|
“Hey Scott,” the officer says. “What’re you up to?”
Scott’s voice is calm and even. “We’re just heading out to Rainy Lake.”
“Who’s with you?”
“This is Mel.”
The officer leans down to peer in at me. He’s plain, with dark eyes. He’s smiling, but he has a face that could look mean.
“Hi there,” he says to me.
“Hi.”
“Are you American or Canadian?”
“Canadian.” My voice is shaking.
“You’re just coming in for a few hours?”
“Yes.”
“Have a good time,” the officer says.
Scott drives under the flag and into the country. A big wooden sign welcomes us to Minnesota, and the main street branches off to the right. I look down it as we drive past. Other than the American flags dangling from the lampposts, it looks pretty much the same as Fort Frances’s main street. The only other difference I notice is the speed limit sign when Scott turns left on to the highway, posted in miles instead of kilometers.
“So, we’re going to Rainy Lake?” I ask
“I’d like to take you for a boat ride, if that’s okay.”
“Sure.” I watch him drive. “You know,” I say after a few minutes, “you don’t look like a Customs officer.”
“No? What do I look like?”
“I don’t know. Maybe a photographer.”
He smiles. “Well, I guess I feel more like a photographer than a Customs officer.”
“So maybe you should be a photographer.”
“People don’t really become photographers, do they? That’s not something you actually say you’re going to do as a career or anything. It’s more like a hobby or something.”
“I believe in that old saying that you should discover what you love to do, and then find a way to make a living at it.”
Scott glances at me and nods. “I like that. I’ve always been told the opposite, to do what’ll give you security and try to find happiness in it. I like yours better.”
“So Customs isn’t like your dream job or anything?”
“No. It’s more like what I fell into. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“That seems to happen to a lot of people.”
“I’m just going to do it for a while,” he says. “They’ve guaranteed me a job when I graduate, somewhere on the northern border, and every two years I can put in for a transfer. I figure it’ll be a way to see some different places.”
We turn on to a narrow road that weaves through forest and past houses. Between the structures I catch glimpses of water. Scott pulls into a driveway, and I follow him around the house to the dock out front.
“It’s my grandma and grandpa’s,” he says. “They said I could use it.”
He helps me into the sixteen-foot boat that rocks and sways as I step in. I sit on a lifejacket on the middle wooden seat. Scott takes the back seat and starts the motor. The late afternoon is still and warm, the water is a deep royal blue, and the sky is bright with fluffy clouds floating lazily through. We head out of the bay, past rocky cliffs speckled with birch and pine trees, into the open water. This lake reminds me a bit of the ocean, so expansive. It’s probably the biggest lake I’ve been on, and I’m fascinated by its channels and shorelines.
Scott turns and weaves us through islands and over rock reefs, slowing down and speeding up and cutting to the right or the left, depending on the directions of the green and red buoys. Then he pulls into a sheltered bay and slows the engine.
“You obviously know your way around,” I yell to be heard over the engine.
“I grew up on this lake,” he says. “Every summer I was out on the water. And in the winter, I was out on the ice.” He beaches the boat and we climb out onto the pebble shoreline. “The lake is the only thing I liked about the Falls. Other than that, I couldn’t wait to leave.”
“And now?”
He smiles. “I still can’t wait. Can’t wait to leave Moorhead, either. I need a new experience.”
“New experiences are definitely where it’s at.”
Scott offers me his hand to help maneuver through an overgrown path and up a small rock ledge. We’re faced with a breathtaking view of the water and the islands and the bold white bark of the birch trees. We sit in silence for a minute, taking it in.
6/83 首页 上一页 4 5 6 7 8 9 下一页 尾页
|
