August 3, 1949

Straddling the tubular, semi-hard rubberized canvas, Norman sat on the starboard side and Mitchell port. Their outboard legs dangled in the water while their inboard legs, stretched forward, rested on the raft. In the direction they traveled, at that time of day the sun was behind them, shining pleasantly on their backs.

Paddling leisurely, the boys enjoyed the heat of the sun and the gentle bobbing motion of the raft on the water.

Mitchell felt the heat on his back and the right side of his face. He looked at the dark-brown skin of his thigh, still glistening with water, and at his stomach, darker where the wet flesh creased horizontally along either side of his navel, and at his upper arms. As the oar dipped in the water and was drawn back his biceps swelled and contracted with each pull and release.

The water was a dusky, greenish-blue, the sand at the water’s edge dark-brown, and higher, away from the lapping water, a light, golden-beige. The shrubbery on the embankment was brilliant green, the sky, radiant blue, and the clouds as white and feathery as tufts of pure white cotton

The oar in his hands cut through the water as though moving by its own volition.

Breathing through his nostrils, he sensed the aroma of sand, of water, and the green growth.

The gentle onshore breeze skimmed warm water from the surface of the lake, bringing it inshore… to him.

Mesmerized by the all-enveloping beauty, the totality of what he felt, saw and sensed seemed too beautiful to be real and Mitchell felt as though he were living in a surrealistic dream.

Parting his lips, breathing through his mouth, he drew the sun-warmed, sea-cooled air deeply into his lungs.

He felt the hot sun and the tepid water.

He saw the sky, clouds, sand and shrubbery.

He sensed the sweet odors of life about him and felt…?

What?

Closing his eyes, the motion of the raft tranquilized him.

The tepid water caressed him.

The soft air kissed him, and…

Mitchell Lipensky had no way of knowing, but that very minute—that very moment—was the pinnacle and at no time in his life would he feel what he felt as strongly as at that exact time…

He knew nothing of death; those he loved were all alive.

He knew nothing of the pain of lost love.

He knew not of debt.

The war was a memory.

His country… America was a peace.

He’d made no mistakes… no mistakes of consequence.

His parents were together; his family intact.

There was nothing he needed—really needed—that he didn’t have.

The roads to his life were fully open to him.

Mitchell Lipensky looked about the beautiful world that encompassed him and felt the wonder of his strength.

The wonder of his youth.

Mitchell pulled the oar through the water and felt the miracle that, possibly, might be felt only by the very young, or the very innocent.

Peace.