Corum Hayes

Remembrances

In a hot room full of forced smiles and fake conversations I stand alone, haunted. Murmured voices fill my ears echoing loudly and stuffing my mind with unwelcomed thoughts. I want to lash out. Instead, I step out into the cold night air, the heat of the gathered bodies steaming off body and begin my quiet descent toward the pond on my aunt and uncle’s grounds. Thick flakes falling in the dark night absorb the sounds around me leaving only the exaggerated crunch of my feet on the snow. Hollow clops of my shoes upon the pier announce my arrival at my destination. It’s not a real pier of course. Just 20 feet of lumber jutting out on the pond’s surface.