Page 46 of Hammer and Hops

“Or loafers.”

“You brought loafers camping?”

Everett rolled his eyes. “No. I was trying to use humor to keep from being pissy over this.”

“Eh…be pissy if you want. I don’t mind.”

“Really?”

I put my arm around his shoulder. “I’ve never minded. I just made it my mission to get you more relaxed and a little less pissy.”

“Whatever, Gremlin.” He shoved me with his shoulder. “Let’s go already.”

We walked another forty or fifty yards before I saw the spot. “Oh, there.” I made my way over and pulled stuff out of our little wagon, setting up the chairs side by side. After using a little blood bait on the hooks, I tossed both lines in and handed Everett one of the poles.

“Thanks. I think.”

“No worries. Now we wait.” Sitting side by side quietly felt great, like starting over, like being together. “Hey, I never asked you. Have you ever done any fishing before me?”

“Not really. I’ve used a cane pole off a bridge, but that was only fucking around, you know?”

“Yeah, I’ve done that. And a lot of this.” I shook my pole. “Some fly fishing, but I’m not fond of it.”

“Fishing altogether or just that kind?”

“Oh, just fly fishing for sure. I like to be more chill. Sit here, watch the line, maybe drink a beer.”

“We didn’t bring any beer.”

“I know, but that’s fine. I’m with you, and that’s even better.” I didn’t look at him when I said it, not sure how he’d feel about it.

But he didn’t say anything, and we sat in that companionable space for a while.

“Look. Look.” Everett pointed to the water where his bobber was living up to its name.

“Reel it in. Pull it up.” I gave him directions, and he did each thing immediately without question. “Keep reeling, keep reeling. That’s it. You got it. Did you see that?” Scale flashed in the early morning sun.

“It’s a whopper…” He grunted, reeled, lifted the pole and dragged that beast on shore. It flipped and flopped. “Oh Shit. Look at that.” He squatted and pulled the hook out of its mouth.

Afraid it was going to flip back into the water before we could even get pictures, I jumped on it. There was no way I was letting his first catch get away without getting pictures. “You’re not going anywhere.” I wrangled it up. “Get your camera.”

“Oh. Right. Can’t we take it home?” He was pulling his phone out, flipping to the camera. He took a few quick ones, but I wanted one with him.

“No. It’s a carp, so we’ll throw it back, but let me get a picture of it with you. Sit here.”

He crouched on the ground, and I showed him how to hold it so it wouldn’t get away. He still got flipped in the face at least once, but I managed to snap a picture before he let go and shoved it toward the water. “Bye, carp!” He was so cute waving at the thing as it swam away.

“I brought wet wipes. Here.” I got them out of the wagon and we both cleaned up. I rinsed my shirt in the water and hung it over a low tree branch to dry. I caught Everett looking a few times, which boosted my ego. We settled back in the chairs after I re-baited his hook.

The next catch was mine, a big old catfish that fought like a demon. “Mother fucker…” I cursed it out left and right. Everett grabbed the net, scooping him out as soon as he was close enough to the shore. “Whew. That was a beast.”

“For real. We need pics of that too.”

“Yeah, but we’re going to need beer to batter this kitty up. Let’s do a fish fry at my place and invite Brock and Eddy, since they helped set this up.”

“Sounds great, but is one fish enough for that?”

“Nope. Let’s see if we can catch one or two more.”