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Think Like A Fish
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Think Like A Fish |
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serenity blaze Member Empyrean
since 2000-02-02
Posts 27738
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Ryan was bored. He was sick too, but his bout with "walking" pneumonia did nothing to temper the nag of impatience that compelled his knee to rapid rhythms as he played the same old tired video games in maddening repetition. He'd played Castlevania so many times that he knew all the tricks. Counting off beats in his mind, he knew exactly when to duck the bats, as well as when to hit the controller to turn his protagonist to whip them into oblivion in order to add points to his score. As he watched the cartoon hearts on the tv monitor float down to add to his life meter, he felt a moment of transference--it was a good omen, surely. Besides, he must be feeling better if he was feeling this much restlessness, right? He was already pleading his case before his mother. He didn't allow himself to imagine the entire scenario, but paused the game to pick up the cordless phone to call Coby. Coby was his best friend, and good company at the City Park lagoon. Coby didn't talk his ear off while fishing, and he never crowded Ryan either. And today, the overcast sky looked promising for bass. The challenging fish just might be fooled into activity by the diminished light. Ryan turned and unpaused the game so that the soundtrack would mask his furtive conversation with his friend. Coby was eager for an adventure as well, even though an afternoon of casting hardly qualified as excitement. It was just something to do. "I'll have to ask my mom," Ryan warned Coby. He wasn't confident about that either. He had seen the worry in her eyes as his temperature had fickled up and down the thermometer the past week. Why, he couldn't walk within three feet of her without her inspection. He'd stand dutifully still as she checked his forehead for warmth with the back of her hand. When he felt cool to the touch, he was rewarded by an affectionate ruffling of his hair. If he didn't pass inspection, she would frown, and begin the ritual interrogation--that checklist of questions as she took his temperature and drove him mad with her inquiries. He would pretend irritation then, but secretly he was pleased--he was loved and cared for, and she demonstrated her devotion with copious amounts of Lipton Cup-o-Soup. He'd downed so much of that stuff he had begun secretly flushing the contents down the commode when he could. The noises from the kitchen betrayed her location, and he urged Coby to "hold on a sec,". He prepared himself for the anticipated drill. He stopped quickly to view himself in the mirror of the downstairs bath. He tried to clear his lungs quietly, then he blew his nose for any telltale signs of moisture. For good measure, he splashed cold water on his forehead too. He patted his face dry on the forbidden guest towel before he turned his face sideways, trying to anticipate the signs that might make his mother frown. Seeing that he was still rather pale, he pinched his cheeks. There. He smoothed his hair then, although he suspected she was going to ruffle it mussed again. It gave her the excuse to "pet" the unruly curls down, maternity evident even through her pronounced displeasure. He gave himself a wink before he mocked himself with a slap. He was done. He had decided an air of the casual was called for, so he strolled into the kitchen on the pretense of grabbing a soda from the fridge. His mother was washing lettuce in the sink in preparation for a salad with that night's dinner. He said nothing at first, trying to gauge her mood. In a moment of inspiration, he said, "Hey--what's for supper? I'm starved." Perhaps an appetite would convince her that he was, indeed, on the mend. She looked up from the sink, and smiled. "Good!" as she began her unabashed inventory of his vitals. She eyed him up, then down, and nodded her approval. He was spared the usual disarrangement of his hair since her hands were wet, as she continued the wash of the vegetables that would make up the supper's salad that she knew he wouldn't eat. "I'm so glad you're hungry again!" she replied. "I thought I'd fry some speckled trout tonight." The mention of the fish was serendipitous. "Fish?" he smiled winningly. "Great! I was just thinking about fish." He heard his father muffle an omniscient laugh behind him, and the presence of his "buddy" bolstered his confidence. "In fact," Ryan paused, only slightly tentative now, "Coby's on the phone. He was asking if I could go down to the lagoon for a bit. The bass must be--" "ABSOLUTELY NOT." His mother had interrupted, frowning. "C'mon mom," he tried not to whine. "It's just for a couple of hours. Look at me!" He tried to dance comical jig. "I'm fine!" "No." He turned to his father then, his eyes pleading for intervention. His