The Other Side of the Lake

If a thing moves, it creates beauty. 

 

When sitting beside you by the lake that Sunday morning, Joe, I finally realised what it meant.  

 

The water flowed in front of us. Its movement was hard to notice. Some fallen leaves were floating on its surface. They were all being carried to the same direction, not having a choice but to follow their own fate. But you didn’t see any of this, Joe, as you were reading, with your head down like a withered flower. You turned the pages with your thumb and forefinger, hesitantly, not willing to let go of the parts you had already finished. Then, the page moved, and so as your fingers. 

 

Even I was moving. Sitting there with only a light jacket on, I shivered just a little. A soft breeze blew towards us, the water flowed quicker. I could hear my own heart beating. A moment later, I blushed, and covered my cheeks with both hands, pretended I was just cold, not nervous. 

 

Suddenly, you looked up with a frown, and stared at what’s in front of you for quite a while. I tried to looked into the same direction, but couldn’t turn my eyes away from yours. 

 

‘What makes a leaf fall?’ you asked, having no idea that I loved you. 

 

‘That’s just what happens when season changes, I guess.’

 

Then, you were lost in thought again, like you always were. How bad I wished the time could stop. 

 

‘Its dryness, maybe,’ I said. ‘When a leaf dies it becomes dry, and that’s how it loses its connection with the tree branch.’

 

After hearing what I said, you stood up, and threw your book into the lake. We watched it float on the surface for a few seconds, and slowly sank into the water. 

 

I was shocked. Did I say something wrong? I thought to myself, and seeing you, Joe, being so tall beside me, for I was still sitting, and looking calm as the surface of the lake. 

 

‘Joe, come back,’ I said when you began to walk away, but you didn’t seem to hear me. ‘Come back,’ I raised my voice a little, but it had no use. 

 

So I just sat there, puzzled, watching your legs move back and forth, and back and forth, until they carried your body out of my sight. And that’s how easy it was for you to leave me, Joe. I felt so overwhelmed that even my body stopped shivering. 

 

We are both moving. We always have been. You had chosen to move in your own way, so did I. But whenever I think of you, Joe, I’ll think of the lake, I’ll blame myself for not standing up to walk with you, I’ll close my eyes and be taken back to the very same place where you left me. 

 

It was a cold Sunday morning in late autumn. Leaves were falling from the trees. I was sitting by your side. You were reading. A soft breeze blew towards us. You looked up from the book, with a frown and a look in your eyes that I can still recall even till this day.

 

What exactly did you see? 

 

 

​

You leant your head against the windowpane, breathing heavily, lips slightly parted as if words were going to come out in any second. But you wouldn’t let them, would you, Joe? For you had always been so calm and reserved, never said a thing without a second thought. I wanted to remind you of the view outside, of how rare it was for the sunlight to shed on those trees this early in the morning, but your eyes looked so numb that I doubted you even cared to look at it at all. 

 

 Apart from the driver, we were the only passengers on this bus. I sat on the seat beside you, which means if I wanted to look out the window, I’d have to look at you. I liked sitting beside you, even if I’d be further away from the view, and to feel the touch of our knees when the roads were bumpy. While the bus was moving as a large rectangular box, I felt like my whole world was trapped in it and was moving along with. 

 

‘Joe, I think the bus is going in the opposite direction.’

 

‘Don’t worry,’ you said. ‘It goes in circles.’ 

 

When you said the word circle, your voice clearly shook. You’re feeling carsick again. Both of your hands had already clenched into fists. 

 

Your breathing became faint as the bus was taking us nearer to the lake, which made me think that you must had fallen asleep and were wandering in some far-off places within your own head. All of a sudden, I felt close to you, and found it hard to ignore the tension between our bodies, except that yours was unconscious. I wanted to laugh like a little child and run in my old princess dress towards where you were. I’d be faster than the bus. I’d be faster than anything in this world. People would think I was mad, they would even be scared of me. ‘I’m not mad.’ I would say to them. ‘I’m running towards my love.’

