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Cheryl liked to think she had no illusions about the way Marco felt about her. When sex is that pure and simple, it’s hard, even despite cultural assumptions, to feel that craving for emotional attachment. Even if it was occasionally soft, tender, slow and intense, there were plenty of other times when it was too rough, too hard, awkward, and awful. They would share a cigarette afterwards, forgetting for a moment that Cheryl didn’t smoke and Marco was happily married. For a moment, it was bliss; the empty kind that holds no expectations or connotations of greatness.
She didn’t care to remember how the affair had begun, and didn’t think too much about it, except on those tired nights when she had to stay late at the office, filing or copying memos. Alone, surrounded by the hibernating whirr of the computers and fax machines, Cheryl let her mind wander, and sometimes it would wander to Marco’s office. Or Marco’s backseat. Or, and only twice, Marco’s living room with the multitude of children’s toys strewn over the floor. Those were the only times they hadn’t smoked, because his wife would have smelled it and Cheryl had no desire to be responsible for the health of a child. Sometimes, though, it would wander to the beach, that one time she drove her mother’s car up north to Trout Lake, by herself, without asking. How she trespassed onto the property of an ex-friend’s family, just so she could run down to the lakefront, kick off her shoes, and splash around in the near freezing water like a madwoman. It freaked her mother out. It freaked her out, too, but it felt incredible, like her heart was so full it had to expand out in all directions. A strange sensation for someone who was once known to chronically colour inside the lines.
Cheryl was fairly sure she had no illusions about Marco, but started feeling a twang of desperation when there was a lull in the frequency of their get-togethers. She had resigned to believe she was falling in love with him, for lack of a better explanation, having never been in love before. She felt a kind of tugging, not in her heart, but in her gut. It was uncomfortable. It made her sweat even when the AC in the office was cranked up high. She figured out exactly what it was the night Marco had called her when she was staying late at the office again. He was frantic and blubbering in a way no man ever should.
It was nearing eleven o’clock when her cell phone rang. Cheryl was tired, famished, irritable, and the ringing phone didn’t do much to help her mood. Seeing Marco’s name flash on the screen, though, left her with a strange sensation. On the one hand, it had an odd anticipatory calming effect. On the other, it made her eyes roll. Marco never called that late.
It was only a half hour later that Cheryl found herself standing outside the hospital. Marco’s wife was being treated after an allergic reaction to strawberries. Cheryl loved strawberries. She watched Marco bawl, his eyes puffed and red, streams of shimmering, salted tears mingling with liquefied mucus that pooled beneath his nose. He spoke, and she listened, but she couldn’t stop her mind from wandering back to that day at Trout Lake. How the water had felt, freezing her toes solid, how she had screamed like a banshee into the empty air, how her mother had yelled upon her return home. How she had done something unexpected, presumably wrong, potentially dangerous, and absolutely relished it.
As Marco wiped his quivering mouth with the back of his hand, Cheryl told him that they would have to stop what they’d been doing. Cheryl had no illusions about Marco, but apparently Marco had had some about her.
Already on her fifth cigarette, it occurred to Cheryl that she was, in fact, a smoker.
L. A. Stein is completing her B.A. in Creative Writing at Concordia University in Montreal, but has fingers in many other pies including dance, theatre, and strawberry-rhubarb.
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12 Responses to “TROUT LAKE • by L. A. Stein”
Comments
« TIME SERVED • by A.I. Wright | Home | AND THEN, SHE WROTE ME A LETTER • by James C.G. Shirk »
May 22nd, 2011 at 1:57 am
I liked the clear, detailed expositon at the start of this but was disappointed by the end.
May 22nd, 2011 at 2:57 am
I liked it and the end was good, she knew by his actions the affair wasn’t going to go anywhere and she wanted out.
5 stars.
May 22nd, 2011 at 6:51 am
GREAT clear and concise
Excellently done
neat package
5 big bright stars
thank you Ms. Stein
best of luck in producing more stories
May 22nd, 2011 at 7:12 am
Some enticing elements here, to be sure: The use of Trout Lake for her doing something rash, “unexpected, presumably wrong, (and) potentially dangerous,” alongside her affair with a married man, which also fits those descriptions; her realizing she’s a smoker after a slow build-up, with the cigarettes also perhaps fitting those descriptions; and the recurring use of ‘Cheryl had no illusions’ — she actually has many illusions.
I fall somewhere between comments 1 and 2 about the ending — it works, but maybe not quite as strongly as it could have. The use of the throw-off line, “Cheryl loved strawberries” against the re-mention of Trout Lake and its ‘rash, dangerous, wrong’ message could even suggest that Cheryl might have poisoned the wife, but there’s nothing beyond my imagination to anchor that. But doing something that erratic, and having it not work (Marco ending the affair), and her realizing that she had gone much too far outside the lines (like she realized she was in fact, a smoker) might have made for a much stronger twist and grabber ending, IMO.
Still, I enjoyed the read. Thank you for sharing, L.A.
May 22nd, 2011 at 8:24 am
I found this to be an emotionally complex story.
Cheryl says she knows Marco only wants to be with her for sexual thrills, but then he calls her when his wife is gravelly ill and lets all his emotions out in front of her. That says he’s invested in her in more ways than one.
At another point, she wondered if she was more into him (thinking she might even love him), but yet breaks it off at the end because Marco openly displays his real love for his wife, while (presumably) treating Cheryl more like a friend than a lover. That’s too much for her to take.
And then there’s all this dangerous and thrill-seeking business with the sneaking off to the lake, the cigarettes, and doing it in Marco’s own house on the living room floor. Feels like a woman fighting her upbringing, or natural inclinations, toward some other undefined end.
Again, I found this interesting trying to figure out where Cheryl is really coming from. I’m not there yet, and maybe neither is she, but I give this a big four stars for making me wonder about her….
May 22nd, 2011 at 9:59 am
Let me start off by saying I gave this story five stars. This story is close to perfection. I am a passionate advocate of show don’t tell writing. There is a lot of summation in this story but the writing is so good that all that summation adds to the impact of the story. When I got to the line: Sometimes, though, it would wander…I had to go back to find out that “it” was “her mind” but this probably says more about me as a reader than it says about you as a writer. You are an excellent writer and this is an excellent story. I salute you.
May 22nd, 2011 at 10:29 am
Any man who would have sex with his jelly-on-the-side surrounded by his kids’ toys is an asshat. Run, Cheryl, run, and don’t ever waste your time on a whiny, snot-nosed married man again!
Obviously this story worked perfectly for me. I was completely caught up.
5 big ol’ smoking stars!
May 22nd, 2011 at 2:07 pm
Very complex character who thinks she knows herself but doesn’t really and therefore intriguing. 5 stars.
May 22nd, 2011 at 3:19 pm
Do we ever really know ourselves or our lovers? Well written. Loved the last line.
May 24th, 2011 at 7:41 am
Very well written, and indeed a story in which a lot of women will recognize themselves. Thank you for awakening those Cheryl. I wish you the best success regarding your writing Lauren. All the best to you XOX
May 25th, 2011 at 1:15 pm
Sometimes, though, it would wander to the beach, that one time she drove her mother’s car up north to Trout Lake, by herself, without asking.
This sentence makes me wonder if Cheryl is a living-at-home teenager. If she’s an adult, why wouldn’t she have driven her own car? Enquiring Minds wanna know.
June 4th, 2011 at 4:42 pm
[...] This story is now called “Trout Lake” and located at Every Day Fiction. [...]