Two Hours

Sitting at a secluded boat ramp in Upstate SC, enjoying the day, observing nature, watching people.

Beautiful day, an occasional breeze, temp  in the eighties, clear sky and glorious lake view. Yes, birds are singing, small waves lapping effortlessly against shoreline, insects doing their noise making things and all  is good in nature’s world. I’m enjoying this day.

My seat is a concrete bench attached to a concrete picnic table sitting on a concrete slab, unmovable, anchored to life.  I have a foam “paddler’s pad” under my backside to create the illusion of comfort. Walking to the table from my small SUV, I have my first contact with other human life form by way of  music coming from a boom box nestled among a Yeti cooler, camping chairs, beach towels laid on the ground and discarded clothing cast here and there. Bushes block the view of the lake at this spot except for an opening wide enough to walk through. I see no one but hear laughter and some  splashing. This party spot is on my right, I have to turn my head to see whats happening over there. I have both a book and writing materials to occupy my time. I sit and orientate myself to my surroundings anticipating an enjoyable afternoon. Directly in front of me is a tree and beyond it is a couple more trees surrounded by bushes blocking my forward view of the lake. To the right of this growth is a clear long view of the lake, to the left I see  two boat ramps and the pier extending into the lake. The far end of the pier  is not visible because of the bushes. Beyond the two ramps; lake and lake shore shaded by a huge tree, then sunshine continuing around the wooded lakeshore. Ninety degrees to my left is a paved turn around area for trucks and boat trailers needing to get pointed correctly for the back down into the lake. You drive through the parking area to get to this turn around. At this moment in time I am alone  with my thoughts, listening to an oldies station coming from the old boom box playing “Blowin in the Wind” by Bob Dylan.

My thoughts are not lining up, they’re  looking like a flock of geese caught in an east west wind storm while trying to fly either north or south, I’m not sure which. Flipping pages in my notebook I come across a short story I’ve been working on and I use it to point me in the right direction. I need to focus on something or this day will be unprofitable, yet enjoyable. Giggling whispers, oldies music, and movement quickly pull my interest to my right. I see and stare. Stared to long before jerking my eyes back into their sockets and discreetly turning my head. Lawd! Have mercy on my sinful soul! Had no idea whales could stand up in water and walk on dry ground! The loving couple is extremely large, so large in fact that they’ve pretty much out grown the garments they chose to frolic  in. Can’t help it, I turn, peek and am looking deep into the eyes of the one shyly holding a too small towel in front of her too large womanly body. I am caught! Almost embarrassed I turn away. Yep, I look again and they’re laying on towels feeding each other grapes or some other innocent fruit; who really knows or cares, I’m guessing they have reasons being at this out of the way spot. I’m the intruder. I’m just sayin’ what I’m seein’!

So here I am, scribbling  a line. “She chewed and blinked while swishing her tail.” Moving my story along I hear a car enter the parking area and observe it sweep around the circle before stopping in the “No Parking” zone and parking. That just fried my grits! People that can’t follow simple rules irk me! I’m far enough away from these people that I can openly stare and not feel guilty , so I watch. The car is old and looks it’s age, a “beater car” if you will. There was a time in my life when I bought and drove beat up cars, sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do until you can better yourself. I’m not looking down on the man, I’m just saying. A man and woman, probably twenty something, get out, she carrying an infant baby, could be eight or nine months old. Another women, forties/fifties and a young boy eight-ten eager to get to the shore line; all have their arms full of coolers, towels, and camp chairs. My observation has them dressing for the water before they left the house; shirtless males wearing shorts, tank tops and Daisy Duke shorts on female bodies designed for granny panties, and the child in a paper diaper. Only a paper diaper! They walk out of view before reaching the water and my interaction with them is like listening to a TV playing in another room. What I’m hearing is interesting but I don’t want to get up and see the show. The boy is playing in the water and every time he goes out to far, the older women hollers for him to get his – cute little bottom – back here! No, that is not what she says. The man is dipping the baby into the water and both women are trying to stop him. Baby is not crying or screaming, at least I don’t think so because the other two are making enough noise too drown out a low flying Huey. Man returns to car holding baby in one hand and a longneck bottle in the other, as he’s heading back to the water we hear and then we see, you aren’t gonna believe this, an ice-cream truck coming our way! Yep! An ice cream truck playing “Turkey in the Straw”. Now this person driving the ice cream truck is driving like he’s been here before, and has sold very expensive ice cream treats to all the ones not able to afford a boat. I watch with interest as truck stops and boy runs to window, conversation between ice cream entrepreneur and shirtless boy. Boy runs to older woman, I know this because older woman is walking to beater car, gets huge purse, plunges in and searches for money with which she proceeds to buy everyone a treat from the ice cream truck. Happy ice cream lickers return to lake, music starts playing, and truck races to meet more hungry lake goers. I am sorry that I did not have cash money in my pocket, I could’ve bought ice cream and conversation. Just had to be a story in there somewhere. The ice cream all gone, family hauls stuff back to car and they are gone in a cloud of oily blue smoke. I’m just sayin’ what I’m seein’!

