TALES FROM SUNSET LAKE
"The Water Foal"

Sunset Lake, circa. 1960- The Russo’s & Santaniello’s

The only way to reach the little sandy strip of beach at the south end of Sunset Lake was either by boat or by careful negotiation of the bumpy path off of New Jersey Avenue across the abandoned railroad tracks. The young boy went there everyday with his mother and his aunts and sat by the water’s edge, eagerly awaiting the arrival of his father and uncles by boat. He would spot them coming toward him from the area his dad called “the inland waterway,” and the images that he knew so well were unmistakable: the V-shape of the bow and the wall of water spraying up behind the boat from side-to-side. He rose to his feet when his father swept the boat in a wide arc past the beach and his uncle, being towed on one water-ski, let go of the rope and glided across the salt marshes to a perfectly-timed stop just in front of him, whereas he proceeded to sink down into the water and then gracefully walk to shore. The young boy yelled with delight, “I want to learn how to water-ski!”

Before he knew it he was clad in an oversized life vest, bobbing on the water like a cork while his uncle stood behind him and waited for his father to take out the slack in the rope. “All you have to do,” he instructed, “is let the boat pull you out of the water and just stand up, like you’re getting out of a chair.” The boy nodded his head when asked if he was ready, his uncle yelled, “Hit it,” and the rope snapped from his hands. Several more attempts yielded similar results, one of them being quite cathartic for the boy, as he managed to finally hang on and was dragged underwater for several yards. He surfaced, coughing and spitting and brushing snot from his nose with his arm, but was bound and determined to rise from the water. His uncle swam toward him. “You okay?” The boy said yes and took one more swipe with his arm. “Good. Now, remember, let the boat pull you out.”

When asked later to recount his moment of triumph, the boy was unable. All he could remember was standing up and wondering how he was going to control the two skis that had suddenly achieved lives of their own. One wanted to go east while the other preferred a more westerly route. The boy was bent over at the waist, ignoring the pleas from the boat to “stand up!” When they ran out of lake and had to turn back toward the beach, he felt himself being pulled closer to a wall of water. He could hear them yelling, “bend your knees,” but it was no use. It was a mountain of water. How was he going to scale it? And yet, there he was, on the other side. Approaching the beach, he spotted his mother and his aunts standing by the water waving at him. Here was his chance for a graceful landing! He could visualize it: skimming across the marsh and sliding right up on the beach to a round of applause.

“Watch out!”

He looked to his left but it was too late: the mountain was upon him, tossing him face first onto the water and bouncing him across the marsh to where his uncle stood, knee-deep, puffing on a cigarette. He looked down at the boy, who floated past him on his back, looking dazed. “Keep tryin’ kid, you’ll get it.”