Nobody's Fool Y'all

1

There is an art to fishing, but it doesn't hurt to have the patience of Job stashed in your back pocket, too. The stream bubbled over the rocks, and Hadley stood knee deep in crystal clear coldness. 

It was an amazing day in these mountains, and at that moment, she could think of nowhere else in the world she'd rather be. She adjusted her polarized sunglasses. Her radar was on. 

She was a woman on a mission and on the lookout for fish. She drew out some line and began to fan her pole back and forth like she had studied on the Internet video. Cast and wind. Cast and wind. 

The little fly floated atop the water and bang! At last, she thought. A bite! She pulled hard to set the hook and wound the reel like a maniac. Snagged! She jerked forcefully, fearful that the line would snap at any second.

And then, it happened.

Something broke the surface. But it wasn't an old tire or a soggy work boot. She dropped Harry's pole into the water and ran as fast for the shore as her waterlogged feet would carry her. Rising steadily out of the water was a human hand, dripping and waving, greeting her from the depths of the Great Beyond.

***

Earlier that morning.

People like fish stories - stories so incredibly unbelievable they stretch the boundaries of truth farther than the material in a fat man's skimpy Speedo. 

Hadley liked them, too. Speedos and fish stories. The fat men were okay. She could take them or leave them. She hoped to garner a few of her own fish tales soon. But time would tell.

The day dawned bright and crisp and full of promise. Birds sang joyfully in the overhead branches, and a soft breeze ruffled the leaves of the trees. The earth seemed to sparkle about her.

Hobie Stricker had promised to take her fly fishing soon, and Hadley did not want to look like an utter fool in front of him. Nothing motivates a person more than feeling her pride is on the line. Hadley decided she needed to practice her casting.

Her late husband, Harry had tried his hand at fly fishing. He had been smitten immediately, falling head-over-heels for the sport. He haunted the library and subscribed to magazines. He learned everything he could. 

He bought supplies and set up a little workshop out in a shed in the back yard. He spent hours out in that little building tying flies and dreaming of his next fishing trip. 

In the beginning, Hadley couldn't help but feel a little bit jealous. He never invited her along on his excursions. Not once. What did he do on them? And why didn't he take her along? She knew it was childish to feel this way, but for some reason, she just couldn't help it.

That all changed one day while she was in town.

She had made a spur-of-the-minute trip to the Pixie-Squares Supermarket for some lettuce. She had a major hankering for 'kilt' – wilted lettuce. 

The onions in her little garden had thrived. But the birds had used her leaf lettuce patch for a buffet. Maury had mentioned Pixies had gotten some in earlier that morning. Hadley knew it would go fast. Nothing beats salted wilted lettuce in bacon grease and butter.

She hurried to get ready and get into town before it was all scooped up by others wanting kilt as badly as she did. She bumped into Zeke Ledbottom on Main Street. She saw the old man storm out of Harry's office. The glass in Harry's door rattled as the old man exited. Zeke looked madder than a nest of hornets hopped up on steroids.

"I got a burr under my saddle," he said.

Hadley already knew the old man's knickers were in a knot. His face was so red it would put rotten tomatoes to shame.