My body is stiffening up as I sit and try to blend unnoticed into my concrete place, so I stand and stretch ignoring the suppressed moaning and snorts emitting from my right. I don’t look and don’t want to know. I’m the intruder. Another car arrives and it parks in the parking area. It’s a good ways off; doors slam, voices raise and more people arrive. I lay my pen down and adjust my bottom by wiggling back and forth on the “paddlers pad.” So I’m kinda just waiting for a good look see at the new patrons of the pond, the loungers on the lake, or maybe the waders in the water. Here they come, I observe with silent cautiousness. Interesting, the dynamics has me puzzled. A thick  young white lady, three older teenagers or early twenties, fine looking Latin-Americans females and a hispanic boy. I need to take a minute and explain my descriptions, a few years ago I was told by a coworker that I was wrong to refer to a fat white girl as a fat white girl, she was a thick young white lady. So there you go! Hispanic girls were not sexy looking Hispanic girls, they are fine looking Latin-American women and the hispanic boy is still a hispanic boy. Go figure! I’m trying to be PC! May I now proceed with my observations. So they all walk together to the waters edge, actually stick their toes into the water, laughing and chatting. They leave the waters edge and step up on the pier and it bobs up and down as they walk to the end and out of my sight. They’re only there a minute before returning to their car. I am humored every time I load up to go to the lake and every time I unload when I get to the lake. Much time is used gathering things of comfort, placing them in the car and then arraigning them along a shoreline to be used for a short time only to undo it all and return it all back home. We must have our creature comforts! Let the parade begin. Beach towels, camping chairs, ice chests, coolers, beach bags overflowing with stuff and I do not know what else is clutched in their arms as they single file march back to the waters edge. Chairs are placed, coolers arranged, beach towels spread and all moved twice more before I hear the collective sigh of contentment.

So they’ve settled in their individual  beach chairs all clackin’ and  cawin’ like seagulls just awaiting’ to swoop in and pluck the latest gossip from the air. The way I’m sitting and the way they’re sitting, I can only see the heads turning up, down, back and forth. I catch a murmur every now and again, but don’t understand the conversion. The two beside me are now quite and I wonder, did they do it, surely not! Erase that thought. No, I don’t look over there. My focus once again is writing and that involves daydreaming and staring and watching people, so I observe the three young ladies rising from camping chairs and tiptoeing to pier dressed only in, lets just say very little. Did I mention that they were fine looking Latin-American women? The boy tags along and the other girl struggles from her chair and follows along. They leave my sight and I only hear laughing, splashing, and kaboom of someone displacing water after cannonballing into the large lake.

