Hemmingway Immitation circa 1995

The waves crashing against the water were crisp and dark. On one side they lapped against the beach and the rocks and the blanket that was laid out in a clearing through the trees. Resting on the blanket was the bright glistening sun and a box, filled with old trinkets, sat in the center of the blanket, stabilizing it from the wind. The two boys lay out on the beach, away from the blanket. It was mildly warm and the Tahoe Queen would be passing by from Tahoe City shortly. It passed by West Shore daily and then continued on to Emerald Bay.
“Where should we go?” the younger boy asked. He had taken off his shoes and set his feet in the sand.
“It’s a nice day,” the other boy said.
“Lets go to Eagle Rock.”
“Eagle Rock.” the older boy said as he thought about it. “The mountain down the road?”
“Yes, the one down the road.”
The sun faded behind the clouds and the two boys noticed. It had gone away from their view which annoyed the two. The younger boy looked down toward the water. They were on a rocky beach and the waves were cool and crooked.
“They look like broken stars,” the younger boy said.
“I’ve never seen one,” the older boy stared at the sky.
“Yes, I know that.”
“How do you,” the older boy said. “Only because you think you know that doesn’t mean a thing.”
The young boy looked at a large rock next to him. “Someone wrote something on it,” he said. “What did they write?”
“‘Peter was here.’ It’s a joke.”
“Can we write something?”
The older boy pulled a marker from his pocket. It was old and dirty.
“Write whatever you want.”
“What should I write?”
“What do you want to write?”
“I don’t know,” the younger boy said. “Should I write the same thing?”
“If you want to,”
“I’m not good at spelling,” the younger boy said and set down the marker.
“Everybody’s like that.”
“I know,” said the younger boy. “Everybody is a bad speller. Especially the ones who haven’t been able to go to school.”
“Oh shut up!”
“No, you,” the younger boy said. “I was just teasing. I was only kidding.”
“Well, let’s try and be funny then.”
“Okay. I was trying. I mentioned that the waves look like broken stars. Wasn’t that catchy?”
“That was catchy.”
“I want to write something funny. That’s all we do, isn’t it- write down things and then go places?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
The younger boy looked out at the waves.
“They’re cool waves,” he said. “They don’t exactly look like broken stars. I was just talkin’ ‘bout they’re reflection off the sun.”
“Are you going to write something?”
“Yeah.”
The sun came through and behind the clouds again.
“The marker works good,” the older boy said.
“Yeah it does,” the younger one said.
“It really won’t be too hard to move again, Scott,” the older boy said. “It’s not really a move at all.”
The young boy looked down at the rocks his feet were on.
“I know you don’t care, Scott,” the older one said. “It’s just to get a fresh start.”
The younger brother did not answer.
“We’ll just get a fresh start and try again with a clean slate.”
“Then what will we do?”
“We’ll be fine. We get ourselves together like we always do.”
“How do you know for sure?”
“That’s the only hard part. It’s the only part that we don’t like. . . the beginning.”
The younger boy stretched his legs and dug his toes into the rocky beach.
“So you think after we go we’ll be better?”
“I’m sure of it. We won’t be sad anymore. Lots of people move.”
“I know that,” said the younger brother. “And after a little while they are happy.”
“Well,” the older brother said, “if you really want to stay we could. But I know it won’t be that hard.”
“Do you really want to go?”
“I see it as the only safe option. But I don’t want to leave if you’re really going to hate it.”
“And if I do it will make us happier and our lives will be better and you won’t hate me?”
“I don’t hate you.”
“I know,” said the younger brother. “But if I agree then it won’t be so sad again if I mention things are like broken stars, and you’ll understand?”
“I will understand. I understand now but I do not want to think of it.”
“If I agree you won’t get frustrated?”
“I won’t get frustrated because it will be good.”
“Then okay. Because I really don’t care.”
“What?”
“I don’t care.”
“Well I do.”
“Oh, yes. But I don’t. I’ll agree and then it will be over.”
“You shouldn’t agree like that.”
The young boy got up and ran to the pier. Down, at the opposite end, were the boats and buoys weighed down to the Tahoe lake bottom. Far off, past the lake, were the Rockies. The sun rose above the clouds and illuminated the east shore caves and he could see the pine trees scattered around.
“I guess we should go then,” the younger boy said. “If we are . . . then we should go. You know?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Well, I’ll get the box,” the older boy said. “We’ve got to have the box. It’s the one thing that is always constant.”