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That's What Big Brother's Are For
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That's What Big Brother's Are For |
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Richy Member Elite
since 2003-05-03
Posts 3050
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I have written quite a few stories about my family (five brothers and one sister), and am compiling them into a book of short stories titled, My Favorite Path Is The One That Leads Me Home. This is a small part of a story I wrote about my younger brother Rand (Randy). He’s been a handful at times, and though we don’t see each other as much as the old days (he lives in another state). He still is and always will be very special to me. It’s called: That’s What Big Brother’s Are For His keen sense of awareness and rapier wit has surely bode him well in the dark alleys and dank shadows that have accompanied his life from time to time. And if ever there was a need for him to prolong his presence at a job, his place of stay or his sheer existence for that matter, his imaginative cleverness and brilliant awareness would undoubtedly be the keys to his survival in the cold and harsh reality of what I refer to as Urban Natural Selection. If the laws of the jungle ever translated to the laws of Urbania, Randy would be king. Where he, and he only rules, as the survivor of the fittest. The last man standing in a vast sea of quicksand. He has proven time and time again his worthiness and recognition, his obligation and his will. His will to go on, and his will to exist. My brother is a true survivor. I remember in the 80’s Randy and I used to drive over highway 17 to the Santa Cruz Municipal Pier (Santa Cruz, California) simply to buy some clams. I had recently bought a seafood cookbook and grew quite fond of this one recipe that called for some fresh clams to make this brothy clam and garlicky kind of stew. It had tomatoes, some onion, a little parsley, a splash of white wine, and some white rice. I made it for Randy one time and he liked it as well. And from time to time he would say, “Hey Rich, why don‘t we go get some clams and make that steamed clam recipe you like so much?” So off we’d go, on an 80 mile or so round trip in search of the freshest clams we could find. And yet it was much more then just going to get clams, it was as good an excuse as any for me and Rand to do something spontaneous, something impulsive, something without any reason or deliberation. Flying over the Santa Cruz mountains in whatever little car I owned at the time. We’d drive through this funky little seaside town and right on out to the pier. We would park and stroll up to one of the many fresh fish mongers and order some crab or shrimp cocktails and a couple of bottles of cold beer. We’d wash those fresh seafood cocktails down with our suds and start in on the oysters on the half shell. All these little foods were served to you in those little white paper oblong bowls. The oysters came with lemon wedges and you could “doctor” them up with a few shakes from the big bottle of Tabasco sauce that was always sitting up on the metal fish counter. Now that’s my kind of eating! Sometimes I would order fish and chips or a bowl of clam chowder with the little packet of oyster crackers. Or if the mood struck me I would get a small paper bowl of ceviche, fresh with pieces of octopus and all the other goodies from the sea that they put into it. Sometimes I would buy some ling cod or snapper and always a big loaf of sourdough, but we would always wait until right before we we’re going to leave before we purchased the clams. So that they wouldn’t be sitting out so long going bad. We’d always take our time and enjoy the moment. Looking around at all the different people milling about. We would look down through this opening in the pier at the ocean below to check out the seals that seemed to be a permanent fixture hanging around and on top of the pilings and cross members that made up the pier. One time Rand’s cigarette butt fell out of his face and floated down real slow toward the sea lions. When it landed this one poor fellah mistook it for a piece of fish scraps that people would buy to throw down to them, and he grabbed it with his mouth. The poor thing hacked it a moment later, Dang Randy! He laughed, so I slugged him. Sometimes we would watch the old timers fishing. With their bait stained buckets filled with all their top secret weapons. Their weathered faces etched by years of salty sea breezes, their puffy eyelids almost shut by countless years of whiskey drinking and endless nights of worrying. Worrying of a long lost son, or of a beloved wife who finally realized she could no longer compete with the sea, and gave him up to his mistress of the deep. This one time I sat and watched this old feller as his stubby gnarled fingers threaded the tiniest loop at the end of a small fish hook with the skill of a famous brain surgeon. He then reached into his bucket and fished out a small bullhead that he had probably caught earlier on a drop line. Then he hooked the small baitfish through the mouth, in the tail or maybe through the nostrils depending on which way he wanted the fish to swim. He was using a setup I have often used, running his fishing line through a sliding sinker rig and a small red bead. Then he would tie a snap swivel to the end of his line. After clipping a lead sinker on the rig, he clipped on his leader that looked about three feet long with the hooked baitfish at the end. I’m