The Longest Day

Windows down, air conditioner maxed, a fountain drink sweating on his cut offs. He'd drop into the Port of Subs in Galena Junction just for a Coke; its carbonation stung in the best way. A dog-eared copy of Catcher in the Rye in the passenger seat. Winding the narrow roads up to Lake Tahoe, his '95 Celica climbed the grade like a champion. Pinkerton played on repeat. If it were possible to wear out a CD, he might have done it. Smiles stood in line to be on his face. They were coveted, but by no means rare. Cell phone off. The day demanded radio silence and he would abide.

Lake Tahoe is God's kiddie pool. Nestled high in the Sierra Mountains, in as early as April, the sun starts chipping away at the snow-covered forest. The lake is sustained entirely by the spring cleaning. The melting runoff finds its home in the cradling arms of the Tahoe basin. You'd swear you could see the bottom of the largest alpine lake in North America.

Tourists and families end up in Sand Harbor. A beautiful beach, but not where Jordan was headed. He followed the lake for another few miles and then hiked down a trail to a small cove of rocks. One in particular was perfectly flat. He'd taken his steady to this spot for the past two years. They had split months ago. Winters are hard for couples to endure. It was sad and hard. Then suddenly it was easy, the way one gets over a cold. Lungs suddenly rediscover strong, deep breaths and wonder how they ever got along with their anemic little brothers. The cove was never big enough for two.

He laid out a towel, cracked his book, and smiled.

It was summer. He was sure of it now.