Part 2: The Sky

The sky and lake look the same to me now. If you stand far enough away from them, right at midday, when the sun is shining it’s brightest and not even sunglasses can save you, they blend right together in the most brilliant shade of aqua. I hate it. It reminds me of where I am, why I’m here. It used to be so fun to be out on the dazzling water, the boat pulling us around on an inner tube, the wind in my hair, delicately balancing between tanning and burning red. Now, I have to row out to the middle of the lake by myself and try to catch gross sunfish as a way to eat. The sun beats down on me with fury, even though I’m the boxer in the ring who’s already on the floor, taking punch after punch to no avail. No more coming off the water to juicy brisket, sweet tea, and cold, creamy potato salad. No more friends to visit, or Fourth of Julys, or playing cornhole until the beads of sweat drip off of the tips of my fingers and I go jump in the lake to cool down. It doesn’t even feel refreshing anymore- it’s like stagnant bath water. It’s dead quiet too. Usually the hum of the boats pulses through the waves, or you can hear someone’s music playing even if they’re far away because of how well sound travels over the water. There’s no music playing anymore, from anywhere, or anyone. There’s no car noise, or lawn mowers, or jet skis. There’s no airplanes flying dad, which just further reminds me of how scared I am for you. I hope we find you before we die, or go crazy. Maybe I will go crazy, but no one will know; I don’t think anyone is close enough around to hear me scream.

Love,
Your Daughter