sure this Old Salt knew just how much weight to use, how long a leader, what size hook, what particular bait at what specific time of the year for whatever specie of fish he was for at the time. Old fangled and seasoned anglers like himself are a treasure trove of fishing knowledge. And if your lucky enough to ever share some time and space with one you can learn so much by simply keeping your mouth shut and your eyes open, both of them preferably, at the same time. Holding the line with the index finger of his right hand against the pole and opening the bail on his old but reliable reel with his left. He lowered the pole over the pier pointing the tip straight down to the water with the leader hanging down from the tip. He then started swinging the pole toward the underside of the pier and back out toward the water out in front of him in an even and gentle rocking motion. Back and forth, under the pier at about eight o’clock, to out in front of him at about three o’clock. One, two, three times then, Whoosh! he let the line go out at about two o’clock in front of him, and out it flew. That bullhead was now behaving like it’s most envied cousin, the flying fish. Hurling through the air toward the biggest belly flop of it’s life. If the hard splash didn’t kill him he would then be dragged down toward the bottom of Monterrey Bay by the weight of the sinker. Sitting at the bottom of the ocean with a sizable hook pierced through his lower lip the bullhead waited. If he was lucky a much bigger fish would come by and swallow him whole, or else he would be reeled in and tossed out again and again. Which after a few minutes is what seemed to happen. Little Mr. Bullhead was becoming someone else's dinner. With the keen senses that years of experience had brought him that old Sea Dog felt the slight tug of that first strike. Grabbing his old but trusty pole he pulled back, just hard enough to hook the bigger fish but not so hard as to yank the baited hook from the fish’s mouth. His reel now squeaking and his pole bending in a tight arch he calmly started reeling in his fish. As I walked over to see what in the heck he had hooked into, and to offer any assistance to this gentle old man he looked my way and with out saying a word beckoned my assistance. As I approached closer I noticed that he was missing the lower part of his right leg, his old worn pants stuffed up toward his knee. He nodded toward his bucket where I saw a gaff with a long brown rope. I looked back at him as he winked at me, signaling me to lend him a hand at landing this rather sizable aquatic animal. With a steady hand I lowered the three pronged treble hook over the pier and down toward where I could now see was a bright silvery striped bass. I couldn’t believe my eyes, catching a striper on a bullhead at the Santa Cruz Pier. Practically unheard of , but there it was. My first attempt to bring the gaff up and into the “linesides” almost knocked him off the hook, but I was determined to help this long timer out. I looked over at him with a sorrowful look on my face but he just kinda shrugged. His eyes gleaming a bit trying to hold this fish a little longer until I got another chance to stick ’em. The next try proved successful as I pierced the fish’s flesh and securely started pulling him up the pier with the fisherman reeling in his line at the same time. When we got it up onto the pier it started break dancing all over the place. People started coming over to see what the commotion was and I just kept kicking it back away from the edge of the pier so that it wouldn’t return to the sea. I looked over to this sweet old guy and said to him, “Great job” and gave him a pat on the back. As I started to leave he shook my hand and I told him, “You take good care Sir.” His strong rough handshake and the look in his eyes said more to me then, then if he had talked to me all afternoon. I could tell that he was grateful that I had helped him and he could tell how much I appreciated just being a part of the whole experience. And as a group of on lookers and some of his fishing cronies started to surrounded him, all congratulating him for his accomplishment, I’m sure making him feel very proud of what he had just achieved. I turned around and fished out all the bills in my pocket and stuck them into my new friend’s old fishing bucket. It may not have been enough to change his life, but it was a pretty decent chunk of change nonetheless. And so, as I walked over to brother Rand who was finishing up his fifth beer! He said with his familiar grin, “No clams this trip?” “Nope, not this time Rand, is that OK with you?” “Aw heck” he said, “I just come up here for the scenery anyway.” He put his hand on my shoulder as I tried to shield my watery eyes, and he said, “Hey, I got a few dollars, the clams are on me this time brother.” And as we walked back from the fish counter, to the car, we saw the old timer looking into his bucket and holding the money, looking around for someone, or something. He never did see us again, but we saw him as we started up the car, giving a dollar to a little girl watching his fish jump about. And so with one last giant whiff of that sweet fresh briny ocean air. I filled my nose with as much of the aroma as I could. Savoring the spicy bouquet of ocean salt with it’s traces of rank seaweed and hints of musk and mold. From that old pier that I have come to love so much over the years. And with one last look around, noting a flock of pelicans flying in formation over the sunset lit waves, we got into the car, and headed for home. Our precious bounty from the deep blue, secured tightly in a plastic bag on the back seat... And an even more precious one, anchored in the back of our minds, and in the core of our hearts... |
