One The Creeping Edge
The Friday sun rises in the early morning.
The marina sits on the creeping edge of Table Rock Lake. It is a refuge, a hideaway from the outside world for those with the money to afford it. It is a playground, bathed in sunscreen and alcohol, for the middle and upper middle class who have appropriated its waters for their own use. Come hell or high water, they will enjoy their weekend.
The Saturday sun sits in the midday sky.
Women dip their feet in the water. They chat as they sip mimosas and compare suntans, large sunglasses and larger hats shielding their faces from burns. Men revert to fraternity ideals, their days dictated by beer and cigars and the stories they tell among themselves. Dock workers scurry, servicing the marina's full-timers and day-trippers alike. You can always tell the full-timers from the day-trippers.
The lake is a place of weekend warriors. It is a place defined by leisure and escapism and, yes, the money it requires to do both. I grew up going to the lake. My family was one that, although hit hard by the 2008 financial crisis, managed to recover to the point of joining the middle class in their aquatic playground. My parents maintain a boat at the marina, but I have rarely visited since I was a child.
I am as much an offspring of this lake as I am a stranger to it.
Boats return to their docks. The marina is almost empty. A handful of hardcore stragglers have stayed behind alongside the dock crew that goes around closing gate after gate.
The Sunday sun is nowhere to be seen.