Story-A-Day #61: The Creek

THE CREEK

When he was seven, he caught a salamander and kept it as a pet in an empty aquarium for almost two months. He would spend hours holding it, the smooth slippery skin a marvel in his young hands and the vibrant yellow spots an endless source of fascination. He had named it Sam and he had treated it well. The salamander became a good friend for a while and when the winter started its approach, he dreaded the day he would have to set his new friend free.

He had been young, but he was also smart enough to know that salamanders were amphibians, like frogs, and that when the lakes and rivers froze over, the salamanders went to sleep for the winter. He was clever like that, even as a young boy. Still, the pain of pending separation was one that loomed over him in a dreadful way.

He eventually did release the salamander back into the wild, set it free in a creek that ran through the forest not far from his house. It was a difficult day and even though he tried not to, but he cried.

That was years ago now, an almost forgotten era of his life. What else did he remember from his seventh year? Not much. Mostly he had impressions of things that he may have done or that might have happened. He remembered the innocence and joy of cruising around the block on his first bicycle. He remembered hiking through the forest with his parents, his small hands tucked away safely in theirs. He remembered being terrified of ghosts and monsters in the night, and the awesome spectacle of a clear sky at night. He remembered a lot of things, but most of them in an impressionistic manner that was more about the feeling of the moment than a clear recollection.

The one thing he remembered vividly was the feeling of Sam the Salamander slipping out of his hand into the icy cold water of the creek on that cold November evening, his bright yellow spots disappearing behind a mask of tears.

Over the years, he would often revisit that creek and spend a few quiet moments mourning the loss of innocence with a wry grin on his face. Sam the Salamander had come to represent a simpler time before the confusion of adolescent and confounding perpetuity of adulthood. He had a great life, a loving family and a handful of close friends. He had business associates and acquaintances. He was a lifelong learner, always keen to pick up a new skill or discover a new area of interest. He had experienced true love, and he had done so more than once. He had traveled to all the places he wanted to see and he had found a place he was comfortable calling home,

And still, there were times during the year, usually at the outset of winter, where he would find himself wondering about Sam the Salamander. The average lifespan of a salamander was less than 20 years, and Sam was surely long gone, but he would often return to the creek and look for the telltale spots in the flowing water.

He never told anyone when he was going. He never stayed for too long. Sometimes he would puff on a cigarette and watch the plumes of smoke drift off through the trees. It was just a private moment between him and an old friend, one that allowed him to reflect upon a simpler, better time.

Sometimes, as he stared down into the icy waters, he imagined two hooded eyes peering back up at him. He could almost see Sam down there, a hint of yellow in the darkness, and imagined the salamander looking up at him, thinking about the good old days.