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Façade of Slumbering Wonder
- by tagorton
Darren Thomas sits on the shore of Greenspawn Lake, cradled by a shifting sun in front and naked cliffs at his back. The water is black, smooth and reflective like the office building Darren works in. So silent, this lake stretching toward a setting sun, but he recognizes its illusion. He knows the depths writhe and howl; deep down in those murky currents there is rage boiling. Darren knows this because he is the water, the silence in daytime, the calm surface that others gaze upon with shallow smiles and strained hellos, unaware. He becomes the liquid-glass sunlight playfully douses as if everything is fine beneath his skin.
Darren visits here on Saturday evenings, sits at the shore to share his unpronounced anguish with the waters of Greenspawn Lake. And he remembers that dusk long ago. The last rays of day were dancing along ridges and sizzling into water, orange sparks blinking out. The screech of breaks a lone wolf howling in the bloom of night-- fluid rush of silence as a massive yellow shape blocked out those final beams of sunlight and arced toward the lake. Then an explosive splash when the bus hit. All those pale faces pressed against windows, eyes wide with fear as the water opened up to swallow them whole. He could do nothing. Just sat there, frozen, as the schoolbus quickly sank down to vanish with a desperate gurgle. The ripples lapped at rocky shore, then echoed into stillness once again. And the lake was quiet.
Now, when Darren Thomas goes to sleep at night, he sees that big yellow bus sinking in the darkness, pale faces screaming, tiny hands pressed against the glass. He sees the metal coffin disappear into silent depths, and he cries because the lake cannot. He weeps because the water will be forever still, a façade of slumbering wonder, while deep down all it knows is the screams of children.
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