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“Thank you, Jim.” My dad shakes the older man’s hand, his arm around my mom’s narrow shoulder as she clutches a cloth handkerchief to her nose.
I’m standing between my older brother Aiden and my younger brother Adam in a navy suit that makes my neck itch, in front of a stinky wreath of flowers.
Stargazers, my mom observed when she lined us up. “What a lovely arrangement of stargazers,” she’d said, her nose red from crying.
Stinkgazersis more like it. They’re making the pressure in my head worse. Looking over my shoulder, I notice a narrow door with a green Exit sign in front of it, and I wonder if there’s any way I can get the hell out of here.
Aiden’s jaw is fixed, and at twenty, he only has one year left at Annapolis, the naval academy in Maryland. With his dark suit, short hair, and perfect posture, he already has the look of a future Marine. He’s stoic and unflinching, and I guess that’s what I’ll be in three more years, when I graduate from high school and follow in his footsteps.
Adam, by contrast, is dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and khakis. His brown hair is a little too long, and it curls around his ears in waves bleached caramel from spending all summer surfing.
He’s doing his best to fight his tears, roughly wiping any strays that make it onto his cheeks. But he’s only thirteen. He can still get away with crying if he wants.
Not me. At fifteen, I’m supposed to be Mom’s brave young man. At least, that’s what Dad said when he’d helped me with my necktie. The only problem is when I see Pops lying in that casket, stone cold and unmoving, it pits my stomach and makes my throat tight.
He’s too thin. His skin is the wrong color, and he never wore suits. He said we had that in common. We’d rather be in our waders fishing in the marsh.
Even when he was so sick with cancer he couldn’t get out of bed, I’d sit beside him, and he’d close his eyes. He’d ask me if I could see the redfish swimming in the reeds. I’d hold his hand and say I could. He’d remind me how important it was to be patient, to wait for the fish to come to me, don’t rush them.
I like to imagine he’s found the best fishing hole in heaven, and he’s hanging out with all of Jesus’s friends, who were also fishermen. They’re probably swapping stories and comparing lures.
Pops wouldn’t want us to be here crying. He’d want us to be out by the water, taking in the sunshine and smiling over our memories. He’d say you have to have the clouds, the overcast days, to catch the biggest fish. You don’t catch anything on sunny days.
Reverend Andrews has gone to the back of the room, and Aiden has joined my dad and our uncles around the casket. They’re going to carry it out of the church. Adam has his arm around Mom’s waist, and the two of them have moved closer to the aisle.
I take a step back, in the direction of that door, as the organ music starts and the men reverently lift my grandfather’s casket off the stand. They take another step forward, and I take another step back. Again and again we move until the entire group is at the top of the aisle, and my hand is on the cold metal doorknob leading out of the small sanctuary.
The minute I step out into the muggy afternoon, I start to run. First Presbyterian Church of Eureka is on the side of town closest to the original neighborhoods, where my family lives. It’s designed to be “walkable,” but my mom says it’s too hot and humid to walk to church in heels.
I run the short distance to the house, and when I get to the door, I toss my slick leather loafers in my bedroom, along with my stiff blazer and starched white shirt and tie. Slacks go next, and I snatch a pair of swim trunks off a pile of clean clothes in the corner I was supposed to put away.
In less than ten minutes, I’m riding my bike through the palmettos, out to the closest body of water. Sticking to the dirt paths, my tires thump hollowly over small, wooden footbridges, splash in shallow creeks, and crunch over wet gravel.
When I finally make it to the start of the little lagoon that leads out to the ocean, I abandon my bike and my Vans and take off on bare feet.
In the shade of the Walter pines, it’s cooler. The air is still thick with briny moisture, but the pungent odor of lilies is finally out of my nose, replaced with the scent of pine straw and the ocean.
I follow a familiar path to the brackish water, and my mind is full of memories of Pop. I can see his thick fingers attaching the fly to his line and sharing his old stories and wisdom.
“The only place you findsuccesscoming beforeworkis in the dictionary,” he once told me.
He’d worked hard all his life as a contractor, but his true joys were his family, fishing, and the smoky bourbon he brewed in our family’s distillery.
He promised to teach me how to make it one day. Looks like that day won’t ever come. A hot tear lands on my cheek, and I didn’t realize I was crying. I only felt the pain in my chest, the knot between my shoulders, the longing for days I’ll never have again.
I’m at the edge of the trees when I hear a voice that stills my thoughts. It’s sweet and pure as a bell, and it hits me right in the stomach.
Swallowing a breath, I take a step closer, behind the thick trunk of a live oak tree to get a better look, and what I see almost knocks me on my ass.
The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen is floating on her back in the clear water. Her eyes are closed, and her dark hair floats around her in the water like a mermaid. Only, she doesn’t have any clam shells, and my teenage dick jumps to life at the sight.Shit.
It’s been doing that at all kinds of unexpected times these days. I avert my eyes, covering my boner with my hand and trying to make it go away. She’s still singing the song I sort-of recognize, and I can’t seem to move.
“I believe in angels…” Her voice goes perfectly high, and it’s like I’m having an out of body experience.
I’m not at the little lagoon, I’m in freakin heaven. Glancing to the side, I don’t see Pop anywhere, so maybe it’s more of a teenage fantasy. A splash in the water, and my eyes involuntarily flash to the inlet.
She’s on her stomach now, and her hands part the water in front of her as she swims. I can’t see her body anymore, thank God, and I’m doing my best to forget the sight of her perky little breasts and tight nipples.
