Awake

Here's a story I wrote a while back, last story I've written. Dunno why the last paragraph is formated different here... don't know how to change it. Hope you enjoy.
               

As Michael lay prone on the edge of the decomposing wood dock and lazily swung his arms left to right and back again so that his ten soft fingertips glided across the top of the placid lake, he contemplated how little an impact he was making on the body of water. He liked the thought that he could cause change. He turned to a supine position, which he felt was better for thinking on account of the feeble and few distractions provided by any given sky, but found his view of this particular grey sky clouded by the apple tree his father had planted seventeen years earlier when he learned he would have a child and which now hung over the dock and lake. Michael shifted his position to remove the apple tree from his field of vision and his mind resumed thinking about the lake. Had any fish noticed the ripples he had created? Had any fish felt them? Had an underwater plant swayed because of them or had any lily pad been rocked gently as they passed underneath it? Had the tongue-eye coordination of any hungry frog been thrown off by the gentle rock of the lily pad on which it sat? This train of thought was halted by the realization that his thoughts were taking a morose turn. Michael attributed his sullen mood to the dark grey clouds overhead and the similarly coloured lake which made him the middle of a gloomy sandwich indeed. He became hungry and quickly became aware he had forgotten to eat lunch. He lifted his head and craned his neck uncomfortably towards his chest to look down the length of the dock. For a moment he stared forlornly at the small bungalow of a cottage his parents owned where he knew there was food for him to ear. He slowly let his head fall back onto the dock and laid his interlocked hands upon his chest.

When he awoke, the lake had changed. For a moment he thought he was staring at a demon hovering over a boiling lake of pitch before looking for a more logical answer. He realized it was raining and that the surface was being peppered by countless raindrops each one creating a small splash as it landed and turned from rainwater to lake water. The demon was a heron he was seeing from behind with its large flapping wings outstretched to contend with the rain and long skinny legs dangling below. It must have flown too far from home and been caught in the storm on the way home. The clouds were much darker now, nearing black, and Michael was unsure if that meant that darker clouds had replaced the earlier ones or that he had slept longer than he intended to.  He looked at his watch before getting up and heading for shelter from the storm.

“Where have you been Michael?”
“I fell asleep on the dock, Mom”

“It’s nearly suppertime already! What happened to doing your homework Saturday afternoon?”
“I already did mine! I already did mine!”
“Shut up, Lilly”

            Lilly squealed as her brother gave her a soft push and she ran into the kitchen, tossing her long, wavy, blond hair, to join her mother and take an apple from the fridge.
“Mommy, Michael told me to shut up.” she said somewhat distracted but loud enough for Michael to hear, all the while searching the fruit drawer.

            Janet O’Connell, a stout hearted, petite, redheaded woman, poked her head into the doorway between the kitchen and the living room where her son now lay sprawled on the old plaid couch with his eyes closed.

“Michael… try and get some work done before supper.”

“When’s Dad getting here?”
“He should be here in any minute. He said he’d be here for supper. He had some work to finish before he could leave. Now you work too!”

            He lifted himself off the couch and slowly meandered to his bedroom making stops at the bathroom and the bookcase where took nothing out. He’d once asked his father how many of the books in the bookcase he’d read.
“Most”

He’d wondered how. He still did, really.

            When he got to his bedroom, Michael shut the door. He opened his copy of Hamlet and positioned it on the floor, turned on the lamp on his bedside table, climbed into bed, lay on his stomach and buried his face into the crook of his bent left arm. He tried to think about something about Hamlet. Before long, he was thinking only about ham and he began salivating as his hunger returned. An unwelcomed creak startled him out of his train of thought. His mother was there, red in the face and talking. He had dozed off.
“Get up and get dressed, Michael. We’re going to the hospital. Your father has been in an accident.”

            He’d been found alive. His car was in the ditch, having hit a pothole filled with water and then slidding out of control on the wet pavement. The next driver to come through the road had phoned the emergency services but there was already nothing to be done to save his life by the time the paramedics had arrived. By the time they’d arrived at the hospital, his father had been pronounced dead from his injuries in the crash. It was final.

The following days, Michael thought a lot but remembered little. Between seeing his mother completely fall apart and the convergence of his extended family at his grand-parent’s house; the adults talking in hushed voices and each speaking to him with a faulty reassuring tone, Michael did know whether he felt like crying or simply going to sleep until things went back to normal. The days went by, and eventually years would, and things didn’t go back to normal.

            Tuesday afternoon, everyone put on their Sunday best to host the wake. Lilly looked very pretty in her dress but Michael didn’t tell her as they were leaving their grandparent’s house. Everyone sat silent as the car unhurriedly transported them to the funeral home. Michael simply admired his sister’s beauty. She wore a black, knee length dress and dainty shoes of matching colour. She did not smile, and yet, her reddish cheeks against her fair skin gave her a lively appearance. The bags under her vivid green eyes were barely visible. He never would have guessed she had spent the whole night crying if he had not heard her over his own sobs. The afternoon passed into evening and Michael had never seen so many people and so few smiles. It seemed the funeral home was bare of any life at all. The walls were painted “peaceful” beige and there were numerous paintings of flowers in bloom. His mother and grand-mother were occupied receiving condolences and all of the adults spoke inaudibly. But it wasn’t a library and, no one was reading, though Michael thought everyone could do with a little distraction. His father could have cheered everyone up he found himself thinking. He could have told a joke or something. He felt tired as the evening wore on and he saw Lilly was sleeping on her chair. To wake himself up, Michael left his seat and headed for the balcony for some air. As Michael stepped into the threshold of the door, he smacked his face into the clear glass door and stumbled back. For a moment Michael was filled with dread but the next, the whole funeral parlour burst into a sustained laugh and at once, as though an esoteric vow had been broken, the arthritic atmosphere of the room was soothed for a short time. As they rode home, Michael told Lilly, who had missed the laugh, that she looked pretty and she tucked her chin and smiled.

            
After the funeral, on Friday, Michael, his Mother, Lilly and their grand-parents went to the country
 house up north. Michael sat on the dock watching the rain pour into the surface of the lake with tired but alert grey eyes. He wore a red raincoat but it barely helped him keep dry. He cast his line into the water and began slowly to reel it in again slightly flicking it left and right absentmindedly. When he cast his line again he caught sight of a dove effortlessly flying through the rain. It was as though the heron he’d seen had been transfigured into a different bird and had returned. He barely heard the splash over the rain but turned his head to see an apple floating in the middle of a series of growing and quickly disappearing circles. He rapidly finished reeling his line a second time, reached out over the water and fished the apple out and then brought it inside for his sister. Things would never go back to normal. But they might become normal again. And on the day of his father’s funeral, he caught himself smiling weakly.