-tried to make a distinctive voice of
Allie. Similar to Holden in use of slang and sentence structure; different in
general tone and the way he perceives the world
-I tried to make subtle hints to Allie’s
leukemia
-fenestella) falling: falling of ducks, Allie,
Holden
-Poem is by Robert Frost
-title a pardoy of ‘the ocean full of
bowling balls’ by jd salinger
The
Lake Full of Falling Ducks
-----------------
Snowflakes land on my hair, probably
making quite a sight- a stark contrast between red and white, I guess. I look
down at my baseball mitt, something quite useless on a day like this, but just
for the sake of it I clench and unclench my cold fingers several
times, my eyes skimming over the green letters written in clumsy calligraphy. A
portion of a certain poem catches my eye, and I recite it in my mind, trying to
remember the rest.
Whose
woods these are I think I know.
His
house is in the village though;
He
will not see me stopping here
To
watch his woods fill up with snow.
I feel a tug on my sleeves. It’s just little
Phoebe. My sister. Her hair’s less red than mine, but noticeable enough. She
writes funny little stories that just kills Holden. She kills him, she really
does. And me too, at times like these, when she’s staring at me with big curious
eyes.
“Allie, can’t you hear Holden calling?
Are you tired? Again? Let’s go,” she chirps, twisting herself in anticipation
and all, eyes flickering towards Holden. “Alright,” I say. I hold her gloved
hands and go to join Holden. Holden’s just two years older than me. He’s like a
magician-everything he says is absolutely compelling. He knows much more about
me about the world, and he says it without fearing repercussions, while all I
do is read and write and study and play baseball. He reads and writes and studies
and plays baseball too, of course, but not today.
“What if the lake’s all frozen, Allie?
Then we can’t use your little boat,” he questions.
“It won’t be! It was fine yesterday!” I
assure him.
“If you say so.” Holden shrugs and leads
the way.
A few minutes and we’re here at the Central
Park South. The willows are all leafless and dormant, but their branches still
droop down and we have to part them open to reach the lake.
“Uh-oh,” Phoebe murmurs.
It’s all frozen. In fact it must’ve been
frozen for quite a while considering how it’s coated in white powdery snow.
“I’m sorry,” I say, staring at the
surface that reflects nothing. Staring, like I could melt it with my eyes, huh.
I feel real bad- I mean, Phoebe’s been anticipating this little excursion for
quite a while, and Holden wants to play with me every spare moment, naturally,
considering the circumstances.
“It’s alright-there are lots of things
we can do instead, see,” goes Holden.
Phoebe leans to him, trust in me gone.
Maybe she’s a bit mad, I hope she isn’t. “Like?”
“We can borrow sleds.”
“Don’t see any around.”
“We can just walk on the ice.”
“No! If Allie slips he’ll get all
bruised again.”
My mind wanders away. I bend my knees a
bit and peer into the snow-covered ice- bumpy and opaque. I wonder how deep it
is. Considering there are remnants of the reed that flourishes in the autumn,
the water probably was really shallow. But, by any chance, it could be deep.
Maybe deep enough for turtles to hide in. Maybe deep enough for fishes to dance
in schools. Maybe deep enough for, say, ducks to dive in and catch fish. Maybe
deep enough for a whole person to fall in and stand up in and still not reach
the surface.
“Allie, Allie whatcha looking at?”
I jerk up. Holden and Phoebe are staring
at me now, probably done with deciding what to do.
“The lake,” I say honestly.
“And whatcha thinking?”
“That it might be deep enough for…ducks.
For ducks to dive in and catch fish,”
I see confusion pass over them “I see,”
says Holden. “Was wondering what was so special about a bunch of ice.”
My mind drifts of to the poem. I
remember now.
My
little horse must think it queer
To
stop without a farmhouse near
Between
the woods and frozen lake. . .
“Allie,” pipes up Phoebe again. “You’re being
weird! Focus!”
“I was just wondering. About the ducks. Where
do you s’ppose happens to all those ducks then? In the winter?” My words
surprise myself. I wasn’t really thinking, I feel a bit weary for that already,
but somehow my mouth makes up all these questions. And in fact I am a bit
curious about the answers.
“They’re migratory. They go south, as you probably know.”
“Yes, but how?”
Holden shrugs. “I wouldn’t know. Do you,
Phoebe?”
“Nope!”
“Then guess,” I sound very imploring.
“Okay, okay. Maybe they just stick their
legs in the ice and fly away to another place, the ice held by dozens of them?”
Holden says with the slightest hint of sarcasm. Phoebe lets out a little burst
of giggle, and I smile too, because how funny is that? A bunch of ducks, feet
stuck in ice, flapping in unison. And imagine, what if they fall? It’ll be
quite a sight. A bunch of ducks bringing each other down, not intentionally,
panicking like chickens. Holden’s chuckling too by now but suddenly he calms
down and looks at me, eyes all intense.
“I’ve got no idea why but your questions
feel a bit funny today.”
“Funny! Sure I’ve noticed that too.”
“Sort of, let’s say, phony, you know?
Like why are you asking all these trivial things?”
Phony? “I am curious about the answers.”
“Right.”
A brief silence. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right. I won’t be phony.”
“You weren’t being phony, not if you
were really curious.”
“I know. But still.”
The
woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But
I have promises to keep. . .,
“So what are we going to do?” pipes
Phoebe, her bangs dangling above her blue eyes, as restless as she is. “Let’s
just go and walk maybe?” I suggest meekly. Holden shrugs and goes off. I turn
and follow Holden.
…And
miles to go before I sleep,
And
miles to go before I sleep.
[…]
Then I thought of something, all of a
sudden, “Hey, listen,” I said, “You know those ducks in that lagoon right near
Central Park South? That little lake? By any chance, do you happen to know
where they go, the ducks, when it gets all frozen over? Do you happen to know,
by any chance?” I realized it was only one chance in a million.
