fiction – REEL LIFE YARNS

We all think we have a unique origin story – something that will really stand out when someone says “So, tell me about yourself. Where are you from?” My memories of the earlier years of my life are as fuzzy as a dream you can’t remember 2 minutes after you wake up. You know it happened, and you know you WANT to recall the details, but it just escapes you. So, I can’t tell you a thing. Where am I from? Your guess is as good as mine. All you really need to know about me is I’m tough as nails and I will hurt you despite wanting nothing more than to be loved. Since you seem to be curious, I will tell you what I can – starting with what was likely the most important day of my life.

It was springtime, and so many scents wafted through the air on a gentle breeze early that morning. The sharp essence of pine mingled with delicately sweet magnolia. The warm smell of the earth comforted me in the makeshift nest I had been sleeping in since the second night. Sounds great, right? Except it wasn’t. Even without memories of life before the woods, I’m pretty sure I was never a fan of the outdoors. Yet there I was – in the middle of 10,000 acres of primitive forest, completely alone. It had been a rough few weeks out in the woods. At least, I think it was weeks, but it could’ve been months. The trifecta of malnutrition, exhaustion, and fear made it nearly impossible to track the passing of time. All I can say is I didn’t have much life left in me the night before, and I didn’t expect to wake up that day. As a matter of fact, I recall hoping I wouldn’t wake up at all. These days, I spend a lot of time trying to remember exactly how I ended up there. I spend even more time contemplating how I managed to survive.

Saying I was all alone in the forest is not exactly accurate. The expected occupants of most forests were present – coyotes, birds, snakes, the occasional bear. I was no Snow White and none of them were my friends. I still can’t believe I wasn’t eaten by the coyotes at some point. I think one may have tried, or maybe my leg was nearly caught in a bear trap, or maybe I was hit by a car. How I ended up with a severely broken leg is one of what I refer to as the “unsolved mysteries of the woods”. Another of the mysteries is how I didn’t starve to death. I don’t possess any special knowledge of edible flora so I just kind of ate what looked like it might not kill me – leaves, a few berries that I noticed some rabbits were eating, some strange looking brown mushrooms that were definitely of questionable safety. It wasn’t much but it did keep me alive. Fortunately, once my body became accustomed to having almost no food, the hunger kind of just went away.

That particular morning (the one when I didn’t expect to wake up) was the day after I ingested one of the questionable mushrooms. I was awoken partially by the breeze and partially by the sound of non-forest creature sounds. I hadn’t heard any human sounds in so long, it actually startled me. For reasons I didn’t fully understand, I wanted to get up and run away but there was no energy for that. It took a minute to realize I didn’t need to run because this person may be able help me. I laid there thinking I should stand up or make a sound, any sound, but I just couldn’t. My body was heavy as a pile of wet concrete and my voice was completely gone. I was just too weak to do anything to help myself. I knew this was probably my last chance for survival, yet all I did was lay there, praying that I hadn’t done a very good job at concealing myself.

I was fading in and out, only semi-conscious. The footsteps were getting closer. I tried and tried to will myself to move, and I imagined that this is what being paralyzed would feel like. My exhaustion was like a tranquilizer that I could no longer fight the effects of, and my eyes closed once again. When they opened next, my blurred gaze fell on a man standing maybe ten feet away from me. A tall man, dressed in camouflage from head to toe, carrying a gun. He looked dangerous but nearly jumped out of his boots when I looked at him. Judging by the look in his eyes, he was probably more scared than I was. It didn’t matter either way since I was pretty sure this was the day I was going to die. How I was going to die was kind of irrelevant, so I closed my eyes and drifted off again.

Over the next several hours I came in and out of consciousness, deep in the throes of what felt much like a fever dream. Once, upon waking, he was standing over me with his pistol in hand. At some point I heard him talking on the phone. Next, I remember being in his truck and he was offering me a sip of water. Then I slept for a long time. In spite of being basically kidnapped by a gun-toting stranger, it was the first peaceful sleep I could recall having. I still didn’t know what his intentions were, but I didn’t care. I was satisfied with knowing I didn’t have to worry about being torn apart by wild animals.

