but here on Uncle C.O.'s beach, I'm in a personal cathedral of stillness, in the midst of a ritual. Next I withdraw the memories of a handful of people, some still here, and some long gone, and gently submerge them in the water instead of drowning them. Some of them might deserve to be drowned, but I remember I'm simply trying to let go of issues and memories that do more harm to me than good. Let them go gently into the water, I think, because no doubt they're hauling around their own issues, and God forbid I might be one. Sometimes I'm sure I must be one. I know my part in things. I have to wiggle my fingers to disengage from these people, from their faces and the sound of their voices, but eventually they let go, I let go, and they float beneath the surface. A wave laps in too close to my knees and soaks my jeans. I'm not thinking about the seeping damp, but about the memories that have too long been issues, the ones I've just released into Claytor Lake. My bag feels lighter. I withdraw the memory of my father and look at it a long time before I slide it back where it was. I can't let that issue go to the lake; it's too much a part of me. Another way will come to me in which I can find peace over what I missed without him. He will always be