Fish story

I got to the river bank just as the sun was rising. It looked like it was going to be a real scorcher of a day. As I set my rod and tackle on the sandy bank of the river I took a moment to watch the sun rising over the trees on the other side.

Darryl would have really appreciated this one. The midnight blue fading gently lighter and lighter down the sky as it changed to a warm orange and vibrant yellow just above the tree tops. He always appreciated the sun rises.

“It sure is gonna be a scorcher today”. I was talking to him like he was still here with me. I knew it was a bit of a crazy thing for a man in his sixties to be doing, and I knew if I kept it up that those nice men in their white coats at the institute would probably be seeing to me as opposed to me being here on the bank of the river seeing to drowning a few worms.

Darryl had been my fishing buddy since we were knee high. His dad had owned the local general store on the corner of Warnock and Vine and saw to it that we had our Fisher Price rods with big blue Donald Duck bobbers from the age of about six.

That was over fifty years that we’d been coming here. It was our Sunday morning tradition and I could count the number of missed Sundays on the fingers of one hand. Between the two of us we were responsible for worm genocide. There are roughly Fifty-two Sundays in a year. Fifty-two, times fifty years, times a dozen worms each, was a hell of a dent in the local worm population.

“Dammit Darryl, why’d you have to go an’ die on me ya bastard?” I muttered as I drove the hook through the thick band about a fifth of the way down the squirming nightcrawler. It lengthened itself in response and wrapped its slimy body around the side of my hand.

This talking to myself simply wouldn’t do long term. I only did it here though, and there was no one else around at sunrise on a Sunday morning at this time of the year. I knew that very well. Sure, the dog walkers, the joggers, the young mothers wheeling their babies in front of them; they would all be here eventually, but not at five in the morning. They didn’t come out until about nine; later if the weather was bad. I had at least four more hours to talk to Darryl as much as I liked despite all signs pointing to a glorious day, and there wasn’t a thing to worry about until then.

I attached a small lead weight to the line and cast out, giving it all I had. “Ha! I’d like to see ya beat that Darryl!” I said it a little too loud. A startled crow took off from the tree closest to me and sheepishly I sat down and positioned a bobber halfway up the rod so I could see any hits from interested fish.

I let my mind wander back to the last time Darryl and I had been able to come here together. It had been a rainy miserable day a couple of months ago. It was the complete opposite sort of day to this one. That day we arrived and I had a blister the size of a grapefruit on the underside of my foot from where my wet socks had insisted on rubbing against my boot.

I hadn’t slept well the night before. I was worrying about money again. Ever since the missus passed away and pension rate went down, down, down it was always money. I was late with the rent because the damn car needed new brakes. I was late on the electric bill because the rent needed paid. I had been sitting and going over the figures in my head as the blister on my foot throbbed and the ice cold rain ran down the back of my neck.

Old Darryl, he didn’t have any worries like that. He was well off. His dad had left him a decent chunk of change that he’d made from selling that old general store before he passed away. Darryl hadn’t married either so he’d only ever needed to look after himself.

He inherited his parent’s house and was able to sell his own place so he was always well to do. “And you couldn’t even chip in for beer, not to mention how often I had to drive us here on fumes.”

Some ducks that had made their way over to see if I had any bread to offer them turned their tails at the last outburst. Embarrassed, I realised then that a few hours must have passed while I was daydreaming about the good old days. Oh those good old days with my fishing buddy Darryl. “The cheap bastard...” This time I said it much quieter as the first jogger of the day came past.

I hadn’t had a single bite and upon checking my watch I found that the jogger was right on time. It was nine O’clock. I had been daydreaming for four hours.

Well my worm was most likely long drowned by now so I set to work with removing the bobber that was going to let me know if the fish had been interested. I threw it back into my tackle box and then set to work on winding it’s corpse in so I could re-bait the hook and try again. Maybe floating the next one since nothing on the bottom seemed interested in sampling the worm today.

I kept a good momentum as I brought my line back in. “Gotta keep the pace Darryl so you don’t drag on the bottom and get yourself a... Aww god damn it!” A snag! The line was merely three feet out in front of me. The murky water kept me from being able to see what I’d managed to catch it on but pull as I might it was definitely stuck.

I had a horrible moment of realization then. I hadn’t stocked up the tackle box in a long time, money being as tight as it was. A glimpse into the tackle box confirmed my fears. The long cardboard slip wrapped in clear plastic was empty. No more size eight hooks. No more hooks at all for that matter.

If I cut the line or snapped it I’d have eleven worms to set free today. It was only nine in the morning but I didn’t even have the change to get a new pack, not to mention the gas to get all the way out to the bait shop. “I don’t suppose your tight ass has any to spare either, does it now Darryl?”

