The Reservoir

After Kim finished telling me about how she and her sister, Tami, found out their

boyfriends were cheating on them with each other she drove us to the Reservoir. It was her spot

she told me, to just get away from everything, when her head swelled too much. To get there we

had to travel a dirt road until we got to a fork, make a left and keep driving, dust and dirt rocks

hitting the windows and testing the tires until we  got to a dead end. The dead end looked like the

dirt had stretched itself on the ground like a thin layer of paper sheets. There were rusted gates

and she parked underneath the tall security camera, making sure her license plate didn’t show.

It was dark but the light under the camera shone brightly enough that it lit up the rocks that

speckled the ground. I followed her into the woods, hoping some sort of primal source of

survival would kick in and give me night time vision. She pulled her long, lank legs over the

shaky gate, bypassing the barbed wire and no trespassing signs. She landed perfectly and I

staggered behind as our sneakers began to sink into the snug sand.

            Reaching a wooden gate about half a mile from the first gate, she climbed on that one to

and pointed to a submerged dock. About 20% of the dock was underwater. She said we could sit

on it and we’d be fine. We sat down and looked at the water’s changing hues via the moon and I

wondered if I looked across the lake, could I be like Gatsby and find my Daisy again by green

lights. I spent the ends of my teenage nights on the broken dock. The Reservoir was not

made for the light. In our last semester as seniors, Adriana and I taught Gracie how to smoke.

Later on, when we invested in two freshmen girls we taught them how smoke too. I’m only one

whom it didn’t stick with. I liked to jump on the wood while Gracie liked to lie to the side,

often annoyed of my jumping. Half the dock was submerged into the dark blue water and my

jumping caused little waves of the liquid to lick the wooden planks and hit Gracie. Adriana

would puff her smoke as I told them about how my Dad said that we needed to stop coming out

here late at night. The owner had set up several security cameras over the benched dock. We

climbed the poorly constructed gates anyway. It felt right to keep it our night vigil. It was our

“rebellious” escape. It was where we would go to play “cards” which is what the freshmen girls

told their parents they were doing every time we picked them up in my old Jeep Cherokee.

 Years later when I brought Emly to see the Reservoir, I pushed her over the loose gate,

which scared her but she made it over. This was the only time I would ever break the law other

than underage drinking. We made it to the wooden gates to find the dock was about 85%

submerged into the water. I told her how the owner caught people coming over at night and

pissing on the couch in the old creaky clubhouse. The camera had turned and gotten stuck

in its position, only getting to watch one guy one night pissing into the couch to another guy the

next night doing the same thing. . The sky looked heavy against her as she leaned on the wooden

gate. She got nervous and wanted to leave. I told her that I used to flick Menthol Smooths into

the water. And as we walked on the sand, the wetness clung to our shoes and she asked what

we’d do if we got caught. I grabbed her hand and said, I had it all figured out.