The Concession Stand

“I don’t like mustard.” The words startled me from the memory. I looked up and around at my surroundings. I had drifted out to the middle of the lake. I had no oars. What was I doing?! I could swim, couldn’t I? I tried to find the beach with the concession stand, maybe they would remember me, or him, but I couldn’t see it. I drifted for a while past 6 inlets where 5 boats of fishermen fished. All 10 of them looked at me amused, confused, but no one said anything.

Around one bend some goldenrod grew. A yellow flowered weed. I sneezed. We were allergic to goldenrod pollen, the angler and I. He was taking Benedryl with his large cola, after the burger and hot dogs went down. “Damn pollen.” He’d sneezed.

“Bless you!” called a voice.There was a fisherwoman in a boat ahead of me. I would pass her slowly on the current in a few minutes. I could time it. “You need a tow?”

I decided I needed to get to the beach.
“Um, I seem to be without oars and am looking for the concession stand on the beach?”

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