"Prayers are threads." Ian
lazily drew his oar towards him before pulling it from the water.
The sun slanted across Findley Lake,
temporarily strewing it with gemstones. "Prayers are just words,
"Prayers bind us to each other,
unite us in common purpose."
"Not if we ain't all praying for
the same thing."
Ian shrugged. "Prayers are a net
cast across the universe?"
After his painting business went
belly-up four months ago, Ian started a correspondence course on
"Sounds like you're confusing
Santy Claus with God. You still praying for that Harley every night?"
Ian hee-hawed and I knew I had him.
"You can charm Santa to bring you
what you want by scattering a few hints like a handful of birdseed.
'Member that train set you kept asking for?"
Ian laughed. "That worked,"
he said. "Until I stopped believing."
"What happens," I whispered,
"when you stop believing in God?"
Ian turned and faced me, rocking the
canoe gently. "You know that Elyse wouldn't've wanted that."
He looked around. "This place look
We'd reached the middle of the lake.
Elyse had called it the center of the world. "Yes." I
fished her engagement ring from my blue jeans and held it up. "It
wasn't much of a ring."
"It was everything, Joey."
I tossed the ring into the lake. As it
hit, it sent forth three drops of water.
"Look at those circles," Ian
said. "Growing and expanding. Every act has meaning, Joey. Elyse
wouldn't want you to forget that." He opened two bottles of beer
and handed me one. "To Elyse," he said, raising his bottle
in a toast.
"To Elyse," I agreed,
clinking my bottle against his.
"Some day, someone's going to find
that ring and thank God."
A wave of circles spread across the
lake. A fish broke the surface in pursuit of a mosquito. I shot out a
tentative tendril of a prayer; watched it wind its way towards the
blueness of the sky.
Kelly Garriott Waite on Google+
Labels: fiction Trifecta Writing Challenge