dad gave him a serious look, but pursed his lips confidently as he nodded in a silent, "let-me-handle-this" signal between them. Ryan tried not to smile as he anticipated the calvary. "The boy does seem better," his father said in collusion. He assumed an impartial stance as he grabbed a cookie from the jar on the counter. "Besides," he teased, "Don't you think some fresh air might be as beneficial to his health as, say, some dehydrated soup?" He grinned wicked as he bit the cookie. Her resolve crumbled under the weight of the hopeful gaze of "her boys." They smiled angelically, and she sighed, knowing she'd already lost the argument. She tossed her hands up in surrender but added sternly, "TWO hours," She turned to Ryan and warned, "and you will dress warmly, and your shoes must remain dry and on your feet at all times." She spun to her husband then and playfully demonstrated her authority by spinning a dish towel into the 'lock and load' position: "And you, sir, will drive them!" She snapped the towel at him, missing him by a foot. Ryan gleefully escaped the kitchen to alert Coby, avoiding the discomfort of the predictable show of nuzzled play between his parents. He winced as his father winked at him. He suspected thay had both won. * * * The park was gray and gloomy on that day, but Ryan loved it that way. The oaks were serene, confident in their strength. His father had slowed the truck, so Ryan ignored the air conditioning, and hit the button that lowered his window. He wanted to breathe the musk. The picturesque spanish moss whispered pirate tales to his imagination. He loved the drip of the cypress in the contrary winters of New Orleans, and the weeping willows along the banks of the lagoons beckoned him seductively. The thumping of the blistered road had worked a strange magic upon him--he felt the ease of surety. He knew the underground systems, the connections of the park's lagoons just as well--no, better than he knew his video games. He felt a sense of calm anticipation as his father pulled the Ford truck near the foot bridge. He exhaled. He was home. There was no need for conversation. This was part of a ritual that was as familiar to him as the sounds of the walls settling in the house that gave him the security that had blossomed his confidence. He knew all the paths. He also knew all the underwater hide-a-ways in which he had hunched the fish would linger. An ancient oak had been sliced in half by lightning during a summer storm. A massive limb had been cut away, falling fortuitously into the lagoon. He knew the mind of the wide-mouthed bass, so he would cast there with regular success, thinking that if he was a fish, that is where he would hide. "Thinking like a fish" was the key to his success. It was a bit of knowledge that he'd kept to himself. It wasn't self-interest that precipitated his silence--he just thought it sounded crazy. "I think like a fish." Yeah, right. He'd be laughed out of town if he said that aloud. It was the mantra he had said to himself in the comforting silences as he cast his line. It helped him measure his breathing, and the play of the line afterward was now instinctive--the pole an extension of his arm, and the plastic worm he used for bait he had imagined as his finger, curling in a "come here" gesture of irresistable temptation. How could he explain that to others? He didn't even try. He merely shrugged when others asked the secret of his success, saying, "I'm just lucky..." * * * His dad seemed hurried, as he didn't stop, he didn't park to watch their first casts, but he had pulled the truck side-ways to allow them leave. His father shifted gears and asked, "You've got your watch?" um... Ryan's chagrin confessed the oversight. "Here's the cellphone--keep it dry." His father's demeanor demonstrated the concern that had been so carefully hidden earlier. "Good luck!" his father called to them both as they gathered their gear from the bed of the truck. Coby laughed as Ryan rolled his eyes. "No luck needed, Dad--I got mad skills!" Ryan grinned at his father. Then his father rolled his own set of eyes, the resemblence between them apparent. The boys grabbed the tackle boxes and both exhaled as the truck sped away. "Yes!" They were home. * * * Some one must have warned the fish they were coming that day. The fact that they hadn't felt nary a nibble didn't dissuade the two young fishermen however. There was no bother to quibble the choice of bait. Time was limited, so they didn't waste it with their usual arguments of what might entice the bass on that evening. Ryan had even stayed distant from his favorite spots, fearing a snag would further complicate matters. He didn't want to have to cut his line. These boys knew each other so well, that there was need for them to stand close to each other. They knew by each other's body language exactly how the other was doing. Ryan watched Coby across the lagoon as he cast. He watched it land, then sink. Then he knew--Coby had a