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| © Copyright 2003 Richy - All Rights Reserved | |||
Midnitesun
since 2001-05-18
Posts 28647Gaia |
BRAVO Richy! I really enjoyed this. You are quite a writer, and I'm looking forward to more of your stories. What a wonderful treat! Your character portrayals and great eye for details is superb. Outstanding. |
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Zaynab Member
since 2003-05-04
Posts 59Kuwait |
Wow Richie, this piece of writing is so beautiful. Your imagery and descriptive talent is amazing. Looking forward to reading more. Zaynab xxxxxxxx Kill me tonight and I will love again |
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Richy Member Elite
since 2003-05-03
Posts 3050 |
Midnitesun and Zaynab, Thanks so much for taking the time to read this, and for your your kindness... It is so appreciated!! Richy |
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Brenda Hall Member
since 2000-05-30
Posts 88Texas,USA |
Good Story! Keep up the good work! Brenda Hall The windows of the soul,reflect negative and positive images.Correct the negative and praise the positive |
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Richy Member Elite
since 2003-05-03
Posts 3050 |
Thank You Brenda for taking the time to read all that...lol What a real trooper! There's just not that much traffic out this way... I was surprised to get... one more... reply...lol Well again, thank you I really appreciate it! Richy |
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
The last man standing in a vast sea of quicksand. ~*~ This first line told me "he really wants to tell a story." And you did. Thank you, Richy! |
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Mysteria
since 2001-03-07
Posts 18328British Columbia, Canada |
What a fantastically told story. How very lucky you are to have brothers and sisters to write about. Although I am an only child I do have "family" and couldn't agree with your more - it is really not about getting the clams, as it is more to do in how to go to find them. I am enjoying your writing so much, and if you post more of your road that lead you home I am sure there are those that would love reading them. |
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Wesley the Blue Member
since 1999-09-02
Posts 426Forest Lake, MN, USA |
I did enjoy reading this very much, you have a gift for writing. The only thing I can add critically speaking, is that the title of the piece seems to be about one thing, while the body seems to be about another. I was expecting to read about your experiences with your little brother, and while it kinda was, it seemed to be more about your experience with the old man. It was a good story, dont get me wrong, and perhaps if the whole thing were there for us to read it would make more connection with the title, but.... Anyway, thanks for sharing and defentely keep up the good work. KWM "The usefulness of a cup is in its emptiness, for a cup that is full can hold no more." |
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Richy Member Elite
since 2003-05-03
Posts 3050 |
Thank you Sunshine, you are always there to add some kindness... It is so appreciated... Thank you Mysteria, what nice things to say... I only wish I could find more time to read all of these posts in the prose section too... I have read a few... but I can hardly keep up with the poetry... whew!! Thank You Wesley the Blue... Yeah, there are many more stories of this particular brother of mine... and as far as the title... you know how they go... I change them, along with the story, and even poems too... all the time... The first story of me and him... gave me the idea for the title... but that isn’t the one I posted is it? lol You have a good point... next time, I will be sure to make the title of the story I post, reflect the actual story... Thank you all for taking the time to read it and for all of your wonderful replies! Richy |
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machiner Member
since 2003-03-13
Posts 67MA, US |
I was thinking similarly to Wesley the Blue...but maybe notso. You did write about your brother. At the beginning you built Randy up, and together had a day at the pier. So, the intro was there and an event took place. My thinking was, and this is how you told the "brother" story, that this pier event never woulda happened anyway. Never woulda met the old-timer and hemmingway'd a fish, if you hadn't been with Randy. Your story was terrific -- it landed right in my eyes and proceeded to yank. C'mon, all the connections were there .. my own brothers, old-knowlege, fishing... So, you had me at hello, so to speak. The fact that the fishing event wasn't a story about you and your brother doing the fishing is secondary to the fact that you and Randy were there. You were there together, you just looked left for a few minutes, and Randy looked right. Of course, I write this to empirically formulate my response...I'm a poet, of sorts, what can you expect. Ey? Thank you for the story. The exercise should be required writing by everyone 3 times a year. machiner |
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MsSouthernOrchid Member
since 2003-07-12
Posts 192 |
You really know how to tell a story. Wonderful! |
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