A Northwoods Sunburn

Claire Harrison knows how hot the sun is this morning. She has no problem jumping in the lake and climbing back onto the yellow floating lake mat that matches the lily pads and her swimsuit, except that her legs are sore. Each jump is refreshing, less sunscreen oily than the last. She can feel the water coat her hair. The lake is cold but much better than the gross summer sun.

She can hear the grumbling, echoes carried across Minocqua. Not at her. Before she went down to the water, fishermen were out on their docks, casting line and reeling it back just as light as they cast, trading stories, whispers, rumors of brief glimpses of a five-foot muskie somewhere deep near the lakebed. She scoffs and jumps again. Every time they talk about a fish, it gets bigger.

When the fishermen are gone because the sun is too hot above, Claire is still jumping.

Her feet stick on the mat when she launches herself far and kicks back up. More jumping, slower kicking, less sticking, cold water, warm sun. The water is dark, not as bright as the sky but not as green as the tall birches or the grass on the shore by the far-away mouth. Hard to see past the surface, but Claire goes anyway. Then once more, nose pinched, tucking her knees for a flip, no sticking at all. Her feet go before her legs can push. Her legs are still sore from tubing yesterday. She goes tumbling head over feet over head, splashing into the water and down, down.

The surface is quiet.

Lake water fills her ears and nose. It knocks the air from her lungs in one solid blow. Claire is under, far from the surface and sinking closer to the sandy bottom covered in snail shells, deeper than the shelf where the boats dock. Her lungs stretch apart for anything at all. The same color of her swimsuit blends with the lily pads, the green lake. She finds up, with arms and legs going sideways and down until her head breaks into the sunlight again.

A great gasp for air back in her chest. Claire is coughing but okay. She wipes the water from her face, shakes her head. Her thick, comb-breaking hair flops to one cheek, then the other when she tosses herself back onto the mat.

The joints in her knees ache again from the clamber up. She pants through her mouth because her nose stings, breathes again a few times, slower and slower. The dread sinks into her lungs, too.

Her left ear catches only what she expects. Birdsong, wind, tide bumping the bottom of her mat. A loon calls out from across the water. Muffled nothing reaches her right ear. She tries to keep breathing and look up at the spinning sky above. Then, even though her stomach is in knots, she twists her torso over to lay on her right side. Drops of water drain out slow, a horrid crawling drip out of her ear.

Sunshine coats her shoulder and arm as she waits. Any lotion she had sprayed earlier in the morning is part of the lake now. Her tan is turning red. There is no wake on the quiet surface all across to the far shore. Claire's feet dip into the water as she lays with slowing breaths. A long time passes, or that's how it feels. Bright, white clouds are far to the west and floating farther. She closes her eyes against the tiring sun. The loon is far away. She settles against the mat, listening to the dragonflies as much as she can.

Until the tide jostles her mat. She imagines a pontoon full of lake bums has passed behind her and rests again.

Before she closes her eyes, a shadow appears, towards the mouth of the lake. A wake with no boat. Then the water settles. Nothing moves again for a long time.

Claire relaxes, breathes. Her hand dips into the water. And her head never stops spinning. She does not hear it coming.

A strong push from below rocks her mat. She reaches with one hand onto the side, extends her limbs to keep from capsizing.

She sits up. She is far from shore. When the surface bends again from the shadow, she sees it coming, just for a moment. The wake is as long as she is tall, maybe longer. It disappears. Calm water again. Claire breathes again, her hair slick and shiny as the surface shimmering in the light.

The hungry muskie knocks Claire over and into the water.

With another gasp, she comes up to the surface. Breathing. She grunts when the strong muskie slams into her legs. Then not breathing. Water in her nose again, a painful startling yelp as her ears fill with water, then her mouth, gurgling water where air should be. Something yanks anchor-heavy on her leg and pulls her deeper.

She cups her hands, pushing the water past her as she climbs. For a moment, she gasps up to recover. Coughing. Short, shallow breaths try to keep her calm.

It doesn't work. She can tread water for a minute or so this way. Her arms are still strong. But her legs are tired and heavy and anchoring down. A quick splash as the silver green muskie breaches the surface. It’s bigger than five feet, maybe the size of her mat. She sees its thin, gator-like face before it disappears. Its mouth stretches open at her head. 

It's gone.

Then the mat breaks and starts sinking behind her.

Another sharp tug pulls and she falls back down. She kicks and kicks but cannot move back up. Claire feels teeth dig into her left leg, slowing her down even more. Thrashing against the fish hooked on her leg and plunging towards the lakebed. She looks up. But the sky is so far away. Her screams do not make it through the lake filling her lungs.

The muskie, a wake with no boat again, tears whatever sunburned meat it can and then swims away from its too-big meal. The surface is quiet and empty. Below, at the bottom of the lake, rests a girl the cold color of water.