hit. He watched his friend play the line, but the slump of Coby's shoulder, and his friend's speedy reel told him he'd lost the fight. Ryan nodded sympathy. Must have been a turtle. Ryan walked the edge of the lagoon, knowing he'd catch hell from his mom for his wet shoes. He cast again, feigning nonchalence. Sometimes he felt fish-eyes upon him, so he tried to fake them out with his movements--think like a fish... He let the bait sink to the bottom and bounce before he began the method of reel--pause--reel--jerk--reel. That system had rewarded him a catch so many times before. But not today. Ryan shrugged. It really didn't matter. It just felt good to be there. The fertile smell of mud and spring was hypnotic and a soothing elixir to the boy. He was properly seduced into a zen-like stupor that was rudely interrupted by the familiar honk of his father's truck. Already? But the lack of light assured him, that yes, time had passed all too quickly. Coby was already by the truck as impatience had gotten the best of his friend. But Ryan walked the bank, testing his father's patience. "One more..." he thought. He stopped and cast again, knowing his dad was shaking his head as he watched. He let it sink. It bounced. He let it hit bottom again before he played the line. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he reeled, just slightly pulling the rod toward him. The hit caught him by surprise. It was so strong, at first he expected the line to break--another hungry turtle. But just in case, he jerked the rod to set the hook again, and hit release. He would at least have a fight before his day was done. zing He was puzzled as the line went slack, so he started pulling the line in gently, anticipating another tug. He watched the slack line lift from the water, and felt the resistance there. Whatever it was, it was strong. He was loathe to test the strength of his line by manhandling his catch, so he allowed the line to go slack again. He tightened the line as his pulse quickened. The tug on his line was undeniable. "Must be a gar," he thought,but the lack of fight from under the calm surface of the lagoon belied the notion. Gar's are fighting fish. Useless to him, but he enjoyed the challenge. "What IS this?" The honk from the truck told him he may never know. He had to go. So he began the slow steady reel, surprised with every turn that his line didn't break. It was so steady he would have thought he'd hooked a tire, or some other such piece of garbage, but tires don't fight back. He was still puzzled as he saw his catch break the surface. Coby and his father were at his side by now, their impatience replaced with curiousity. "What IS it?" Ryan asked his father. "I'm not sure." His dad was squinting at the hulk of some reptilian form that had surfaced. It was flopping gentle spasms in the mud. "Jesus Christ!" Coby swore. He crossed himself. "Get it!" Ryan was sweating and frantic. But neither his friend nor his father seemed to want to touch it. It was lodged in the mud now, but oddly complacent, seemingly lazy. It only flopped once or twice as Ryan waded into the sludge to claim his prize. He hugged it to his chest and marched stoicly but proudly back to the bank. He still wasn't sure what it was, he just knew it was his. He dropped the fish on the ground and asked again, "What IS it?" His father had bent down to inspect, and looked up in amazement. There, before his feet, unceremoniously plunked down in the unshriven marsh grasses that lined the bank was the biggest damned blue-gill catfish he'd ever seen. "Call your mother," he told his son. "Tell her to bring an icechest. I think we're gonna need some help." * * * The full impact of the catch didn't hit any of them, until the experts were called. There was a skeptic's air of disbelief as they gazed upon the iced fish, now loathesome in the kitchen sink. "It's a catfish, " said Ryan's father. "It's got to be a cat." He said this as though he was trying to convince himself. Later, the doubt turned to jubilation as the catch was confirmed. Weighing in at 44 lbs., the fish was on record as the largest catfish ever caught within city limits. * * * Later, when the glory of the moment had gone from full boil to simmer, Ryan and Coby sat on the floor of Ryan's bedroom, playing video games. Ryan had just lost a fight to the big fish in a game of Zelda. He looked at Coby and shrugged, "Oh well..." Coby looked at his friend then, and asked him: "Are you ever going to tell me your secret?" Think like a fish... The thought was loud, and Ryan was sure Coby had heard. But no, Coby hadn't heard, as evidenced by his look of perplexity. So Ryan just smiled and shrugged yet again saying: "I'm lucky, dude." * ~ * ~ * an adaptation based upon an actual event, reported in the Times Picayune, here: http://www.nola.com/archives/t-p/index.ssf?/base/news-3/1109401084142180.xml [This message has been edited by serenity blaze (03-07-2005 06:16 AM).] |
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Poet deVine
