Memory of Blue

Sophia sank to her knees in the sand where the lake used to be.

The breeze, once refreshing, now only stirred a faint scent of decay, whistling through dry, brittle reeds that had replaced the shallows. No gulls cried overhead, the soft hiss of water folding against the shore only lived on in her memory. Her hands pressed into the dry earth, the remnants of a shoreline that had once glittered blue. It wasn’t sand anymore, not really—just powder and memory, fine as sifted ash.

Her fingers bumped against something cold and mostly buried. Working quickly, she loosened the item and pulled it free. It was her old sand shovel. She hugged it to her chest, her eyes surveying the wasteland that was now before her.

It used to be alive, she thought. It used to know me.

The smell of rain touched the air, and for a moment she could almost hear it—the slap of waves against the shoreline; the sound that had once filled her youth.

When she was nine, the lake had seemed endless. A body she struggled to see across, the horizon always trembling in the heat. She used to spend hours on its edge, feet bare and knees damp.

Her parents’ house had stood on the rise above the beach, white shutters always rattling in the wind. From the living room window, her mother would watch while she built kingdoms out of sand and stone.

She loved to talk—and always, the lake listened.

Once, while shaping a castle moat, she whispered, “Fill it for me?”—and the water obeyed. A small wave crept forward, winding into her trench until the moat glimmered. She laughed then, startled and delighted, looking out across the wide, sunlit water.

“My name’s Sophia,” she said. “What’s yours?”

No voice answered, but a ripple spread outward, catching the light. When it stilled, her name gleamed in the sand—written in a narrow trickle of foam before the next wave rolled in and erased it.

She laughed and scolded the lake with a smile. “That’s my name, not yours. We can share it, I suppose. But I think you should have your own name too.”

Sophia had thought for a moment, then excitedly stated, “I’ll call you Bernard. It’s from my Opa’s story about a man who saved the moon from sinking into the ocean.” She nodded, satisfied, and went back to expanding her sand castle.

The family was moving out of state because her father’s work demanded it—away from the steady heartbeat of waves.

She had to give a parting gift to Bernard.

Her parents impatiently waited in their sedan as she ran down the path to the lake one last time. She'd filled an old glass bottle with her favorite barrette, a couple of shells she’d found on the shoreline, and a small piece of paper she’d scrawled Please don’t forget me across in blue crayon.

At the shoreline, she checked the corked top to make sure it was tight, then tossed it into the water. She watched it bob a couple of times before, oddly, it slipped beneath the surface.

“Don’t forget me,” she said softly, but the breeze carried her words across the lake. “I’ll be back someday.”

She walked backward up the path as far as she could, trying to keep Bernard in sight. It didn’t feel right to just turn and walk away from her best friend.

Years passed, and the sound of that laughter faded with them.

Sophia grew up surrounded by concrete and car horns, but sometimes, when the world went quiet at night, she swore she could still hear the lake’s rhythmic breathing in her dreams.

Two decades later, she came back.

The road had been recently repaved, and a brand-new dollar store shone brightly in the spot her old home once stood. The small town didn’t feel the same, though. The air was stale, the trees were quiet. Even the people seemed worn thin by their lives. She’d parked in the freshly paved lot, the overwhelming scent of asphalt barely hiding the sour note of decay.

Her old path was still there, although it had become overgrown with time. She glanced around, but realized nobody was paying her any mind, so she slipped between the trees and followed it down to her old “private” beach.

The years had not been kind to it. The rocks looked smaller, the water dulled, almost gray instead of the brilliant blue she remembered. An eerie silence hung in the air. Even the birds had abandoned the area.

But she walked up to the water’s edge, and she felt it once more. Faint and shivering, like a pulse struggling to continue—a breath that couldn’t quite form.

Sophia.

It was her name, carried along, low and trembling, by rippling waves.

She froze—her world tilting.

“Who’s there?” she said, before she could stop herself.

You came back.

