Lake House

Thad DeVassie

photo credit: Michael Pfister

We packed the car lighter than usual, embarked on the multi-hour trip to the tiny house on the lake. We questioned if this was the right thing to do under the circumstances: driving this far to maintain our distance. Not going felt like forfeiture, giving permission to lose a year in the midst of losing a year. The house and short walks to town and the beach were more than capable, under these or any conditions, of creating memories. Even still, we huddled inside, watching with careful concern passersby at every turn. On the side patch of grass, we circled the make-shift fire pit that burned for hours into the night. It was here that unspoken words of despair lingered on the breath of our children—When will this be over? Why did we come here? I could tell them about muscle memory, how showing up was a sign of strength, of mental toughness. I could convey how they will remember this year more than most—this unique inactivity, and how these flames, dancing several feet above the rocks and ash ring, the sparks pushing toward unreachable heights against a cloudless cobalt sky, will be emblazoned on their memory. I repeatedly ran my fingers along the weathered grain of the Adirondack’s arm rest watching their faces, biting my tongue, knowing that the lake house, this ring of ash, will remind them in due time.

Thad DeVassie is a lifelong Ohioan who writes, paints, and runs a brand messaging studio on the outskirts of Columbus. His work has been featured in Unbroken, Spelk, Lunate, FEED, Ghost City Review, 50-Word Stories, and others. His chapbook, THIS SIDE OF UTOPIA, is forthcoming from Cervena Barva Press. @thaddevassie