The woman walking her poodle past at that moment started jogging after a quizzical look in my direction. Yes, it’s just me sitting here on a riverbank utterly alone and cursing my deceased friend Darryl for not letting me have a goddamn hook for free; nothing to see here folks, now move along.

I started unlacing my boots. I was going to get that line freed. My Sunday of fishing was not going to get away that easily.

Cuffing my jeans up to my knees I got a good look at the still pinkish flesh where the big old blister had been that last time Darryl and I had been here. Months had passed but that sucker was no ordinary blister and its mark on my skin; still on my skin... It spoke volumes about how much pain I had been in on that miserable day.

I waded into the water. “Wowee! Is it cold!” I held the rod in my right hand while my left arm went out to keep me balanced. I sunk a little in the mucky bleakness of the river. One step and my ankles were submerged. Two steps and I was mid calf in muddy filthy water. The third step managed to wet the jeans that I had rolled up to my knees.

Now that I had a different angle to pull from I tried again by giving the rod a slow and calculated pull straight upwards. There was give but it felt like I was caught on something heavy. For a moment the idea of the monster catfish that Darryl and I used to joke about swam through my imagination and nearly scared me out of the water. It could be a giant slow moving fish couldn’t it? Of Course not! Get a hold of yourself!

I was still sinking a bit as my weight shifted and I needed to keep one arm out so that I could avoid falling in. I needed to reach in though and have a feel around. I couldn’t see a damn thing.

Transferring the rod to my left I bent cautiously forward and used my right to break the surface. “Can’t believe you wouldn’t even lend me a god damn hook Darryl.” Due to the slope of the bank I had to reach a bit deeper than I was currently standing in. My shirt was starting to get wet around the sleeve of my t-shirt.

I followed the line with my fingers. Down, down, down it went for what felt like forever. Finally I pricked my finger on the sharp end of the hook and it took a lot of effort to not just pull my hand straight back out again. “See what you made me do Darryl. You tight son of a bitch.”

There was some sort of cloth on the hook and try as I might with one hand, the barb of the hook simply refused to exit the material.

“What the hell would cloth be doing in the damn river anyway Darryl?” I grabbed on tight to it, forgetting the hook and trying to simply lift the material up enough that I might be able to see it. “If I could see the god damn thing I might be able to get it out singlehandedly!” I explained to him as I strained against the incredible weight of whatever was holding the cloth there.

It was moving slightly when I pulled it. It seemed to weigh a ton though and the progress was slow. Sweat broke out on my brow and I strained harder.

“You couldn’t even give a friend a hand, could you Darryl? You lazy sack of shit.”

He was a lazy sack of shit. That bastard had to go and catch my god damn fish while I did all of the hard work. “It was mine you shit.”

Even with that big blister on my foot I was the one that had to run back to the car when he wanted the radio and another six pack. I went and got it too. “Because I was a good friend! Unlike you!” I was shouting now and didn’t care any longer who heard as I kept pulling and straining to move the big heavy cloth thing high enough up that I could just see it.

“I asked you to just watch my line for me!” The sweat was rolling off of my forehead now and dripping down my nose and into the river. My shirt was soaked and it wasn’t the river water that had soaked it.

I pulled again and I could finally see the cloth, ever so slightly. I dropped the rod and grabbed hold with both hands. I gave a tremendous yank and there below the surface of the water I looked into the white milky depths of Darryl’s rotting face.

“You could have called me! I was only just over there in the parking lot Darryl!” I screamed into the water at him. “It was my god damn fish!” I couldn’t help myself and I swung at him where he lay still submerged in the water. I splashed and flailed.

“Give me back my hook you fucking dog! Give me back my fucking hook!” People were starting to gather at the riverbank where I had been sitting.

“You deserved it! It was my fish and I knew I was going to catch it that day. I told you I had a good feeling! Didn’t I Darryl? Tell them!” I gesticulated wildly at my growing audience. “But you had to have your fucking radio! You wouldn’t shut up about that fucking thing. Well I gave you the fucking radio. Didn’t I Darryl? I gave you the fucking radio right upside your fucking head after I came back and there you are with MY rod and MY FISH!”

I was only vaguely aware of the woman’s scream as I pulled back one more time and Darryl’s face finally broke the surface of the water. “Give me back my fucking hook Darryl!” I fought with the place that it was stuck in his jacket sleeve. I managed to get it free finally! At long last I had managed to take it back from him.

Two police officers were on either side of me, helping to get me back on shore. I held onto the hook. “It was my god damn fish Darryl.”