{"id":7859,"date":"2013-06-14T09:20:17","date_gmt":"2013-06-14T16:20:17","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/?p=7859"},"modified":"2013-06-14T09:20:17","modified_gmt":"2013-06-14T16:20:17","slug":"echo-lake-fiction-by-john-cariani","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/echo-lake-fiction-by-john-cariani\/","title":{"rendered":"Echo Lake – Fiction by John Cariani"},"content":{"rendered":"

Summerguide 2013 | view this story as a .pdf<\/a><\/p>\n

\"stars-by-irene_39\"<\/a>Lurene Legassie was home. For the first time since she left.<\/p>\n

She called the store looking for Nat. He answered. She said she was home and that she wanted to see him, that she had something she wanted to tell him. He said he had something he wanted to tell her, too.<\/p>\n

She said good and that she\u2019d meet him at nine. So Nat closed up early and went to Echo Lake, which was where they used to go when they had things they wanted to tell each other.<\/p>\n

Boy, he was nervous. He hadn\u2019t seen her since\u2013well, ten years ago. When she went away. All he knew about her now was that she was in a band in New York. Because no one really talked about her around him. Plus it was 1999, before everybody could know everything about everybody.<\/p>\n

He checked his hair in the rearview mirror. He thought he looked good. Especially for 28. A lot of the guys hadn\u2019t aged as well. They got fat. Or lost their hair. Or did meth. He hadn\u2019t done any of those things.<\/p>\n

He got out of the truck. It was a perfect late-July night in Maine. Sixty-seven degrees. Clear. The stars were all out and everywhere.<\/p>\n

She finally drove up in a lousy little yellow rental and parked next to the truck.<\/p>\n

She looked great. It\u2019s hard to outdo a memory, but she outdid his. Wow.<\/p>\n

\u201cHi.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHi.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cReally sorry about your mom.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThanks.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mrs. Legassie moved to Bangor the summer after Nat and Lurene finished high school because she\u2019d met a man there who wanted to take care of her. Guess he didn\u2019t do a very good job, because she died unexpectedly in January. She wasn\u2019t even fifty.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat happened?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHeart.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh. Sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe was fat, so\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

She was. Which required an oversized casket. Which had to be shipped to Presque Isle, because Mrs. Legassie wanted to be buried in the family plot. She was just getting laid to rest now because you can\u2019t get buried in northern Maine until mid-May when the snow is mostly melted and the ground is thawed enough. Unfortunately, a lot of Catholics had died over the winter, so Mrs. Legassie had to wait longer than usual. Till July 22. That\u2019s a long wait.<\/p>\n

\u201cGod, what do they do with you when you die in January and your committal\u2019s not till friggin\u2019 July? Do they store you somewhere?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know, Nat.\u201d Why did he ask that? \u201cCan we talk about something else?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah. Sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n

Nat didn\u2019t know what else to talk about, so, he dropped the tailgate and spread out a blanket on the truck bed so they could look at the stars, just like old times. He lay down. She did not. She just sat on the tailgate. Because it was not just like old times. So he sat up, too.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo\u2026you some rock star now? People say you\u2019re in a band?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. Was. But\u2026didn\u2019t work out.\u201d<\/p>\n

She had enrolled at U-Maine the fall after high school. Waitressed her way through the first semester. But being the first person in your family to go to college is hard and next thing she knew, she wasn\u2019t going to classes anymore and was just waitressing. And singing in the band that played where she waitressed. They were good. No Kill Shelter. They had a following. A manager got them a gig in Portland. Then in Boston. Then New York. But, like all bands, they broke up.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo what\u2019re you doin\u2019 now?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWaitress.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIn New York City, huh?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYup.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCool. Must be fun livin\u2019 in a place where you can do anything you want, whenever you want.\u201d<\/p>\n

People always think that about New York. But it\u2019s not true.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell\u2026you can\u2019t do anything you want there.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n

She looked up at the deep, dark, brilliant northern night sky. \u201cCan\u2019t do this there.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSit outside. Look at the stars.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy not?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCan\u2019t see \u2019em there.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNever really gets dark there. Light pollution.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut it gets dark here. God. Look at \u2019em all.\u201d She laughed sardonically.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust\u2026in New York, everybody\u2019s reachin\u2019 for \u2019em. But no one can see \u2019em. And here\u2026well, you can see \u2019em. You can actually see what you can go for, and it seems like no one goes for it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Like him. The summer after high school on a night just like this one she\u2019d asked him to go for it. With her. But he didn\u2019t. Because he was too afraid. But he wasn\u2019t now because hope makes you brave, so he swooped in to kiss, but he missed her mouth and they head-butted a little.<\/p>\n

