Silence // Jake Kiszka

Silence

The evening song of the birds cried out overhead. Small, inconsequential twitterings merged with ghoulish, high pitched shrills. The breeze caressing the leaves of the trees sounded like rain, but it was a warm red sky above.

Jake sat on the patio, his guitar resting listlessly on his knee as he took a moment to listen. The quiet stillness he had been searching for filling his senses as the ebb and flow of the city drained out of him. This was what he had come for. This was why he had arrived a week earlier than was planned, to lay down some melodies before the chaos of his band of brothers arrived to interrupt his peace. A peace he had felt slipping away from him of late.

His eyes came to rest on the lake. The red hue above reflected in the still waters, calming ripples breaking against the dock at the foot of the shore. He strummed a little on the acoustic strings, a withering little riff emanating from him that he knew no other would ever hear. He was contented. Completely alone for the first time in what felt like far too long.

Earlier that day he had arrived at Birchwood. The cabin he and his brother, Josh, had tirelessly searched for as the perfect creative backdrop to their new music making. Feeling the tiredness of touring in his veins, Josh had suggested that Jake head up there first. Seeing the dark circles beneath his brothers eyes, the insomnia creeping back in as it always did when his body was off balance.

"Go..." Josh had said, "We will join you the week after. Think of it as a sabbatical."

The draw of the cabin had been it's solitary place through the woodlands of Glacier Falls. A small town which nestled quietly on the shores of Glacier Lake, where it seemed to be that time had frozen. Smoke billowed through the canopy of pines, cabins and homesteads dotted around without any discernible road to connect them.

The town was slow and quiet. Relying heavily upon transient visitors, with only one motel and one gas station for as far as the eye could see. When the landlord had dropped a set of old brass keys into Jake's hand, it had felt as if the concept of an air bnb lockbox was positively unheard of.

"This is perfect." Jake had said, tipping his wide rimmed hat to appraise the imposing timber cabin that sat idly by the water's edge.

The landlord was an old man, who had been sat on the patio steps in anticipation of Jake's arrival. He had chatted casually, the local drawl of his little town slipping out much to Jake's amusement. He liked the way people talked in small towns. It reminded him of home.

"Yep, well." The landlord had said, drawing up his old tattered levi's around his pot belly. "You need anything I'll be up at the general store 9 while 7 every day, that's my place too. And if I 'aint there, my son Jerry can get a message to me. I don't have a phone, see."

Jake shook his hand earnestly.

"Thankyou, Seymour." He said, using the name he had been told to use.

Right before he had turned to leave, the landlord pointed an ominous finger down towards the old dock. "Oh, and people come down here sometimes. Don't pay them no mind. Folks don't usually come here so early in the season, but I tell them all the same if they do. She don't pay you no mind, she just likes to come down here is all."

Jake could see the way he smiled. That thin lipped, half smile of sadness when remembering something with pity.

"Who is she?" He asked, feeling almost as if he had no right to know.

The landlord tapped Jake on the shoulder good naturedly.

"Pay her no mind, son. Trust me." He said, before sidling back to his truck.