Prairie of the Dogs by Brandsen LG

Author:Brandsen, LG
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Luminare Press
Published: 2023-10-17T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 26

May 12, 1987

Misty’s BMW skids down the steep hill, the asphalt of Lake Mendota Drive having transitioned to loose gravel as soon as they turned off the road. They are west of campus, where there is a swath of lakeshore that is still wild. The wild area serves as a buffer between the campus and Shorewood Hills, with its large old houses and manicured lawns lining the lakefront. As is typical, there is no one parked in the almost-hidden parking lot. At the west end of the parking lot is a path to the lake that is blocked by a massive log to keep out any wheeled vehicles. The path is hardened dirt and rutted. It descends steeply down to the bank of Lake Mendota, which rises considerably higher on this side of the lake and in some places is sheer sandstone. The path then curves and follows a sort of ledge above the lake with a drop of maybe twenty feet. After two miles or so, it meets up with the wide gravel path to Picnic Point.

The well-traveled path leading to the east and eventually to Picnic Point is frequented by dog walkers and day hikers. But there is a fainter path that goes west. This is the trail that Scooter and Misty follow.

It looks like a deer trail. There is just a narrow strip of dirt and matted-down grass and even ferns pushed aside or bent by gentle, infrequent foot traffic. The trail dead-ends at a circular ledge on top of a cliff, the lake some fifteen feet below.

Scooter and Misty sit on the ledge with their backs to the sandstone, looking out at the lake. The light of the day is expiring. Scooter pulls a pipe and a lighter out of his jeans pocket and they both take a couple of hits, telling the stories of their day. Scooter leans over and kisses Misty on the neck as she laughs about the naked models in her painting class and everyone trying to be mature about a dude disrobing and straddling a bench buck naked in front of a class of mostly female painters. As she tells the story, Scooter works his way down her neck, kissing and unbuttoning as he goes. Misty runs her hands through Scooter’s hair and continues down his back, pulling his T-shirt over his head. They stand up, each undoing the other’s belt, and Scooter leans down to put his mouth over Misty’s. She sighs as he turns her around to face the cliff face. Her hands are on the rock face; she presses back into him.

They lie on the matted grass atop the ledge gazing out over the lake lit now only by the moon. A loon wails a ghostly cry over the lake. As if waking suddenly from a trance, Scooter kisses Misty and abruptly stands up. He runs and jumps off the ledge, grabbing a rope left at this perfect spot by some unknown fellow traveler from who knows when.

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