Moonstalk Pond | Haley Kouba

If there’s one thing in the world that Carter’s grateful for above all else, it’s that he lives in the oldest, creakiest house on Moonstalk Street.

It’s imperative to note that there’s a pond on Moonstalk Street that has a big, sturdy oak tree marooned in the middle of it. Its trunk rests on an island no bigger than a dresser drawer, and its roots spill out, out, and down into the blackened water surrounding it, like a woman squeezing into a dress ten sizes too small.

This pond sits right across the street from Carter’s front porch.

In the winter months, that pond is always the first thing to freeze over, and there’s nothing that Carter’s classmate Faye loves more than to venture out over the hazardous, slippery sheet of ice in the hopes of climbing that weathered, old tree and looking down at the frozen world below. Carter knows this because he watches the brazen girl make an attempt at the expedition every year.

It’s also imperative to note that there’s nothing Carter loves more than his brave, overly-adventurous classmate, Faye.

So, on the morning of November fourteenth, after the long-awaited breath of winter has settled over their sleepy little town like a robin lighting down into its nest, Carter can practically sense it as Faye slips out of her house in her check knit scarf, and makes her way down to the Moonstalk pond.

In all actuality, Carter rouses himself from a very comfortable sleep just in time to see her pass in front of his house, and he grudgingly forces himself into his snow pants and skating shoes.

He rushes out of his front door to watch as his classmate treads with bundled feet over drifts of cotton-soft snow, looking very much like she’s enjoying the way her boots press the fluff into a map of her footsteps. When she finally reaches the edge of the ice, the girl looks over the frozen pond with what can only be described as anticipation, her gaze settling on the big, old oak tree sitting smack-dab in the middle.

There are other people out and about in the area- an elderly couple with a large, reddish colored dog, and a pair of boys about their age who’re sledding down the snowy bank of the pond. Carter nods decisively to himself and starts his own trek to the edge of the icy expanse, keeping an eye on his classmate as he does so. 

Faye, crazy as she is, takes one tentative step onto the solid slab of ice, and then another, and then she’s running light as a bird over the ice, orange hair flying out behind her. Carter kind of hates that he’s never seen anything so beautiful.

He skates out onto the ice as the girl rushes up to greet her tree, reaching out to lay her palm on the crackled, sturdy trunk. Carter knows its grooves are familiar to her, and he hopes that Faye is enjoying the reunion. He skates in slow circles around the pond, looping gracefully, and never taking his eyes off of her.

The winter wind swirls her hair up around her as she grasps onto the branches of the tree with both hands, pulling herself up into its arms. She climbs up, up, and out, stopping only when she’s reached the highest tip of the big, old tree, and then she looks down at the world below her. Carter would like to imagine that she takes note of him, maybe catching sight of his red hat and recognizing it as the one that sits on the head in front of her in class, but he thinks that she probably only sees the expanse of the pond, frosted over like the glass of a cold drink, the gray, snow-drifted wood of the trees lining the shore, and the lights of their cozy town winking at her like flickering candles.

He doesn’t know how right he is.

*** 

Faye sees all of the natural wonders spread out beneath her, and she settles into the peace they bring comfortably. She does not, however, hear the creaking of the branch that she’s sitting on.

At least, not until it’s too late.

Faye doesn’t realize what’s happening until she’s falling through the air. She decides that it’s an interesting feeling, falling from such a height, but she’s not sure if it’s a bad one. Then, she crashes through the ice beneath her tree, and sinks into the darkness of the pond below.

Freezing water welcomes itself into her lungs, and she works to keep her eyes open, looking around in wonder as her limbs lose their feeling. Faye, with her commitment to positivity still firmly in place, even in her last moments, thinks to herself that the underside of a pond is actually quite a lovely place.

Bubbles flutter up from her smiling lips, and her eyes slip closed, and just as her awareness begins to take its leave, something crashes into the water above her. A hand takes hold of her scrawny wrists, tugging her upwards desperately, and Faye looks up lazily into the eyes of the boy that was ice skating around the lake earlier.

They’re beautiful. His eyes are like trees. They’re big and brown, with shocks of green, and they’re lined with thick, dark lashes. There’s something distinctly not tree-like about them, though. They’re wide, alarmed, eyes, with a beautiful determination in them. Faye can’t help but feel enraptured by the fact that these eyes are looking at her. She kicks her feet beneath her, and lets the boy pull her to the surface, leaving the thoughts of her tree beneath the ice.

There’s something much more interesting to think about now.

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Haley Kouba is a Creative Writing major at Southeastern University in Lakeland, Florida. She loves the personal connection that can be forged between a reader and a work of literature and strives to express the most compelling parts of life through writing.