Bernie's Lake House

The Adventures of Abernathy Franklin - Episode 3: Bernie's Lake House

Greetings and Salutations Dearest Bernie:

Please excuse me if I am taking a liberty by calling you Bernie. We haven't met in the flesh, but other versions of us with whom I am friendly have referred to you as Bernie, and I do hope you and I can also be friends despite the bad news I must be the bearer of.

You see, it's like this. A while back I was introduced to this interdimensional travel of sorts by another Abernathy Franklin. Flirty little fairy that one, she materialized in my kitchen as I was drifting off to sleep one night. She very briefly explained to me this ability we all seem to have to flit about dimensions and visit other realities. And then she simply flitted out of my own reality and I haven't bumped into her since. At least, I don't think I have.

Anyway, in my excitement to navigate this strange reality jumping, and after a few false starts - including one attempt that led to a shark infested beach and a stick of dynamite, excellent story, I would love to share with you should we find occasion to meet. But this time, I seem to have found myself in this facsimile of my own desired reality, that is to say, your reality.

It has long been my own life dream to retire myself to a remote, relaxing lake house whilst still young and fit enough to enjoy it. Please do allow me to take a brief moment to sincerely congratulate you. Well done, Friend. Bien fiet, as the French would say.

And may I also applaud you on what must be a highly lucrative writing career, judging by your lavish little lake getaway. I hope you don't mind, but I spotted the neatly stacked copies of your latest, no doubt tasty narrative, sent by your agent for autographing and swiped one off your desk. Partly out of curiosity. I do plan to give it my undivided attention once I find my way home, and I look very much forward to giving you the shining review I'm sure it will deserve. That is, if I can manage to find your reality again. And if you haven't decided to murder me.

Now for the painful part. I do apologize sincerely in advance as I am sure this entire ordeal has caused you heaps of inconvenience. But before you damn me to eternal hellfire, hear me out.

Having found myself in your beautiful home, I proceeded to poke about as noisily as I possibly could. Calling out "Hello!!" and knocking with my fists on various surfaces. Not to be obnoxious, of course. I just figured, well I didn't particularly appreciate the Abernathy who snuck into my kitchen all ninja burglar like, spooking me half to death. So, in an effort to be considerate, I thought it better to beat the drum in search of a fugitive as it were, so that anyone who may be haunting the residence would hear me coming.

"Hello!!! Anyone home?!!"

My polite outcries were suddenly drowned in the rumbling sound of a diesel engine. I find those enormous, roaring trucks to be offensively unpleasant, don't you? Honestly, they sound like an indefinitely sustained 10 decibel fart. What anyone sees in those or motorcycles is beyond my reasoning. But, as I was saying...

I followed the monster truck sound to the window and was able to locate its source. Your neighbor, Gordon - who by the way is surprisingly charming despite his calamitous choice in vehicle - was about to back said vehicle onto your frozen lake. Mostly frozen I suppose.

Spotting me at the window, Gordon hailed me with a hearty wave and I went out to greet him. He explained to me that it was his impression I was out of town. Which, I suppose, YOU must have been. Being quick on my feet, I casually lied and said I had returned early. No sense in trying to tell Gordon that I belonged to another dimension and actually hadn't the foggiest idea what he was talking about. After all, it's not my place to reveal any secrets to the inhabitants of your reality. That would be presumptuous.

Doing my best to divert conversation from details about my - that is to say your - comings and goings, I made some throw away remark about the pleasant sunshine. Gordon then proceeded to recite the local weather report and explained that he had come to remove your ice house from the lake in your absence as temperatures were becoming warmer than expected for the time of year. Still feeling it would be prudent to shoo him away rather than create any memorable interaction for which you may later have to answer, I thanked him kindly and assured him that I would remove the structure promptly. Gordon gave me a few farmer's almanac tips about fishing in the spring, but soon enough was back in his truck and on his thunderous way.

I fear, however, that in my effort to again, be considerate and not cause unneeded butterfly effects in your reality, I may have sent Mr. diesel driving Gordon away in too much haste. While it appears that in your specific dimension your life has led you to pick up rugged outdoors person skills, such as hauling to and fro a small recreational structure, I must confess I have not had the same life experience and was thus unprepared for the task.

Still, never one to shy away from a new opportunity to expand my skill sets, I did go about locating your garage, truck, keys and your iPad. The iPad, naturally, for looking up tutorial videos. If it's not too impertinent at this juncture, might I take an opportunity to compliment your selection of heavy duty vehicle, which I must say demonstrates far superior taste in both engine volume and body sleekness compared to Gordon's deafening monstrosity. Again, lovely man, very sweet. And again, my sincerest apologies.

