Winter Waters Marilyn looked up at the midnight November sky - there was no moon. Overhead gray clouds parted for a few seconds, revealing cold twinkling stars. They gave little light and no warmth. She shook her head and gave a deep sigh - her breath hung in the air like the clouds overhead. No cheer and no warmth. She peered at the lake in front of her; it lay there, black as soot, cold and uncaring. She heard the gentle laps at the pebbly shore and saw cold reflections of the stars on ripples spanning out in front of her. This was the fifth time she had come to stand here in the past two hours. Behind her in the cabin there was the sound of a piano, laughter, talking and at least one person singing deliberately offkey. She could go back inside, but she really had no desire to be there, or to be here on this weekend retreat at all. Her parents made her come. She turned away from the waters and began walking up the gravel road again. There was a silvery shine of frost on the road and on the frozen grass beside it. She kept thinking of the stinging remark one of the other girls had made - everyone laughed and repeated it, taunting her. She fought to hold in the tears as she snatched her coat and walked out the door. She snuggled down inside that coat now - it was her Uncle Harold’s navy coat. It was stiff, heavy and bulky; but when she wore it she felt he was near. And that gave her comfort. In the entire family it seemed only Uncle Harold understood her. He didn’t see a gangly girl with no figure. He didn’t see an ordinary looking dishwater blond, who was too smart and too geeky, who didn’t fit in anywhere. He listened to her ideas, he challenged her conclusions, and make her question herself and others. He understood why she wasn’t like her classmates. All they did was talk about television and movies and who was dating who. She was thinking of the hereafter, of war and peace, of international issues, of the end of the world. But Uncle Harold was gone. A drunk driver took away the only friend she had. Marilyn had only his coat and a few of his words. She walked slowly up the road to the gate, stumbling in the dim light. And finally, she ended up here at the shore again, listening to the lap lap lap of the dark waves against the shore. If I walk out into the water, it won’t be any colder than I already am. The cold will numb me real fast. And if I keep walking, this heavy coat will pull me down under the black water. I will be numb. I will be dead. My pain will be gone. She thought these words over and over. It wasn’t a lack of courage that restrained her. She didn’t want to hurt her parents. She was their only child - they placed all their hopes in her. And the pain and the shame of their daughter committing suicide was something she didn’t wish to inflict upon them. Finally, one of the chaperones noticed Marilyn wasn’t with the group. When she asked the others said something about her going outside - when she kept on asking they told her about the insult. It was Mrs. Duncan who came looking for Marilyn; bundled up in coat and scarf, she stumbled through a clumsy opening line. Marilyn recognized her desire to help, her awareness of Marilyn’s feelings, and her struggle to know what to say or do. Over the next thirty minutes they talked, Mrs. Duncan trying to soothe the wounds and coax Marilyn back into the group and the warmth inside. The woman failed to comprehend Marilyn - how she hungered for acceptance. Marilyn had no desire to pretend or become someone different; she wanted friendship and understanding. Eventually Mrs. Duncan wore Marilyn down; she encouraged her to come back to the group, to talk like the others talked, to show interest in their lives so maybe they would show interest in hers. Marilyn turned her back on the black cold waters and went back to the cabin. Upon entering she flung a stinging remark back at the girl who insulted her. Now the group laughed and jeered, poking fun at Marilyn’s attacker. Marilyn stood a little taller and strode through the crowd. She pretended to be interested in the girls’ gossip and told them about a movie she had seen. They chatted with her and told her jokes about the boys. Mrs. Duncan stood off to the side, chatting with the other adults. She told them she thought she had helped Marilyn, that she seemed really depressed, that she might have even been thinking of suicide. But she didn’t know that Marilyn had committed a different kind of suicide - she didn’t walk into the cold black waters, but she had walked into a cold hearted crowd. She didn’t numb herself in the cold lake and sink into oblivion. But she did numb herself to her feelings and her thoughts and she sunk into intellectual oblivion. Marilyn died that night - one way or another.