The Floushinder

There was something out there, I just knew it. I watched the lake for a few more minutes. I thought I saw a flicker, then realized it was a floating log. Sighing, I picked up a long stick, and started to draw in the moist dirt. A circle, wait, it was a heart, and now I was writing inside the heart, in big letters, MEADOW. I even loved the way her name was written, with long, graceful letters. I tried to write it in different fonts, Meadow, Meadow, Meadow. It was like some sort of trance; soon I was surrounded by her name.
“Derrick!” I looked back at the house; my mother was standing in the doorway with my baby sister Olivia in her arms. “Supper’s on the table.” She told me. When she noticed the old bent stick I had in my hands, she pointed to the ground. “Put it down,” She said with a slight smile. “And wash your hands at the spigot before you come in.”
I threw the stick into the deep woods surrounding the lake. I heard it hit something, probably a tree trunk, and make a hollow thud. The spigot was on a cleared dirt patch of land, placed in a deep wooden trough. The interior of the trough was coated with rubber glue, to keep the wood from rotting. I pulled the handle on top of the metal spigot, and cold, clear water gushed out. Grasping the rough homemade soap in my hands, I rubbed it between my hands, till they were covered in big white bubbles. When I had rinsed and repeated, I shook my hands out, and then wiped them on my brown trousers. When I slipped through the door and quietly closed it behind me, my family was already seated at the table. When I sat down, all the chatter abruptly stopped. At first I didn’t notice, then, when I noticed them all staring at me, I looked to my mother. “What?” I asked. I heard January, my older sister, breathing deeply next to me, and Olivia looked between her mother and me, clearly as confused as I was. “Why are you staring at me?” I said sharply. My mother dabbed at her lips with her napkin, though there was nothing there. Now I felt angry, why were they ignoring me? I stood up and roughly pushed my chair under the table.
“Where are you going?” My mother asked, in an anxious voice.
“Nowhere.” I said as I walked through the door, and let it slam behind me. Now I was running, running towards the lake. We had an old wooden craft, it was soggy and olive colored now, but it still floated. At least while I was out there my family couldn’t seize me, and haul me back to a soundless dinner. I had one row; the other one had disintegrated, and lay sprinkled along the bottom of the boat. I threw out an old birds nest, and the carcass of a mouse as I pushed it through the spongy mud. When I made it to the edge of the lake, I didn’t feel getting into the disgusting boat anymore, but I kept going and pushed it into the water. After I climbed in, I tried to row, but the boat was swamped in the squishy mud at the bank of the lank, so I got out again and pushed until I could feel the sand and rocks under my feet. I jumped into the boat and rowed until I was far enough into the water where I was sure my mother and January couldn’t creep up on me.