then he saw her beautiful face.

The noise of the stream had masked her approach. She was a year older than him but he had been love his whole life. (Or so he thought.) He knew that he had loved her as long as he could remember.

And lately she felt the same.

She was blonde, freckled and thin. And she possessed the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.  He was 17 and she was 18: This was the last summer before she went off to college.

They had spent every summer of their lives on this stream near the Smoky Mountains.  Her grandmother’s cabin was next his parent’s place.  Every school year, the thought of her blue eyes got him through the dreary gray of winter.

Now it was time to say goodbye.

They sat on the rock and splashed their bare feet in the cold, mountain water. She told him that she was going away to school. Far away.  His heart suddenly grew as chilled as the mountain stream’s water. Warm water flowed down their cheeks.

The next year, letters were exchanged and phone calls were made.  But a trip to Europe kept her face out of the stream that next summer. Distance and absence started to fray the strands that tied them together.  She met a senior from Burlington, Vt. And one day he got the phone call.  She was getting married.

That next summer, he sat on the rock by the stream and looked at the reflection of his face in the still pool.  He waited, but hers never appeared.

He also eventually married. She was a wonderful woman he had met in school. That next summer, his parents sold their cabin and eventually developers clear cut the property upstream. The clear stream’s water became muddy. He’d never see her reflection in the pool again.

As the years passed, he and his wife raised a beautiful family. He was blessed to be successful in business and accumulated a huge fortune.  One of his company’s first purchases was the land where the stream ran. He replanted the woods and donated the land to the National Park. The once-muddy water began to run clear again.

His beloved wife died the fall of their 50th anniversary.  Breast cancer had taken her from him and his children were now scattered across the nation like dandelion seeds in the wind.  By the next summer he realized he was alone. Very alone.

So he came back and sat on the rock.  The rock by the pool. The rock next to where his old parent’s cabin had been.

Water bugs zipped across the surface of the stream’s pool, making tiny waves that traveled to the sides of the rocks. Light filtered through the trees, making spots on the waters surface. He could see his face. And then he saw her beautiful face.

Her eyes were just as blue, but wrinkles now surrounded them.  She was still thin, but gray hair had replaced the blonde. But her smile was unchanged. It was as beautiful as ever. He felt her arm slip across his back. Her husband had died the previous year, too, she said.  And she felt like she needed to come home.

The two faces in the water just smiled.  And the water bugs continued to do whatever it is water bugs do.