A Sense of Wrongness

Dearest Rachel –

Morning on the island, and the house is silent.  I’ve slept well, if somewhat layered up (we had to turn on the heater when we first got here, and it’s particularly chilly this morning, still (albeit only in the florida room in the back of the house).

Did I say the house was silent?  Well, that’s as may be, but from the florida room, where I’m working on this letter, there is plenty of noise.  Just not the sort that would disturb one.  The birds out here are ‘singing’ their hearts out (which as we know is just them yelling at each other over territory, or calling out for a mate), and… well, I guess I’d have to go out to the shore to hear the rush of the lake as it laps against what beach this place has.

And I’m not sure I’m ready to do that.  Even as we were unpacking the car in order to get settled in – although I never said anything to Daniel about it – I could feel a sense of wrongness about our being here.  It wasn’t just about how we could just roll up onto the driveway, open the unlocked door and march in like we owned the place without anyone objecting – and yes, we did that, just like we always did that upon arriving on the island.  Back then, our landlord, despite living in the house just south of here, would only appear twice over the course of the week; once to go over the lawn with his riding mower (which would take the better part of two hours, as it’s a big lawn, as you’ll recall), and the second time a day before we were scheduled to leave, in order to collect the rent.

To be sure, we’ll probably still see him doing both those tasks over the course of our time here; it’s just that now, he’s doing them on behalf of the folks he sold the place to.  Of course, I’ve been in touch with them (by text) about this, so while it may feel like we’ve waltzed in uninvited and made ourselves at home, the arrangements have already been made.  Granted, I don’t actually know how much this week is going to cost, since the last time we were here was five years ago, and we’ve had a serious spate of inflation  since then, but I believe I can swing this regardless.  I’ve brought my checkbook, and it should have enough set aside to take care of the expense, whatever it might be.

And this sense of wrongness doesn’t come from the fact that, from a seasonal perspective, things aren’t ready here.  While I was bracing myself for a cold, chilly stay, due to the fact that it’s not even the middle of May and spring has barely gotten its footing, let alone summer, the fact of the matter is that, when the sun is out, it’s out every bit as long as it is, say, in July (and more than in August or October – and we’ve been here then in the past), and it can get warm enough to go with a light shirt at some point during the day.  Meanwhile, the area has been opened up, with the ferry running its summer schedule (we barely managed to get on the 3:15 crossing, as we wound up going over on standby, since I’d reserved the 5:15; I’ve never seen the ferry so packed with cars, including one behind us that had to park itself sideways to fit itself in), and the general store – well, more the pizzeria in the room next door – was in full operation when we stopped by at around six last night.

The only community service not yet up and running seems to be the church services, which only begin after Memorial Day, and run under Labor Day – and that’s only the Catholic services; there’s no mention being made of the once-upon-a-time Church of Middle Bass that we would show up if we happened to be on the island of a Sunday morning (which, as often as not, we weren’t, due to scheduling and staying overnight in Maumee).  For all I know, the former flyboy who used to lead Protestant services every week here hasn’t gotten here yet for the season, or like you, will never be back to do so.  That does feel a little off, but we watched services at our home church from the portico of the pizzeria last time around; we can certainly do it again if need be (and besides, there’s this whole need to get over there in order to connect to the internet, which I doubt we’ll be able or willing to cold turkey.  But that’s quite literally another topic entirely).

No, our presence here feels wrong because it’s just the two of us.  Some things we unpack and place in their appointed rooms get me to wondering if they’re going to be used, like the box of yard games.  Were the girls here, we might be throwing bocce balls or lawn darts around at some point (and we might even do so before the last day of the trip, like we often did after forgetting them for the entire trip up until that point!), but I don’t see being able to inveigle Daniel into a game or two.  Speaking of games, the card and board games are likewise neither of our ‘things,’ and so they’ll be sitting around here needlessly, possibly wondering why they were brought out of storage for no apparent reason.  Thankfully, unlike you, we don’t think of them as having perception and sentience, and thus wouldn’t think of them as looking at us accusingly for having disturbed their rest; then again, I’m able to imagine such a thing, which is why I’m writing out about it.

The girls’ absence actually puts on an additional layer of wrongness about this trip, too.  The whole point we delayed for four years was to ensure that they could be here to see you off into your favorite place in the world; the lake just off Middle Bass Island.  One thing and another came up, and at this point, we know we’re going to be the only ones here all week.  And while they may talk about wanting to come up to the island at another time of the year – to which I ask, “which year?” since it’s not only their schedules that need to be coordinated, but that of the cottage itself – there’s the significance of the date that brings us here now.  I can only think of three dates that would be appropriate to cast you adrift here, honey; your birthday (which is the one we’re here for), our anniversary (which would be equally doable, being on the tail end of the summer season, although this year seems beyond improbable) and your departure date (which, being in January, is absolutely out of the question). 

As much as it seems pointless to just do this on our own – if it was going to be just Daniel and me doing this from the get-go, we could have gotten this out of the way back in 2021 or so – to come all this way and not do what we’re here to do simply because it’s just the two of us seems like a waste of a trip that we may or may not ever do again.  Granted, it’s going to be a challenge for us to film it for the girls to watch later on YouTube (and I don’t like our chances when it comes to uploading), but this is what we’re here for, and it feels like we need to do it, in accordance with your wishes.

It just doesn’t feel right, though.

Then again, the whole place seems strange without your presence, apart from your urn sitting in front of the fireplace.  Like the games you used to bring for both inside and outside, it’s been moved for the first time in years, and might otherwise wonder what the point was.  Then again, if your ashes could think, that would be only due to your animating them; and if you have any connection to this side of the veil, I’d like to think you’re able to keep up with things based on what I’m telling you about.  So you know what’s going on.

In any event, I hope that you can understand how I feel about this place, and not worry too much about whether things will happen as you requested; they will.  I’m just telling you what it feels like, now that we’ve been here for a little less than a day.  For now, I hope you can just keep an eye on us, and wish us luck, as we’re going to need it.