Rainbow Lake

(I changed the name of the lake for privacy reasons. If you’ve been there, you’ll know.)

I used to think the sign at the parking lot entrance was a humorous, albeit odd way to scare people into behaving.

WELCOME TO RAINBOW LAKE.

To prevent injury and/or death, please adhere to the following rules:

DO NOT swim when the flag is red.

DO NOT harm the wildlife.

DO NOT urinate or defecate in the water.

DO NOT litter.

DO NOT steal rocks or sand.

BE KIND TO RAINBOW LAKE, AND IT WILL BE KIND TO YOU.

***

For hours, we strolled along the iridescent stones, beneath a night sky whose moon scribbled a vertical path of embers across the water.

“Let’s sit for a while,” I suggested. We trudged away from the shoreline and plopped down on the sand. It glowed brighter than usual, a thousand shades of blue twinkling like glass shards.

Liv gazed down, scooping heaps of sand and letting it trickle beneath her fingers. “You ready for tourist season?”

“Yup.” I rolled my eyes. “I can’t wait.”

Every year, the same. The same tumbleweed grocery bags, Starbucks cup monuments, beer cans floating across the water. The same obnoxious boys, the same middle-agers with their yachts. The same men wandering from the bars, belligerent and brazen. Once, I watched in horror as a drunk man rolled a bowling ball down the boardwalk. No idea where he got it from.

A breeze sent pinpricks down our shoulders and carried the stench of fish. Between the whispers of waves, rainbow trout leapt and splashed.

“What is it, like, fifty-thousand people each year?”

“Yup.” The sand felt cool and damp beneath my legs. “And I read yesterday that the city’s expecting about ten-thousand more because of that fancy hotel they just built.”

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“Oh my god.” Liv rubbed her hands together, but specks of glitter remained stuck to her palms. “Do you think it’ll happen again?”

I drew circles in the sand. “ I’d bet money on it.”

***

Summer vacation. Fourteen years old. It was really hot that afternoon, so Liv and I took a stroll along the pier to let the mist cool us off. Seagulls were scavenging for remnants of chips.

We had almost made it to the lighthouse when Liv tapped my shoulder. “What’s he doing?”

A shirtless guy with green shorts stood crouched on the edge of the pier, gathering rocks from the water. He stood up and, after searching for a target, flung one at a seagull. It missed by a few inches. “Damn it!” Seagulls screamed and scattered as he plucked another rock from his palm.

“HEY!” I shouted.

He whipped around. “WHAT?! THEY’RE PESTS, I’M ONLY–”

A mountain of a wave reached up and pulled him off the pier.

Last year. An unusually windy day. We walked along the boardwalk, wisps of blue sand curling around our feet. The tourists were sparse that day, a welcome respite.

We paused when we noticed a woman kneeling on the sand, wearing a straw hat that barely held on, golden curls flapping in the wind. She shoveled iridescent stones into a mason jar. Once it was filled, she planted it upright on a beach towel, turned around and entered the water. As soon as it reached her hips, she was pulled into a current, screaming and splashing and flailing her arms. We yelled for the lifeguard, who dove in after her, but it was too late. As soon as it started, the current pulled her under. She was never found.

That’s when we knew with certainty that the sign wasn’t in jest.

Why did we continue to go after that? Well, part of it is the memories. The nostalgia. Every summer since we were five. Trips with her parents or mine. Playing Marco Polo and splashing each other and sneaking out for midnight trips.

And honestly, we feel sympathy for it. It’s never taken kids. And it only swallows people who purposely disrespect it; not someone whose napkins were swept away by wind, or plastic wrappers that someone forgot to pick up…For now, anyway.

***

The waves moved faster, leaping over one another. I chewed my bottom lip. “What if it takes us all one day?”

Liv gazed at the water for a few moments, then turned her head, brows drawn tight. Her blue eyes twinkled like the sand beneath us. “I mean… could you blame it?”

I gazed forward and drank the beauty of it all. The star-filled sky, the way the water stretched and faded into the horizon, only broken by the orange light of the moon, the waves crawling up the sand and tickling my feet.

Memories. Five years old. I threw half a bag of chips in the water because I thought the fish would eat them.

Six years old. I carried a Barbie doll into the water, and I lost my grip. Before I could grab it, the doll disappeared in a wave. I bounded out of the water and ran to my mom, who held me as I wept.

I wondered if synthetic residue from my bathing suit bottoms was seeping into the sand. Had I been polluting the lake with particles of polyester, shedding from my swimsuits every time I swam?

A stray water bottle rocked along the water.

“No,” I swallowed. “I couldn’t.”