Upon having backed your truck onto the lake, I set about the business of securing the ice house to the vehicle in order to haul it safely ashore. While toiling at this unfamiliar task, I had a very nice view of the back of your lake house. May I once more just take a brief pause to praise your selection of french windows and doors for your exquisite home. I promise, I am not exaggerating when I say it truly is puzzle-worthy picturesque. Belongs on a postcard, really. Or better yet, in a magazine feature. But back to the narrative at issue.

I must have spent several hours (or what felt like several hours) pouring over internet education on the subject of ball hitches, ice houses, and somehow a rabbit hole on tactical outdoor clothing and accessories. Did you know there's such a thing as a backpack that converts into a tent? Ingenious. But, my pathetically clumsy attempts to follow video instructions, I regret to report, failed miserably.

Feeling defeated, I thought perhaps a small break was in order to regroup. I hope you will forgive my taking another liberty, but manual labor of any kind does tend to be a sweaty endeavor. Finding myself in need, I indulged in a hot shower and borrowed some clean clothes. And might I say here, your wardrobe denotes impeccably classy taste. Audrey Hepburn herself would find you to be stiff competition in the style game. Once again, sincerely, well done, Friend.

As one would readily imagine, sweaty labor tends to also be hungry labor, so I helped myself to your kitchen. Those bagels are amazing by the way! Must be from some quaint mom and pop shop. I love local treasures like that, too. I do think you and I would get along rather swimmingly, current circumstances notwithstanding.

Having indulged myself in a snack, full tummy fatigue set itself upon me. I didn't think there would be any harm in relaxing for a spell on the sofa and paging through a book to aid digestion. Of course, your book I wanted to save for when I could give it my fullest, alert attention. So I perused your personal library and settled down with Adventures in Cryptozoology. While I find tales of bigfoots and dragons marvelously entertaining, I was rather exhausted and inadvertently dozed off. No doubt my slumber was aided by the plush squishy comfort of your sofa. If I do say so myself, it may be the most fashionable and luxuriously comfy sofa I've ever had the pleasure of accidentally napping on.

I was dreaming that some confounded delivery person was intermittently knocking at the door and refused to leave. Still half entwined in sleepy neverland, I managed to drag myself off the sofa to answer the front door. Perceive my chagrin when I opened the door and rubbed my eyes only to find no human persons, delivery or otherwise. And yet, a continuation of that entirely foreign popping sound.

As waking consciousness dawned in my sleepy little gray cells, I heard a sudden ferocious splashing that immediately called to mind some variety of water serpent I had been reading about in your copy of Adventures in Cryptozoology. Terror and realization hit me like the Titanic hit the ocean floor and I dashed to the back of the house, out the french doors, and towards the shore of the lake. Too late.

I arrived in time to see only the swirling waves and aftermath of the ice breaking. Chunks of frozen debris were bobbing in the water like miniature icebergs, even an empty bucket was bobbing about. In my utter shock, I nearly didn't see the very top of the ice house chimney pipe protruding from the water's surface, positively sparkling in the sunlight. I stood dumbfounded, my stomach churning much like the water. Just beneath the subsiding waves, I could make out the red roof of your truck. Your poor, well chosen brave red beast, now sitting placidly in its icy bath next to its tiny fish house friend. Honestly, I nearly vomited out of remorse then and there.

I considered that I could wade in and attempt to hold my breath and enter the vehicle. Thinking the scenario through more fully, however, I concluded that I was not brave enough to experiment with starting up the engine underwater. I've never had training as a Navy seal, nor so much as a crash course in basic snorkeling. I doubted whether I could hold my breath long enough to do anything useful. Besides, I don't have enough mechanical knowledge to be sure that underwater driving would not put me at risk of electrocution or some other hideous injury. I surmised that the entire situation, given my obvious inability to cope with it, ought to be left to a professional. Which I presume you must be. Or at least I presume you to be in a position to summon said professional at your convenience.

Bernie, my friend, please know that I am truly sorry about your stellar truck and, no doubt, high quality ice house. My only consolation is the idea that your profitable writing career also affords you the very best in vehicle and property insurance and your tragic losses will be fully compensated.

Perhaps there is even a silver lining to be seen: now that they're gone, you'll have the pleasure of shopping for replacements. Given your other exemplary choices in home design and wardrobe, I dare say shopping must be something that brings you much enjoyment. Otherwise how would you be so good at it? And I wish you a wonderful time in procuring a new hearing tolerant truck and chic shack for winter fishing.

I do hope you can find it in your heart to accept my sincere apology and forgive me. For a first trip into your dimension, this has been wildly more eventful than I anticipated. Please do accept the assurance of my highest regards for you and your reality, and my deepest regret for these unfortunate happenings. I do hope we shall meet in better circumstances and become friendly. I really do believe we would get along swimmingly.

Yours truly,

Another You