Content Notes: mentions of child and infant death and burial
Spring 2021
Silver and Blue Avery Martin The ring slipped off my finger when I jumped into the water, attempting a cannonball to impress a girl named Emily who intrigued and annoyed me in almost equal parts. It wasn’t a precious ring, just a thin band of silver without any stones, but it had belonged to my grandmother. As I watched it tumble through the dark blue water I was filled with an impossible need to retrieve it. Emily forgotten, I filled my lungs and ducked below the surface, following the mossy cable that anchored the dock as it snaked down to the bottom of the lake. The end was tied to a broken cinder block, also lush with algae and wedged between stones. I picked over these rocks, rounded by centuries of currents, one at a time, smoothing my fingers over each and lifting the looser ones to look in the cracks beneath, until I ran out of air. I returned to the surface, bursting into the air and drawing a deep breath. My legs beat the water as I considered my options. I had to find the ring. The bottom of the lake wasn’t too deep around the raft, only fifteen feet or so, and the cinder block made a useful landmark. Remembering the search patterns drilled into my head at junior lifeguard camp the summer before, I felt more assured. I flipped to my stomach and pulled a few strong arm strokes – one, two – then angled my torso downward and lifted my legs above me, allowing their weight to propel my body down into the cool blue. This lake isn’t like most lakes. Or maybe it is, just exaggerated to the point of absurdity. Picture a mountain lake in your mind – a big one. Now picture one bigger, deeper, bluer, colder. Deeper still. 1,645 feet deep at its deepest, in fact, and clear enough to see fifty feet down. Deep enough that they say that Jaques Cousteau went on a single expedition below its calm 17