Where did they come from? and what are they doing? and why is it being done? all I can do is watch and speculate. Two men, lets call them a father-son duo. Looking like their hair stylist retired months ago wearing sweat stained ball caps.  Fashionably dressed in all mismatched camouflage; I’m not sure maybe a Realtree Original, or Advantage Classic, could be Mossy Oak Blaze. I don’t know. T-shirts with sleeves cut off, man arms and hairy pits, neck line notched and frayed with a V for comfort.  Well worn and worn well short pants, pants legs cut off halfway down the thighs and lacking a hem. Back pocket has the faded circle of dip.  Face, neck, and arms well tanned; legs as white as a fish belly and too, too much leg showing. Laceless well worn work boots pulled onto sock less feet scuffing across the asphalt to the girl side of parking area. And they’re toting  fishing poles, tackle boxes, old web bottom aluminum chairs, a cooler and never ending optimism. Well, they caught me off guard! I didn’t see them when I arrived at the lake, must have been fishing behind the trees and out of sight. So being the noisy person that I am – why did they all the sudden change fishing spots? I hear the fine looking Latin-American women laughing and a small light blub flashes in my brain, they’ve quit looking for fish and are now looking for flesh. I’m just sayin’ what I’m seein’!

I stand and stretch. The couple to my right are back in the water. The girls are out of sight, the fishing men have positioned themselves so they can watch both the pier and the beach if girls move back, Oh, the simple life. My notebook is closed, the pen stuck down in the wire coil, I’m going to take a quick walk around and go home.

I guess not yet! Here comes a pickup truck pulling a jet ski behind it. I have one of those love/hate relationships with jet skis. I love to hate them! Paddling a canoe on a peaceful lake is a most relaxing exercise and I’ve paddled miles and spent hours enjoying the water. My peaceful relaxation has been disrupted on numerous occasions by the whine and wake of unruly jet skis, and i’ve never seen one that wasn’t unruly! So……… I watch with open interest as the older man [ I learn later, he is my age] struggles to back the thing into the water. He is backing down the ramp closest to me and I can see everything clearly. I feel his pain! Fishtail right, then left, right again, finally cockeyed into the water, enough to float the jet ski off the trailer. A woman exits the truck and stands waiting for instructions. He, the man, unties the thing [ we will refer to the jet ski as the thing ] and hands the string to the woman. She cautiously hangs on to the end and tip toes at the waters edge keeping her feet dry. He drives to the parking area takes a spot then briskly, like a man on a mission, marches to the thing! I’m guessing by the way he moves he must be upper middle management in a production facility-One of those people who doesn’t have a clue what’s going on but wants us to think he does. Just stay in your office.-Anyway, he has dress shoes on his feet, dress slacks on and a button up the front shirt. He retrieves the string from his wife, pulls the thing close to shore sideways so he can straddle it without getting those fancy shoes wet. He turns a key or pushes a button, I don’t know which. The thing springs to life and he idles out of my sight, then roars away down the lake.

It gets quiet, the two fishermen are either watching their bobbins bob or the girls booties bounce. My couple on the right have sneaked back into the water and the bouncing booties are giggling and splashing. The woman walks toward me and sits at the second cement picnic table. I clearly said the proper words and showed the inquisitive spirit because she attempted to explain the thing. I’ll try to make her story coherent, as best I can do. Some times I was confused but did not seek clarification, stirring muddy water does not make it clear. The thing belongs to their son who lives out west. There is a drought where the son lives and it is difficult to enjoy the thing because of lack of water. The son had the thing shipped to Dad and Mom so when son and family visited for two weeks every summer the thing would be here for them to enjoy. Dad has only used the thing once when they had visited son at his home. He had no experience, but was going to store the thing in their garage for the winter, which meant one of their SUV’s would need to be parked outside at night. Ok, all I really wanted to know was, what’s Dad doing racing the thing back and forth, up and down the lake late on a fine summer afternoon. When I heard the answer to my question, I knew it was time for me to go. The simple explanation and answer – Dad is burning all the gas out so the tank will be empty while it is in storage. My concern was and is, I hope he does not run out while cruising the lake! That would be bad. I’m just sayin’ what I’m seein’!

I’ve been here a couple of hours, my butts numb, my fingers cramped, and my brain is overloaded with stuff. Notebook in hand, pad tucked under arm, I rise and stretch losing my pad. When I bend over to pick it up, I glance over at the large duo and they are back. She smiles, gives the finger wave and I walk away as Wille Nelson sings, “On The Road Again.” I’m in the turn around area and I look at the fine looking Latin-American ladies and yes, they are still fine lookin’. The fishing men look at me and I tell them to have a good day as I walk toward my car. I’m just sayin’ what I’m seeing’!