A mid-december note

Goodbye, Tuckler’s Notch.
The old place will be missed. Gone but not forgotten. Tall pines, maples and the like surrounding, seven acres as far as one could see. And off in the distance the loud pound of rapids running at night when the old route quieted some and stars could be seen and people could not be heard but the wind could be heard and the leaves rustling in it and the river flowing over it and the rapids flailing beyond it where that young girl jumped into it, only a little over a year and half ago. What could’ve been so bad anyway? Whatever it was I shall never know for she is gone, gone like the wind I once knew and the water I once drank and those stars. Stars changed in for a new sky and she must’ve fought some but it did her no good. She walked three miles to get there to get to where she knew she had to go. To that same water, the same sound of the water, that metallic water rushing over leaves, over the fallen branches as it made its way to the sea with all deliberate speed. She went in not far from there down a long road winding along the river where we once lived together. We, letting the dog out drinking our coffee rushing off to work while only 1000 yards away she stood at the end of the rail and the end of time and bid us farewell electing that which we cannot have, but is always with us. She returned someplace we spend so much time avoiding.
The river soon froze but the girl remained unfound. The search was suspended until spring, the final spring we’d spend together the final spring in that home our home and the final summer upcoming to swim in our river there. Soon after the waters thawed and the cooler waters and warming surface waters commingled and the upwelling occurred and the leaves and branches came bubbling up to the surface suspended from the freezing, came rising up a young girl, no more than 16. sweet 16 and she bubbled up with the six month muck, after pleas had been sent far and near for her to please call home to please let someone know she was safe but she wasn’t.

(c) TPF, 2008