Echo Park Lake is a fixture near down town Los Angeles. Man made and many years neglected, it is currently a work in progress. This morning when I drove by I tried to peek through the green woven cloth covered chain link fence that surrounds it while they "bring it back to life."
My friend and fellow writer, Jaimsyne Blakely is contemplating gathering several stories about Echo Park Lake to celebrate its reopening in 2013. I happened to share this one with her yesterday at a writer's meeting in my old stomping grounds... the hills of Echo Park.
I KNOW what I threw into that lake on my way home from Belmont High School back in the day. I can only imagine what else they found in that murky water (now drained) and what they will find in the layers of luscious silty mud at the bottom.
May you enjoy the story and may we all enjoy the return of the lotuses and a beautiful new park surrounding the lake in a couple of years.
Without hesitation she dove in to rescue me. My toes had just found the bottom's slimy softness only to feel it yield and part with my weight. If I slow down that moment I recall in vivid sensory detail the nubbly firmness of the plant roots, the minnows and carp brushing my legs in quick retreat from my falling six year old body and the sky and trees twirling above me where they had been reflected below me a moment ago in Echo Park Lake. I honestly don't know if my friend Danny pushed me or if I simply slid and fell.
Danny's mom Helen was brave and fast! Quicker than my mom she leapt into the water only to find it just breast deep - deep enough to be over my head, but shallow enough that after she scooped me into her welcoming an welcomed strong arms we both began to laugh. She started it and it was catchy and made the sting of one scraped elbow fade into the background.
I'm sure if it had been my mom who leapt in after me that elbow would have been center stage - her worry at the sight of blood or any battle scar made the wounds hurt more not less. This time the obligatory iodine dutifully applied after the fact only rekindled the memory of laughter and a tiny stinging throb.
Bless Helen Fefferman and her down to earth solidity. Solid feet, solid body, steady mind, playful, cheerful and as fretless as a violin.
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