Administrator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-05-26
Posts 22612Hurricane Alley |
Excellent! And if you don't know how to fish, you sure know how to write about it! Held me all the way along. GREAT story and good characterization.  |
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Sadelite Member Elite
since 2003-10-11
Posts 2519 |
You are every bit the story teller as you are a poetess! Love your description! sadie |
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Janet Marie Member Laureate
since 2000-01-22
Posts 18554 |
The picturesque spanish moss whispered pirate tales to his imagination. He loved the drip of the cypress in the contrary winters of New Orleans, and the weeping willows along the banks of the lagoons beckoned him seductively. The thumping of the blistered road had worked a strange magic upon him--he felt the ease of surety. He knew the underground systems, the connections of the park's lagoons just as well--no, better than he knew his video games. He felt a sense of calm anticipation as his father pulled the Ford truck near the foot bridge. He exhaled. He was home. There was no need for conversation. This was part of a ritual that was as familiar to him as the sounds of the walls settling in the house that gave him the security that had blossomed his confidence. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ me thinks you already know I loved that part... the imagery put me there. when you hit part two...I felt like you were really enjoying the flow.  I got mad skills!" thats what I been trying to tell YOU  one drop, an ocean ... one seed, the forest ... one leaf, the wind ... |
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littlewing Member Rara Avis
since 2003-03-02
Posts 9655New York |
Karen, you know what I love most about this story? You are telling what you know, from your experience, as you sometimes do, but from a different angle. Describing the waterways and the way things LOOK there, were amazing because I have no clue what they look like and you brought me there. I also could identify with all three characters . . . especially the mother, and the boy, fishing, what that feels like, that long ago time . . . This was well written and it held my attention and if you have fish that big there, I am coming . . . *grin* I don't know how you do this, I try, it's the dialogue that gets in my way, I mean it is easy for all of us to write from OUR perspective, but here, you gave me many perspectives. That is the key. I learn so much from you. I agree with Janet about Part II. Now off to try and appease Miss PDV with some dialogue . . . fat chance. *smile* |
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Dark Angel Member Patricius
since 1999-08-04
Posts 10095 |
"Are you ever going to tell me your secret?" How many times have I told you....publish publish, publish! I'll buy everything you put out there m'lady.  Mxx and i knew in the crystalline knowledge of you |
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serenity blaze Member Empyrean
since 2000-02-02
Posts 27738 |
 Thank you all for reading--this one felt a little better while writing, but I'm still not finding my "voice".But I thought for once I tried to write a family oriented theme. And no, I'm ignoring the challenges, this one just kept nagging at my head, and sometimes I just write things just to make them shut-up. If I go ahead and critique myself, yep, the ending was rushed--I actually wrote this while jogging back and forth to the kitchen as I cooked supper. I wasn't too happy with the transition of tone either, so I broke it up into parts. So...if anyone has any suggestions on that, you KNOW I'm willing to hear. and here's a  too, just 'cause it's tradition with me by now.Thanks again everybody. (and sadie, I'm comin' 'round to read you lovie.  ) |
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Mysteria 
since 2001-03-07
Posts 18328British Columbia, Canada |
Well I hope you didn't have catfish for dinner  After my travelogue of your area the other night, my toes are still dripping from this story yanno? Good one! |
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Copperbell Senior Member
since 2003-11-08
Posts 956 |
This is absolutely great! |
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1slick_lady Member Ascendant
since 2000-12-22
Posts 6088standing on a shadow's lace |
damn girly |
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Susan Caldwell Member Rara Avis
since 2002-12-27
Posts 8348Florida |
 Ever seen a catfish cleaned/skinned? and don't get stung!! I grew up on a chain of lakes and fishin' was the thing.. I can fish with the best of them..and yes, I bait my own hook..lol Loved this Karen. "too bad ignorance isn't painful" |
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
You will be submitting this one to Field and Stream, yes? You had me hooked all the way! |
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