Roadblock VIII
by Myra Love
  Article # 217 Article Type: Fiction

Split Lake is the one interesting location for nature-loving sightseers within a hundred miles of town. The lake is located in the middle of a meadow full of wildflowers. It is called Split Lake because a large dam divides it into two portions with different water levels. When Phoebe first saw it as a child, she called it the split-level lake.
The inn itself, a recent construction, is tucked away behind a small copse of birch trees on a slight elevation at the outer edge of the meadow. In warm weather one may sit at an outdoor table and see the lake through a gap in the trees. I preferred to be inside the inn, however, and Anita, for once, complied with my request without argument. I am not sure why; perhaps she was simply too preoccupied with what we had just experienced to make an issue of our sitting indoors on a day when the weather would have allowed us to be outdoors.
A waiter bestowed hand-printed menus upon us. I was waiting to argue with Anita about the food. I was always delighted when Anita ordered lake trout, which she inevitably did at this place. I detest fish. I mean, I do not willingly eat them, though I think they are perfectly fine swimming about in water as they were intended to do. Anita and I argued about fish whenever possible, she informing me of the health benefits of eating them and I insisting that those benefits were offset by the high levels of pollution in the water where most fish spent their brief lives. It was a ritual, this arguing about fish, and I was about to begin the first verbal assault when Anita said,
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