Marmalade Summer

Ryan Billington

1-17-05

AP English

Narrative Essay

 

Marmalade Summer

            When I was growing up, my grandparents owned a small red cabin on the edge of a lake.  Many summers were spent with my family out on our lovely lake, sitting down at the dock, basking in the warmth of summer sunshine.  It was during one of these summers that an event occurred that has changed my outlook on life; I call it the marmalade summer…

I sat in a chair, eyes closed, the smooth brown carpet warming my feet as I soaked in the warmth of the late summer sun.  A water droplet trickled from my hair and danced down my side.  I brushed it away and sat up.  The faded colors of our lake greeted my eyes.   Pale trees rose from the bank, surrounding the grey blue water, domed by a wispy blue sky.  The wind gusted across the rippling surface, whispering of the coming fall.  My eyes drifted from the cove back to the opposite edge of our dock.  And back to cove…

            Three hundred feet out from our dock lay a speck of orange, struggling, wrestling with the surface of the water.  Our aluminum boat cast off and I powered my oar through the glistening water, out to the trapped fleck of marmalade.  Two enormous wings floundered on the surface of the deep.  Carefully, after several tries, I brought my oar up under my friend.  He was the largest moth I had ever seen:  a fall colored mix of orange, light brown, and swirls of yellow.  His little black eyes stared back into mine for a moment, then all strength left him.

            Gently setting him down, I rowed back to the dock.  I laid him on the smooth carpet, retrieved a lid for a water dish from the boat, and made an alcove from the wind.  Content with the rescue of my new friend, I sat down to observe and wait.  The sound of a bell reached down out of the trees, signaling that lunch was ready.  Waving to my friend, I rushed up the steps. 

            When I returned, the alcove was empty and a speck of orange was lying on the surface of the water once again.  For the second time, I retrieved my friend, and placed his tired and wet frame in the sanctuary I’d built; and this time I watched…

              I watched as he dragged his body to the edge of the dock.  His enormous wings slowly rose and fell in the evening breeze.  His body quivered for a moment, and then he took off, headed for the opposite shore.  I don’t recall the orange speck rising more than 10 feet off the water, and all too quickly it began to fall.  My oars splashed through the water and I set my trembling friend on the dock.  His right wing had a spasmodic tendency, and several of his legs were broken.  I was sure he would stay on the dock, in comfort, and that his death would come with the night. 

            But night never reached us.  Teetering on broken legs, he stood at the edge of the dock, his enormous wings rising and falling.  I thought to stop him, but I could not bring myself to do so.   His eyes were set on the opposite shore; and after a moment he was gone. 

            I held my friend with trembling hands one last time.  I set him down in the final sanctuary I had built for him and watched as that brilliant orange was lost from the world, hidden behind the dark soil. 

When I laid those orange wings in the ground, I believed that my friend had failed, and that his life had been a waste.  His goals were left unfulfilled, and his earnest search had led only to death.  But time and life are showing me that this is not true.  And while the opposite shore was never graced by those marmalade wings, I am realizing that my friend died not in failure, but in accomplishment.