\u201cOw, Nat! What are you doing?!?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry\u2013I\u2019m just\u2026I\u2019m goin\u2019 for it, Lurene.\u201d He tried to kiss her again and this time his mouth smacked into her chin. \u201cNat! Stop it.\u201d She hopped off the tailgate. \u201cGod!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry\u2013it\u2019s just\u2026I never thought I\u2019d see you again, but you\u2019re back! And it\u2019s nice to have you back.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhoa. I\u2019m not back, pal. I\u2019m just here to bury my mother.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know\u2013\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you don\u2019t have me back. \u2019Cause\u2026I\u2019m pregnant.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHuh?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah. That\u2019s what I wanted to tell you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah.\u201d Then all of a sudden she blurted out, \u201cAnd I\u2019m keeping it. This time. Because that\u2019s what he wants. And I do, too. We\u2019re keeping it. And I\u2019m gonna marry him.\u201d<\/p>\n

Nat couldn\u2019t breathe.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you\u2019re bleeding.\u201d<\/p>\n

He was. His lip. He hopped up and grabbed some McDonald\u2019s napkins from the glovebox in the cab. Oh, God. She was pregnant. And it wasn\u2019t his. She was getting married. And not to him. The ground was moving and his throat was tightening and his jaw joints felt like he had eaten super sour candy. He was gonna cry. But he didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou okay? You bleeding?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d Nat pressed some napkins to his lip. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, Nat. I just wanted you to hear that from me and not somebody else.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell\u2026thanks. And\u2026congratulations.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThanks. Um\u2026well, I\u2019m gonna get going. Big day tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWait\u2013don\u2019t you wanna know the thing I wanted to tell you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh. Yeah. Sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n

It took him a while to come up with it, but he finally said, \u201cDad\u2019s gonna sell me the store.\u201d<\/p>\n

Which was true.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood. Good for you.\u201d<\/p>\n

But that wasn\u2019t what he wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her yes, he\u2019d run away with her and get married, which is what he should have said back when she asked him. But people said that kids shouldn\u2019t have kids. That they both had places to go and things to do and dreams to make real. And she got sent away because she was the one who started looking different. And he just\u2026disappeared on her \u2019cause he didn\u2019t know what else to do \u2019cause he was so scared and sad.<\/p>\n

And now\u2026he didn\u2019t have her. And they didn\u2019t have a kid. And he\u2019d never gone to college. Or anywhere. And he hadn\u2019t done anything but work at Paradis\u2019 Last Convenient store. And he didn\u2019t really have any dreams to make real.<\/p>\n

And he started crying.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, Nat, come on.\u201d Lurene put her hand on his shoulder. Nat fell into her and made her hug him. After a few seconds, she broke away. \u201cListen\u2013I have to go. I have so much to do tomorrow.\u201d She started toward her car.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan I go to the service?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. It\u2019s just for family and you\u2019re not family.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell\u2013\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou coulda been. But you\u2019re not.\u201d<\/p>\n

She opened the door to her car.<\/p>\n

\u201cI love you and I\u2019m sorry, Lurene.\u201d<\/p>\n

She stopped. She wanted to say, \u201cYou\u2019re too late.\u201d But she didn\u2019t. She wanted to accept his apology. But she wouldn\u2019t. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, too, still. But she couldn\u2019t. So she just got in her car and drove away. And Nat realized right then and there that he would probably never see her again. He also realized we all pay for what we\u2019ve done and for what we haven\u2019t done and for what we become with the lives we lead.<\/p>\n

And his life would be led without her.<\/p>\n

Playwright and actor John Cariani\u2019s most recent play is Love\/Sick<\/em> (world premiere at Portland Stage, March 2013). His first, Almost, Maine, <\/em>premiered at Portland Stage and\u00a0 enjoyed an off-Broadway run in New York. He\u2019s appeared 26 times on TV\u2019s Law & Order<\/em>, and he received a Tony nomination for his work in the 2004 Broadway revival of Fiddler on the Roof<\/em>. He wrote the first draft of \u201cEcho Lake\u201d just before beginning his play Last Gas<\/em>: \u201cOne of the first things I do when I begin writing a new play is to write a short story to flesh out the characters and the plot.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Summerguide 2013
\nLurene Legassie was home. For the first time since she left. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[8],"tags":[23,20],"class_list":["post-7859","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-featured","tag-fiction","tag-summerguide-2013"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7859","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=7859"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7859\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":8091,"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7859\/revisions\/8091"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=7859"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=7859"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=7859"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}