The Old Man and The Sea

(Alternate Title - The Little Girl and The Reservoir)

For months now, he’s asked me to read the book, The Old Man and the Sea. “It’s a quick read,  two day’s max,” my husband tried to persuade me.  I really wasn’t interested in reading about the sea, after all water is my archenemy.  I just finished all the trending books on my bookshelf and began to feel "book lonely," so I finally gave in.  Hoping the old man is in a boat.

The NFL draft picks were on the television in the background. I read about two pages looked up to see what was going on. Old white guys rambling on about the hot college stud didn’t really hold my interest. So, I read a few more pages. Before I knew it I was half way through the book.  My husband turned off the TV. “Ah, already half way, it is a quick read. Good night, don’t stay up too late” he said and went to sleep.

I really wasn’t tired and I was convinced I was going to finish the book.  It was an easy read so I pressed on. Before I knew it, I finished the book.  Pondering, why did the boy cry so much? Boys don’t cry that much, do they? And was it really a marlin, that couldn’t have been a marlin? A shark, a whale, maybe?   I lacked the personal connection to fishing or did I?

I started a new book hoping to settle my mind. I looked over to my nightstand after two short chapters and decided the clock was not working in my favor. I turned off the light and tried to sleep. Tried.   

I thought about fishing and the old man.

I thought about my dad; the end of a good spring rain; the smell of the mixing cool and warm air; the lingering fog that followed.  I remembered a pink windbreaker with a white zipper and brown corduroy pants. Worms! The smell of worms and spring rain filled my mind.

The grey sidewalks were covered with them; brown and pink, thin and fat, long and short. The worms seemed to cover the sidewalks as if they fell with the rain. I couldn’t wait to get outside, to collect my new friends. I'd pick them up one by one carefully placing their slimy bodies in a small white Styrofoam cup, anxiously waiting to share my catch with my dad. Sometimes, I'd sit on the front step waiting, and waiting, and waiting...watching the them wiggle around. I'd add a little dirt for them. 

And then out of the corner of my eye I'd see my dad, spring to my feet and run to show off our bait for tomorrow's trip. 

This time it was Liberty Reservoir. It was a simple silver dingy, big enough for the two of us and our dog.  But a dog was too much trouble in the boat. I took care of the worms. Dad took care of hooking them. He'd cast then turn the line to me. We'd sit and wait. If luck was on my side, I catch something. Dad would usually help bring him in. Dad would unhook him and hand him over. I'd stare the little guy in the eye intently, then look at my dad. He'd give me the nod. Gently, very carefully, I placed him back in the water and whisper "thank you".