After hours of driving, we arrived at what I assumed was his home. We were in a pretty busy neighborhood, so I started to relax. How nefarious could his intentions be, here in the daylight with some ragtag kids riding their bikes down the street? Then, I heard the voice of a woman approaching the truck. She wasn’t close enough for me to make out what she was saying, but the man replied, “Maybe I should’ve just put him out of his misery.” That’s when I opened my eyes and saw the lady looking directly at me. She had the lightest eyes, which were the most interesting mix of blue-green-grey. Based on the worry I could see in her eyes, I must have looked a mess, even though she tried to disguise it with a soft smile. The kind of smile you put on to give a bit of confidence to someone who is just about to die. I wasn’t expecting her to touch me, but she reached out and gently put her hand on the side of my face and said, “Oh, he’s going to be just fine.” At that moment, I thought “If I had a mom, I would want one just like her.”

That was 12 years ago. The lady with the soft smile and the camo man are now my family. It has been a long road, recovering from the physical injuries and dealing with the emotional scars from not knowing why I was left in the woods. Why did my family leave me there all alone to die? Sometimes, when they think I’m sleeping, I hear mom and dad talking about what they think might have happened. I don’t care about that because I can’t imagine having a better family. I have a lot of emotional and behavioral issues that have affected their lives. Still, they have shown me true unconditional love when anyone else would have given up a thousand times. I know I haven’t been the best dog they’ve ever had, but I love them so very much and I’m so lucky I was strong enough to wake up that morning.

1974. Look at those knobby knees! And who thought it was a good idea to bring a giant fish in the house?

You may have figured out by now that I am addicted to fishing. I wasn’t always like this. For most of my life, I was bookish and cared nothing for the outdoors. I learned to read before I started kindergarten and it just escalated from there. We will talk more about that later.

Like I said, I cared nothing for the outdoors. I just wasn’t built to be exposed to the elements. When I was a child in the 1970s, we never had cars with air conditioning. If it was above 85 degrees (which is most days in Jacksonville, FL) and we were going somewhere in the car, my mom would have to stop and take me in K-Mart to cool off. If we didn’t get to the air conditioning in time, I would get the dry heaves. When I got a bit older I realized my intolerance of the sun and heat is because I don’t sweat like the average human. I just get hot, turn red, and feel like I might die.

All of this is to say it is really weird that I risk sunburns almost every weekend just to go fishing… outdoors… in the boiling heat. The kind of heat that makes walking outside feel like walking into a convection oven. When the wind blows, it’s like God just turned on the biggest Conair blow dryer that ever existed. It is absolutely miserable. Yet somehow it becomes bearable as long as a fishing pole is involved.

My dad and grandfather a really long time ago. Late 60s if I had to guess.

My dad was always an avid fisherman. It was really the only hobby he ever had. He was always fishing with his dad or one of his friends. Until his dad and, one by one, his fishing friends all passed away. Gene, Randy, Martin… all gone. Dad was really left with nothing. He and my mom never developed a relationship where they spent time together. They actually spend more energy trying to not be in the same room together than anything. Sure, a lot of the way his life turned out is his fault. He has no filter, he is offensive in many ways, he can’t go too long without smoking a cigarette. By the time he turned 75, all he had was naps and sitting on the porch watching the birds while he rolled cigarettes.

Even though he isn’t fit to take out in public, he’s still my dad. I found myself feeling very sad for him and for the years of my life that had passed with no real connection to him. My mom has always been a different story. She likes to go everywhere and do everything. I always made sure she and I had fun vacations together, went shopping, or to the movies. But it was time to find some common ground with dad. If I didn’t, I knew he would be gone one day and I would always regret not spending time with him.

So, last year, in April, I asked him if he wanted to go fishing. It was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. As it turned out, all I had to do was low-key threaten to not take him fishing anymore if he didn’t behave himself. Last Spring and Summer, we went fishing 3 or 4 days a week. Then I bought a boat, and it just got crazier from there. His friends always called him The Fishmaster because he was so good at it and now we have learned that I’m pretty good at it too! I only went fishing with him maybe 5 times in my life yet I realize how much I learned from him during those trips. I can set a hook like nobody’s business, putting bait on the hook, getting a catfish off the hook without getting stung – all from dad.

The whole situation is kind of bittersweet, though. He is in a lot of pain with arthritis and is just tired in general. There are lots of days he chooses not to go fishing just because it’s too much effort. I find myself thinking about how many places we could have gone, how many different types of fish we could’ve caught, if I had figured this out sooner. But you know what they say—better late than never, right?

When it comes down to it, and he sails away down the eternal lazy river, I hope this time we’ve spent together, waiting to see the tips of our rods move just the tiniest bit, will be enough to keep my regrets at bay.

Until next time… tight lines and happy minds!

Tag: fiction

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