Monthly Archives: March 2014

The fishing boy

“Come along son” he called ready to start the morning

Out of the house comes my little brother, practically falling down from all the equipment. He’s tangled in the fishing line and the tackle box is balancing on the edge of his finger tips. His new fishing hat flops down into his brown eyes.  Dad jogs over to help Jack, his fishing poles swishing side to side as he runs. He take my brother’s hand and swings him along to the car. The car rumbles up an old dirt road. I smile as the tears come to my eyes.

“It’s time for you to fish” he points to me as we sit in a wooden row boat. It’s so early the sun hasn’t graced us with her presence and we rely on the moon for light. He rows us out most of the way before giving me the oars. I row furiously trying to honor the task. Once we’re there, he takes out a worm and puts it on the hook. “Careful” he says as I attempt to cast out my line. The water is cool and still besides our boat in the water.

He does the same for my brother. In his brand new yellow rain boots and fishing hat. Jack smiles and claps. Suddenly the world disappears and all that is left is a father and his son. The world seems right for once. Just looking at a young boy full of honesty and hope, his father worn from the years but happy for this simple thing.

I leave to give them their quiet, though they never knew I was there. I focus on my mother. Still in a t-shirt and sweatpants sleeping. I go into her dreams. She welcomes me, has me put on an apron and get to work in the kitchen. She’s wearing her faded pink kiss the chef apron covered in flour, so I put on my bumble bee one. She hands me the bowl and a wooden spoon to stir, then laughingly shakes her head at my baking mess. Quickly her dream changes. She’s in one of Picasso’s paintings, one from his blue period. Looking around that’s all she can see, blue. I take her hand and pull her to the impressionists. She stands on a bridge completely unaware of her previous dreams. I leave her to her peace for the night and just go out walking.

The summer air seeps into my skin and welcomes me home. The green grass remembers my feet well as I run. I reach my tree and climb until I can’t anymore. I sit there, waiting, I don’t know for what, just waiting. The sun comes up and begins to warm the grass.  I jump and glide down to the grass.

“It’s time” he faintly whispers.

“I know” I turn and walk away as the grass falls from my feet and I disappear.