 

A sense of numbness began to spread in my arms and stopped them from moving. I felt as if you were holding my hand. But when I looked down, both of your hands were still in firm fists. If it wasn’t your hand, Joe, what was it?  

 

I hadn’t realised how heavy my hands were until I tried to put one of them onto yours, just like several weeks ago.

 

‘Tell them!’ I remembered you saying, almost began to shout, after I told you I was scared to go back to my homeroom because those girls could always find a way to lock me in. ‘Tell them how you feel!’

‘But I’m scared.’ 

 

‘Why are you scared of telling people how you feel?’ Your tears were coming out, though I couldn’t tell if it’s out of rage or sadness. 

 

‘I’m sorry.’ I put my hands on yours to calm you down. ‘I’m really sorry.’

 

You eventually decided to skip all your classes and sat beside me on a bench until school ended. We talked and talked. I thought you would stay by my side like this for the entirety of my life. 

 

The edge of the lake appeared while I was recalling. I had to wipe off the tears before waking you up to get off the bus. 

 

 

​

 

‘Everything happens for a reason,’ you said to me as we walked along the lake. ‘The water ripples for a reason.’ 

 

As years kept passing by, I learnt the most powerful things were the ones unseen, and that I’d be in great pain if I failed to notice them. This uncertainty of life scared me. Sometimes, I could even see it coming to me in my dreams, and would wake up screaming. But wasn’t it the most intriguing part of being alive, Joe? Wasn’t it what drove all the living things to move and create beauty? 

 

‘Maybe someone’s drowning on the other side,’ you followed up. Was that why you believed the water would move? 

 

I was out of breath at your words. And while you kept on talking about some random things that happened in school, Joe, the sky shook above me. 

 

It had become rather clear that something’s standing between us, splitting us apart. You sat down next to me when we became a bit tired, opening up a book which I didn’t remember the name of. I tried to overlook this sadness and felt the urge to let out my feelings. But you have to understand it wasn’t easy, Joe, for me to find the exact words that I clearly knew would put our friendship at risk.

 

So I watched the willows gently sway in the breeze as their leaves fell. Beside me, you were reading. The pages were turned after a long time of hesitation. When those things squashed into my sight all at once, I felt giddy with a sudden shock that pierced through my whole body. 

 

I could see it, Joe, I could see the beauty in their state of being, and how the invisible matter was flowing underneath, driving them to move. This is the moment, I remember myself thinking, my feelings deserve to rest at where they belong. But when I turned my head and saw how your eyes were still fixed on that book with its printing small as black dots, Joe, my courage vanished like a flash.

 

A few seconds had passed, you looked up with a frown. You saw the death of those leaves while I was appreciating their beauty. 

 

‘What makes a leaf fall?’ You asked. 

 

‘Its dryness,’ I answered. 

 

Then, you left me, Joe, with your legs moving back and forth, easy as how a leaf fell from the tree. That was the last time I saw you. I remained sitting by the lake until the moon rose and staggered back home. 

 

I burst into tears with the vision of us jumping into the lake together. The water was so cold that we had to paddle fast enough to keep ourselves warm. Unlike those leaves, we could swim to whichever direction we wanted. I’d follow you all the way up to the other side of the lake where you once thought someone was drowning. I’d hold on to you as tightly as a leaf did to the branch in early spring. And when it was about the time, I might even be able to tell you how much I loved you. The water would then be moving because of us, because of the tension between our bodies that once pulled us far away from the rest of the world. 

 

I later heard you moved to another city and were happily married with kids. Sometimes when I was once again wide awake at night, I blamed myself for letting you go.  

 

But if I were to stop your legs from moving, Joe, if I were to stop the water from carrying those dead leaves all to the same direction, the world would lose its beauty.

 

 Right now, I need to stop thinking. What had happened cannot be changed, just like how we used to sit in the same position but could always see different things. I close my eyes and for the last time see you walk away from me, towards the other side of the lake. How beautiful. How cruel. 

 

Not until this moment do I begin to see, that what was standing between us all this time, Joe, has never been the lake, but its movement.