Day 59: If I Could Skim Rocks Better Than You

If I could Skim Rocks Better That You
by
Matt Zurbo

 

If I could skim rocks better than you, that would be some feat. I’m told you’re pretty good. I’d give my left arm a go, just to keep things sweet.
(Two kids, pants rolled up, collecting flat rocks.)

If I could skim rocks well I’d go to the nearest lake, maybe the water reservoir up top of Brown Mountain, on the stillest night.
(Two kids riding pushbikes through dusk, helmets on, lights on helmets.)

I’d make sure the moon was out, that the lake’s surface was a glassy, oblivion black…(Kids, rocks in hand, looking own into perfect silvery reflections on black water, moon behind them.)

and I would skim rocks through the mist, just to see the perfect moonlit ripples,
(Rock skimming across black surface, past frog on stick protruding from water. Ripples growing in its wake)

expanding until they crossed over themselves, looking like beautiful spider webs.
(Image of water full of cross ripples, bottom third of page has reflection of narrator skimming a rock, broken into patterns by ripples.)

I’d throw my rock with my eyes closed, so I might hear the sweet sound of it skipping through the silence.
(Kids, one in background. One in foreground throwing with eyes closed.)

Ssshk
Ssshk
Ssshk
Shk…shk…shk…
Shk, shk, shk.
(Close up of rock skimming on black water.)

The first three or four splashes would sound so sweet! I’d listen to the owls call as my rock slashed and skipped.
(Two owls, wigs raised, taking flight.)

If I could skim rocks well, I’d do so on tropical river waterholes, impressing other kids.

I’d skim two inch washers over their submerged heads, like William Tell, knocking apples off.
(Two other kids underwater, checks billowing, holding breath, looking up at series of ripples on surface)

If I could skim rocks well, I would have pockets full of them on wet days. I would walk around the neighbourhood, skimming off puddles into rubbish bins,
bullies
and poles.
(Narrator throws rock, that skim off puddle into pole by railway tracks. Two kids in background wide-eyed.)
The other kids might think this was pretty cool. I could be a bit different, a loner, without being called weird.

Each time I skimmed a rock from one puddle to another and into a stop sign, the TONK it made would sound so crisp!    

If I could skim rocks well, I would wait until those two or three nights a year phosphorous plankton wash into the bay. Then get Dad to take us down to the waterfront
(Two kids ankle deep in river mouth water, lime green ripples coming out from their legs, behind them giant tankers glide through. Lights from docks behind them.)

Then I’d skim rocks for you. It would look superb.
(Rock skimming, creating ripples, under it, phosphorous-lit fish and a crab are swimming.)
“A present you cannot keep…” I would whisper, as they faded, then skim a few more.

You would want to take photos, but no photo would look nearly as good as real life. In the end, you would simply join in.
(Second kid skimming, as first lifts a splash of phosphorous water at them.)

If I could skim things well, I’d skim bottle tops, pizza bases, hubcaps, school books, over puddles, grass, pebbles, just to see the everyday slicing through the air.
(Two or three of these objects passing through the air.)

I would skim coins in wild surf, 20c at a time, so I could watch money cutting out to sea.
(Suitable image)

If I could skim things well, I’d spend my life looking for the perfect rock, and skim it across the creek, onto the other bank, then swim over and retrieve it, and skim it back, and again and again and again… as if that is as good as life gets!
(Narrator, wet hair, waist deep in creek, skinning rock)

If I could skim rocks better than you, I would invite you along, time and again, until you wee better than me
(Second kid, legs everywhere, leaping out of the water with joy, hand in air. Narrator behind second kid, wincing/tensing with mock anguish)

Then try and be better than you again…
(Both kids, as seen from water level, standing in water, with one hand full of rocks, the other hand holding the one rock, ready to throw.)

 

The End