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Split Rock stands on the water’s edge of Bear Lake in the small town of Jarlesberg. Once upon a time, ten thousand years ago, Split Rock was an enormous incidental, carried down from God knows where by an arctic glacier as it slowly melted its way out of existence. Time beat down on this rock, standing solemnly here countless centuries before, when this place was completely foreign to its current identity. But the rock, in all its majesty, was forced into transformation by the bullying tides of time. Soon, the winds and waters scoured its surface and ate away at its innards, scooping out the stone’s heart at its core. When the storm had fulfilled its deepest desires, it receded elsewhere, to prey upon fresher substances.
And so, the rock was left standing there, a shell of its former self, its shoulders caving into one another to shelter the remnants of its broken heart. But it was not alone. Soon, lichen and moss came to nurse its wounds and eventually shrubs and bushes sprouted up around it in consolation. Trees grew up to shelter it and the rock became full of pride with its new purpose. Even the waters that had once smothered and suppressed it now knelt down to kiss its feet. After a time, Split Rock became habitat for many a creature, and reptiles of all sorts colonized in its great kingdom. Soon enough, there were mammals as well and the first of rodents built their nests inside Split Rock’s cozy heart.
Approximately sixty-four years ago, when cottages were being built on Bear Lake, a family bought the lot next to Split Rock. They brought their children there to witness the beauty of the summer in all its splendour. Split Rock was soon coveted by these rambunctious young as a meeting place, a landmark; a fortress. One summer, many years later, two young girls lay on top of it in their bathing suits, appreciating the warmth it always possessed. They sat up to watch their brother come speeding by on the water behind their father’s boat, and laughed as he waved to them, almost losing a ski. They lay back down, rubbing their faces against the towels and their nostrils were filled with the scent of the damp fabric mingling with sand and over-applied suntan oil, now diluted from swimming. There was another smell, too. It was the smell of the rock itself, but this scent was completely intangible, much like all of the rock’s other attributes. The older girl ran her hand across the rock’s surface and found that its texture was also very elusive. It was impossible to decide whether it was smooth or rough, hard or soft, dead or alive. All she could feel was its warmth. When she lay down against it, it felt almost like she was on top of some giant elephant. The rock’s colour was also uncertain, varying in its light and dark tones. It was more than just grey. Like a person’s skin, it was rock-coloured.
Those blasted heat bugs throbbed in the girls’ ears with their vibrating pulse. The sound of distant boat motors and swimmers splashing away in the water was only heard faintly beneath it. The girls stretched out leisurely in the sun, drawing in its rays like water into their soft boiled skin. The younger girl got up after a moment and walked to the end of the rock to pick some berries. She shoved them quickly into her mouth: three raspberries, an unripe blackberry, and oh, two sweet late blueberries. After she had consumed them, her greed consumed her and so she reached up high to the nearby chokecherry tree and stuffed her face full of bitterness. She spat the seeds at her sister resentfully, and smirked when she whined in protest, flicking the seeds down between the cracks with all her other secrets. They fell down to join missing Lego men, lost coins, old hair elastics, someone’s berry picking cup, fallen earrings, discarded love letters, and all the other bitter remnants of a rocky past.