Fishing

De-legalize Fishing

The day was coming to a close. The streets were quiet aside from a few outliers, like me, lost souls walking aimlessly by. The horizon was like melted sherbet, a mixture of pleasant orange and pink. The streetlights were coming on, though they didn't serve much purpose yet. The smell of backyard barbeques was thinning, and the giggling and squealing of the local children was stifled as their mothers beckoned them inside.

I listened to my own footfalls  as I continued forward. My headphones were hooked into the collar of my shirt, but I found I didn't want to shut out the sounds of the evening.

My steps changed in tone as my foot moved from cement to wood.

I trudged farther down the dock, and spied a few lone fishermen. They all appeared frustrated; same hunched shoulders. No good catches, I supposed.

I came to the edge of the dock and sat down, removing my sandals and dangling my feet over the edge. The wood bit into my thighs and reminded me of summers sitting with my father, listening to him ramble about how you have to be quiet and patient to get the best fish, when all he was doing was being obnoxious and impatient.

I snorted aloud, and one dejected fisherman cast a look my way. I shrugged apologetically.

I pulled my headphones off my shirt and put them on. My phone was still paused on the last thing I had listened to. I took a deep breath and unpaused it, feeling the blood in my veins cool.

"-I never meant for it to end up this way, you know? It all got to be too much. I just started to feel suffocated. Every time I got an inch, the goal moved ten yards farther down the field."

My eyes settled on a wayward bluegill that was close to the water's surface. He looked apprehensively at my swaying toes. I decided to name him Finn.

"And I just kept trying, harder and harder. I listened to all the advice. I smiled and laughed and did fun things. But new problems just kept appearing. I felt so lost. I was suffering."

Finn circled around my feet and headed off toward one of the fishermen. Finn was not very smart.

"But I didn't tell anyone how bad it was. It's never been their business to worry about me. So, for once, I wanted to help myself. And this was the only way I could think of."

The fisherman suddenly jerked his rod up. He reeled, standing up, and out came Finn. He jerked around, confused and afraid.

Your own fault.

"But I want you to know that it's not your fault. You've helped me so much. You've done nothing but believe in me. But my wings aren't wounded, honey, they've been amputated. And I won't let you give me yours. Not when you've got so much more flying to do."

Stop it.

"And I know I wasn't the best to you."

Self-deprecation isn't cute.

"And I certainly wasn't a person you'd want to see every day."

There should be a law against lying.

"I mean, you made it clear you had other people to be with."

Did I?

"But you always wanted to help me, even if you had better things to do."

I didn't want to seem clingy.

"And I love you."

Fuck this.

"And I'm sorry... I know this doesn't make sense, but please just trust me. I was suffering. I'm better now."

I thought you cared about others more than yourself?

"Thank you for everything."

The message stopped. Silence.

I took off my headphones and set them on the dock with my phone.

Slowly, methodically, I stood up. I could feel my eyes burning. I hadn't cried in a long time and I didn't intend to start.

In one swift motion, I removed my shirt and stepped off the dock.

There was a split second of nothing, then I broke the surface of the water and streamlined down below.

The water enveloped everything, cold and shocking to my system. I closed my eyes tightly and felt the water, thick like Jell-O, drift through my fingers.

"Wanna have a breath holding contest?"

"We'll be all cold if we swim now! It's so late!"

"Never took you for a wimp."

"Hey! I am not. That's mean."

"Well, if you get in the water, no one will see you cry over it."

I opened my eyes. Light drifted through the water above me. Even though I couldn't feel the warmth of the light, I could see it, and I knew I could swim there if I tried. Maybe I should have used that analogy with her. She was all poetic. She'd like it.

But I never was very wordy.

When I surfaced, the fishermen were all looking at me like I was insane.

I heaved myself back onto the dock and pointed at one of the men.

"Finn," I said. "The-the bluegill. Can I have him, please?"

Slightly concerned but not questioning me, he slowly lifted Finn out of his bucket and placed him in my hands.

I lowered my hands down to the water and waited.

Finn didn't move.

I waited longer.

Finn didn't move.

I raised my arms, placed Finn back in the bucket, and gathered my things.

Finn had died. He saw one bit of good food and took it. I had seen a lot of things Finn would like to eat down there- if he'd just taken the time.

The streets were empty now.

I heard my wet feet slap on the concrete. "If you'd taken the time." I muttered to myself.

A tear fell to the ground, and I wondered why I'd cried despite being in the water. I guess she'd lied about that too. Lying should definitely be illegal.

If she was always honest with herself, she'd probably still be around. If I was always honest, she wouldn't have felt like a burden to me.

I clenched my jaw. Guilt is bullshit, because you can't do anything about what it is that's making you feel guilty. No matter what you do to make amends, it still happened. You can't take it away.

I turned and briefly looked over my shoulder. The fishermen were leaving. One of them had Finn.

Fishing should be illegal.