The voice wasn’t in her ears; it resonated through her body, letting her feel the words, not hear them.

“I—what are you?”

You shared your name with me, it said. I held it close, so the dark would not take me. But after you left, I forgot how to breathe.

She sank to her knees. “I was just a child.”

You anchored me, the presence murmured. You helped me remember myself. But memory fades. I am… unraveling.

The waves lapped weakly at the sand, barely tickling her knees. Beyond them, the horizon was a sheet of dull steel. The lake looked exhausted.

“Can I fix it?” she asked. “Can I—help you remember again?”

There was a pause so long she had thought it was gone for good. Then, gently:

You already did. When you spoke just now. I know your voice again.

A shiver rolled through the water, and for a heartbeat, the lake glittered with light—not reflection, but something from within, like breath in a body suddenly remembered.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You didn’t. You let me love you for a while.

The water receded farther, so far she could see the dark nubs of pondweed and rock—a bed that hadn’t been dry in living memory. The lake’s voice was thin, unraveling.

Stay with me, it said. For the end.

Tears blurred the horizon. “No. You can’t just go. You’re the lake.”

Not anymore.

She ran forward, feet splashing through the shallows. “Don’t you dare!”

The water was cold, receding fast, as if pulled by a hand too weak to hold on. She screamed his name again, and then again—louder, until her voice broke.

“Bernard!”

The word tore itself from her, scattering on the wind.

The lake gave one last sigh—then the sound stopped, utterly.

The water became still, the surface smooth as glass, the color of unpolished stone.

No breath, no motion, no voice—

just water.

Something bobbed against her calf. Startled, she looked down and saw the bottle she’d tossed into the lake years before. Her handwriting could still be seen through the glass.

“You kept it all these years…” she whispered.

She held it close, trembling, and began walking backward toward the shore.

Another decade and more had passed, and Sophia had nearly grown children of her own.

She and her daughter, Mia, planned a road trip, their route passing near her old hometown. Mia asked if they could drive through the town, curious about where her mom had grown up, and Sophia couldn’t say no at the chance to visit once more.

The road was the same in shape if not in spirit—the old trail still ran beside what had once been her yard. The dollar store had closed long ago. It stood vacant, its windows punched out, the letters on its veneer now spelling only OLLA in crooked plastic.

Her path to the lake had grown wild. Grass and thistle leaned heavy across the narrow path, brushing her legs as she made her way forward, Mia close on her heels. But when she reached the clearing, the world opened again.

There was no water this time. No scent of algae or rain, no hum beneath the earth. Only the sand—brittle, cracked, and pale beneath the empty sky.

She knelt in the sand where the lake used to be—her eyes closed, she hugged the old shovel as memories crossing decades flooded back into her—an attempt to keep her from drowning in despair.

“Bernard,” she said softly. The name felt strange on her tongue, like a word remembered from a dream. “I kept my promise, you know. I didn’t forget.”

The wind answered her—a dry sigh across the sand, lifting the hem of her coat. It wasn’t a voice, but something in it was familiar all the same—a ghost of her past coming to haunt.

She imagined the sound of the waves, the glitter of sunlight on the surface, the faint, playful whisper of water curling against her toes. For a heartbeat, she could almost believe she heard him breathe once more.

Then the moment passed. The world went still again.

Sophia bowed her head and let her tears slip free, falling soundlessly onto the sand.

The ground drank them in, leaving only small, glimmering spots that faded too quickly to see.

Sophia got to her feet, eyes searching the horizon. Mia came to her side and took her hand.

“Mom, maybe we should go…”

Sophia nodded slowly, emotions reeling, wondering if things could have been different had she not moved. Then they turned away, heading back up toward the path.

She didn’t look back.

There was no longer a need. The horizon offered nothing but a hollow echo of what once was; her childhood anchor had been severed.

Still, she didn’t look back.

Not because it was painful—because meaning itself had gone with him, leaving only a void where Bernard’s beautiful soul had once shone.