Shock wave

Fishing trip

On a warm day, the air had a hint of coolness, the temperature lingering comfortably around 76 degrees. The sun cast its golden rays on her driveway, and the melodious song of birds filled the sky. Linn stepped outside, her feet feeling the polished dark oak of her porch, where she gazed down her driveway, watching the traffic gather at the end like a restless tide.
Behind her, the gentle creak of wood and the soft squeal of the door signaled her mother’s arrival. Turning, Linn was met with her mother’s familiar, tender expression, radiating warmth.
“Are you excited?” her mother inquired, a smile blossoming on her lips as she beamed at the thought of her daughter going on new adventures.
“Mhm, I’m nervous, though. Nobody I know is going,” Linn admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Don’t stress; I’m sure it will be fun,” her mother reassured her, though doubt lingered in Linn’s heart. They were insisting she join a fishing expedition—a remedy prescribed by the doctors for her extended retreat from the world. Silence Filled the air, a tension hung as her mother surrendered to her daughter's uneasiness.
With a deep breath, Linn began her descent down the lengthy driveway, her raincoat clasped in one hand and her brown rain boots in the other. Anxiety churned within her, a relentless storm that quickened her heartbeat with each hesitant step. As she approached the horizon, the coast emerged, revealing a solitary boat docked in the distance—an unusual sight, as the dock was typically full of activity.
Upon reaching the dock, she noticed a trio of young men, their ages ranging from nineteen to thirty, towering before her. A flicker of unease washed over her as she realized she was the only girl. The weathered wood of the dock creaked beneath her, bearing the scars of time, while the entrance to the boat was secured by a gate and a rusted chain. Ropes dangled haphazardly, and voices echoed from the cabin below. With a deep breath, she approached the gate and called out, “Hello? Is this the fishing boat for 12:30?”
The chatter ceased abruptly, and three figures emerged from the stairwell. One man, perhaps thirty, sported a tanned complexion marked by sun-kissed freckles, his mustache with hints of gray. He was in a poncho and a black baseball cap. Beside him stood a younger man, possibly twenty, with pitch black hair and blue eyes that seemed to pierce through her anxiety. His pale skin was adorned with a sprinkling of freckles, his dark sweater and faded jeans caught her eye. Linn’s gaze fixated on him, momentarily forgetting the third companion.
“Oui madame. Êtes-vous la fille prévue pour une tournée?” The older man grumbled, his tone tainted with impatience.
“I wouldn’t call it a tour, but yes,” she replied, her voice steady despite her racing heart.
“Attitude,” he retorted, adopting a mockingly exaggerated American accent.
As she stepped onto the boat, the intriguing young man extended his hand towards her. A smile grew on her face as she accepted his gesture, feeling a jolt of warmth course through her, even though she didn’t require his assistance. His smile ignited a flutter in her chest, leaving her momentarily speechless.
The men moved toward the side of the boat, and she followed, noting the tangle of cages and fishing lines scattered about. The grumpy one handed her a box, its weight causing her shoulders to sag. She crouched to open it, revealing fishing essentials: bobbers, string, scissors, and an array of tools.
“le prénom?” the older man inquired.
“Linn… Iotami,” she answered, feeling a twinge of uncertainty.
“I ask first name only.”
“Okay?” she replied, realizing through his broken English just how atrocious her own attempt at a French accent must have been.
Her mother’s constant worry about her French left Linn feeling inadequate. She could only understand the language; speaking it was a different story. Nearby, three men chatted, their voices a blur she didn’t bother to decipher. As she rummaged through her box, trying to distract herself, a deep voice broke through her thoughts.

“Are you missing something?”

The voice was warm yet rich, soothing but unfamiliar. She looked up to see the man who had helped her earlier, waiting expectantly. Her heart raced. After a brief pause, she replied, “I’m just figuring out what I have so the grump doesn’t lose it later.”

He chuckled softly. “Yeah, he was tough on me too. What brings you here? Do you like fishing?”

“Not really. My mom insists I explore my options.”

“Explore your options? Fishing? Sounds boring to me.”

“That’s exactly what I thought.” They shared a brief laugh, but the moment was shattered when the grumpy captain barked orders in French. The men scrambled to obey while she sat at the boat's edge, watching the waves lap against the hull. The salty air filled her lungs, but then a hand rested on her shoulder, making her jump. It was him again.

“Linn, right?” His voice was a melody she could never tire of.

“Yeah, what’s your name?” she asked, feeling at ease despite the flutter in her stomach.

“Alain.” His name held an echo of France, a hint of something deeper beneath his American accent. She was captivated. As he cast his line, she quickly followed suit—fishing was second nature to her. They chatted about everything: the weather, their days, and his childhood fishing trips. She loved seeing the joy light up his eyes as he spoke. But as the boat turned toward the dock, disappointment settled in; she didn’t want to leave Alain.

“Could I take you out to dinner sometime?” His hand enveloped hers, his gaze searching for her answer. Her face flushed, heart racing.

“Yes! Anytime!” The thrill coursed through her. This was her first date, and he was everything she’d dreamed of.

They strolled through the streets of France, hands intertwined, losing themselves in conversation. She noticed every detail about him—his style, the scent of his cologne, the way he laughed. At a quaint café, they ordered the same coffee and settled into a window seat. As she leaned her head on his shoulder, she felt inexplicably happy. They resumed their chatter, lost in each other’s presence.

As the sun began to set, he walked her home. Her mother sat on the porch swing, yarn in hand, welcoming them with a smile.

Fast forward six months: instead of walking home, she walked alone down the aisle. The pianos and bells rang through the hall, but each step felt heavy, like a weight pulling her back. Standing before him, she held his hands, waiting for the moment that should have felt blissful.