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The Wednesday Meeting, Part Two: Jacob
If you haven’t read Part One — read it first here:
Part Two: Jacob
I grew up in Vancouver, Washington, just north of Portland, on the Columbia River. The other Vancouver. Less glamorous. Sprawling and west coast suburban. It’s hard to explain to folks who’ve only known concrete, steel and industrial noises…hard to explain the power of trees, climbing hills and gliding along the water.
That feeling, the surrounding power of nature, went from sublime to haunting when he drowned. I was eight. Jacob was eleven. Our sister, Simone, was fifteen. Jacob was a good swimmer. I’m still not exactly sure what happened. We were out on Vancouver Lake in canoes. Mostly, I remember screaming. Simone turning over the canoe and not finding Jacob. Our parents shouting and rushing over. An hour later, Jacob being pulled out of the lake.
My memory of the next month is a collage of fragments. A blur of emptiness. A hollow pit where my stomach used to be. My brother and best friend. Gone. The other bunk bed was taken out of our room — now my room…
