Eternity By the Loch

“Just my luck…”

My voice skimmed across Saltonstall Lake—still, glassy, unchanged.

I sank into the wet, muddy grass. The sulfurous tang of the wetlands hung in the air, sharp enough to drive off anyone who hadn’t grown up here.

We had always come here when life got hard—J’Sin, Paul, Erick, Damian, Rebecca, and me. My dearest friends.

Why was I here today? I knew that something went wrong, I was lamenting something, but I forgot.

The sun was starting to set, it was a late summer day. The heat relented as the last rays bled through the trees and spread across the lake’s surface. It was quieter than usual, the cicadas had gone quiet and the wildlife refused to rustle.

I had never felt so alone in a place that I thought of as home.

I leaned back, staring straight into the sun. I didn’t care if it burned me blind.

Before I knew it, there were two silhouettes running across the lakefront.

“This is the year…we’re going to make it big, our team has never been better. You’re the best power hitter in the state!” One voice, eerily similar to J'Sin's, called out.

“Well, yeah, you and Paul are the best battery I’ve played with. You’re the best support I could ask for,” Damian’s voice replied.

“Ha,” I laughed.

Rough day, if my mind’s dragging me back to high school baseball. Those were better days. J’Sin was so confident, and he was right—we did win states that year…and that’s the last time I ever played ball.

J’Sin and Paul went to Louisiana to play in college and never came back to Saltonstall.

Damian moved on after too…

The soothing sounds of his singing were floating on the lake.

That’s right—he became an adult contemporary singer in college, singing songs of troubled youth until he became a celebrity in indie circles.

For a while, I opened his sets with slam poetry in the next town over. I thought I had something with it, but after he left, the crowds stopped coming.

I had always known when to give up.

I was a terrible friend—I never streamed or downloaded a single song he ever released. I never went to a concert when he was on tour.

None of them were any better.

We hung out for fifteen years, but none of them ever reached out to me. After nights of manhunt here at Saltonstall, we dreamed about who we’d become, what we’d do, and how much fun we’d have together.

Just a bunch of empty, youthful promises.

The sun dipped below the tree line, in a glint of light another silhouette appeared.

“I love you,” Erick’s voice cried, faint.

“I’m sorry—I’m in love with someone else,” Rebecca’s soft, tearful voice answered.

“Yeah, I remember that,” I muttered.

That was the beginning of the fracture—the day after graduation, when Erick finally confessed his feelings.

After her rejection, he never came around again. He was ashamed to face us after bringing romance into the friend group.

We would have welcomed him back with open arms, but he never gave us the chance.

My cheeks were damp. Why was I crying over something that happened so long ago? Why was I crying for someone who had treated our bonds like they meant nothing?

A warm breeze comforted me from behind.

The sound of the trees rustling brought relief—the first real sound I’d heard in hours.

At first I thought the wind was blowing through my hair, but even after it had died down, my hair continued to move.

“Don’t look back. You won’t like what you see,” Rebecca’s voice soothed me.

I leaned forward.

“So… this is how it is, then?” I asked, strangely at peace.

Saltonstall looked magnificent, dressed in black, the moon now high above her waters.

The feeling of hands in my hair had stopped.

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my leg, and looking to my right, Rebecca sat beside me, a somber smile on her face.

“It’s great to see you,” I said.

“Yeah…I’m sorry that it took me so long.”

The warm wind started again, she looked stunning—the moonlight reflected off the lake, illuminating her smile.

“Do you think the others are happy, wherever they are?” I trembled.

“I don’t know, but I don’t think they’re happy anymore,” her voice was quieter, tears leaking out.

Why were we both crying?

The woods were still silent, with the only occasional sound coming from a bat flapping its wings overhead.

I couldn’t remember the last time I saw Rebecca, but I think it was the last time I saw Damian.

…

Come to think of it, it was the last time I saw the rest of the guys. I had a faint image in my head of us together at a bonfire, getting black out drunk together.

That didn’t sit right. I hadn’t seen Erick since I was eighteen, and I’d only been drunk once in my life—why was I remembering it this way?

“Rebecca, how did you know to find me at Saltonstall tonight?” I asked.

She hesitated for a while, “It’s not so much that I found you—more that I’ve been waiting here for awhile, dreading having company.”

“You never liked being alone back then,” I said, managing a weak smile. “What happened to you?”

“Well, I spent a lot of time alone after all of you left, and it became too much—” her voice trailed off.

I was suddenly overwhelmed with the heaviest sadness I’d ever felt—my memory jogged.

“Rebecca, why did you do it back then?” I managed through my sobs.

“I was alone…I felt like everyone left me behind. I saw myself as less than human. I came home to Saltonstall—the only place that couldn’t leave me behind.”

A long silence hung between us.

“You don’t get to judge,” she said softly. “You did the same thing.”

“How long did you wait?”

“I don’t know—I was twenty-two, and I guess you’re thirty, so it must have been eight years.”

“Do you think we’ll see the others again?”

“Maybe. I hope not.”

The midnight sky was beautiful, too beautiful for the weight pressing on my chest. Rebecca’s tears gleamed in the moonlight, and for a moment it felt like we were eighteen again, whispering secrets by the water.

But the silence was wrong. Too complete. Not a bird, not a ripple, not a sound but us.

“Do you think we’ll see the others?” I asked.

She shook her head, her hand slipping from mine. “Maybe. But I hope not.”

The words sank into me heavier than stone. And then it came back—clear, undeniable. The pills. The half-written note. Saltonstall, the last thing I saw before the dark took me.

I looked at her, and she only nodded, as if she’d been waiting for me to catch up.

The loch lay perfectly still, a mirror of the midnight sky. It had claimed us both, years apart, and now refused to let us go.

We were not waiting for the others anymore. We were the ones waiting to be remembered.