I was ten when my father died. The doctor told my mother drinking is what caused the liver failure and ultimately led to his death. There are two things I remember most about him:
First, I loved my father and no one could replace him.
Second, my father loved to fish and I believe he handed that on down to me.
Two weeks before he passed, we were in the marsh on our airboat, much further than I’d been on previous trips. He’d hooked a whopper of a fish and was struggling with it bad. I’d never seen his hands shake with such difficulty reeling anything in. It took an hour before he was able to bring that whiskered son-of-a-gun alongside the boat. Then, with one jerk, he pulled that fish out the water; with it came the gator.
Water slapped my face as the giant leapt from the murk, catching the fish in its jaws. I fell back into the boat while my father fought for the pole. The gator rolled on the line, ripped the pole from his hands and disappeared to the bottom water.
My father fell into his seat and cracked another beer. “The rascal ripped it right out my hands,” he said, tipping the can back and crushing it when he was finished. “He’ll come up in a minute. Grab my rifle, Junior.” He staggered back to his feet, squinting his eyes to search for air bubbles. “Come on, he’ll be up any second.” His empty hand hovered in front of my face, fingers motioning for the gun.
The gator appeared, fifty feet from our boat; fishtail hanging from its mouth. We watched as he raised his massive head, opened his jaws, and swallowed the fish whole.
My father swatted the hat off of my head to bring me back. “Dang it, Junior, where’s the rifle?”
I lifted my grandfather’s old .22 from the rack.
“I ain’t never seen no gator like it. Get us closer, Junior,” he said.
I grabbed a paddle amongst the rusted beer cans and gave a sturdy push. As we got closer, I could see the gator more clearly. Its left eye was an eerie blue, covered by a leathery stripe of pale white.
My father squinted as he loaded a single round. Swaying on the steady boat, he put the scope to his face. I covered my ears and watched his shot splash behind the gator, sending him back under.
We were out on that boat another hour before my father finally killed his case of beer and called it quits.
At seventeen, months away from my legal independence, I was still living in the house my father had built. Two years before, my mother remarried to a man much different from my father. Not a bad guy, just different, certainly not the “free spirit” my father was.
Jack usually left for work before the sun was up and my mother worked thirds at the diner in town, always coming home smelling of fryer grease and cigarettes. I could always slip out in the mornings without anyone knowing I was gone.
One morning, as I reached for the handle of the screen door, fishing gear in hand, when the smell of coffee nearly knocked me over. My mother always went straight to bed when she came home. No breakfast, no shower, nothing. That meant one thing.
“Junior… that you?”
I paused, hoping my silence would save me.
“Don’t play no games. Quit foolin’ around and come in here.”
I walked in, avoiding the uneven floorboards from living room to kitchen. Jack sat in the cramped space between the table and counter, lacing his boots, a coffee mug in front of him.
“Yeah?”
He leaned to the side, eyeing my fishing pole propped against the front door. “Where ya off to?”
“Gonna drop a line.”
“Who with?”
“Russell.” I held my breath, waiting for the next question.
He turned his attention back to his boots. “Where at?”
I began rocking on my heels. “The marsh,” I mumbled. It’s probably better I told the truth. Somehow, he would have found out. He always did.
He stood, maneuvering his way out of the tiny space. The sunlight from the single kitchen window above the sink reflected off his polished badge. “The marsh, huh?” His voice echoed. “Me and Jerry were sayin’ we may go Saturday.” He stepped to the sink and rinsed out his mug. “Ya know I don’t like you goin’ on back there alone. The marsh ain’t no playground.” He faced me with his immovable frame, waiting for me to speak.
I looked past him, out the window. “I won’t be alone. Russell will be there. And, I think his cousin’s comin’.”
He shifted his belt, the pistol strapped tight in its holster. “Hmmm.”
I’d heard that sound before. Next, he’d be telling me I was wasting my time; I could be looking for a real job, not some no-good minimum-wage junk.
“I don’t want you goin’ too far in.”
A flood of relief swept through me.
For the first time during the conversation, a smile was on his face. And as quickly as it had come, it was gone. “Make sure you’re home for supper or your momma will be in some kinda mess. Ya know she likes at least one meal with us all before she leaves for work.”
The only thing that kept playing in my head was, I could go. I spun around and started toward the door.
“I’ll see you at supper?”
I turned, looked him in the eyes and said, “Sounds good.”
I met Russell and his cousin at our usual spot. Samuel was from up north, Michigan or Minnesota, one of the M’s. He was two years younger, a relation to Russell by way of their mothers being sisters and could have easily passed for Russell’s brother. Both were tall and lanky, with straight blonde hair. He was a quiet kid, but Russell assured me he was just shy around new folks.
“Don’t worry ‘bout him,” Russell said. “What we need is to figure where we’re goin’.” He’d been talking on finding a new spot for weeks, claiming the old ones were all dried up. “We need to go deeper,” he said. “There’s better spots further in, I know it.”
We were already a good ways into the marsh, but Russell’s mother never set rules, which meant Russell expected his friends to have none either. Now, I liked Russell well enough, but sometimes he did tend to take things a bit too far. Especially when he got to thinking he was being outdone.
“I think it’d be fine if we just went to our usual spots,” I said.
Russell ignored me. “I think we ought to take a peek…” he rubbed his chin and looked into the distance “over…there,” he said, pointing east of us. “Beyond that tree line there’s some good fishin’. I can feel it.”
“As long as we’re back by sundown,” Samuel said, applying sunscreen to his shoulders. “My mom already told me she didn’t like the idea of me being out here.”
Russell glared at Sam. “What a yuppie,” he said as he began trudging through the muck and tall grass. “The sun ain’t even hung halfway yet. ’Sides, your mom was the one who told you to come.”
“Yeah, she thought we were gonna ride to town or something, not hike into the jungle.”
“Don’t worry, Sam,” I said. “We don’t stay past dark.”
“Why’s that?”
“Gators feed at night.”
Samuel stopped, face pale. I grinned at Russell, but he was already three steps ahead of us.
My father’s boots were a blessing in the muddy terrain. They’d worn down over the years, but I wouldn’t give them up. The lining in the left was in tatters and neither boot had very much traction.
When Jack had bought me a new pair, I refused to wear them. He wasn’t mad though, I think he understood. He asked if I wanted him to fix the old pair. Now, I wasn’t about to do nothing of the sort, but my mom assured me Jack knew what he was doing. So, I handed them over. The next day, he gave them back, good as new. He’d taken the material he needed from the pair he’d bought.
After an hour of searching, we found a spot Russell deemed fit. I laid my gear up under a few sagging trees and began to bait my line. Russell was pleased with himself, having dragged us so far into the marsh. Once I’d gotten my line in the water and found a comfortable log, I pulled out the leftovers my mother had brought home from her shift the night before.
“What the heck,” Russell said. “You get lunch from your mom and I get nothin’ but a shoe in the butt from mine. Just don’t seem right.”
“Last night at the hotel, we ordered pizza,” Samuel said. “I brought some extra, if you want any.”
“Jesus, am I the only one catchin’ his lunch?”
I told Russell that was the most ignorant thing I’d heard come out his mouth. Samuel and I had plenty of food, but he refused.
We sat in silence for some time, watching our lines in the water. Just when it looked like Russell’s spot was a wash, his bobber went under. He let the line go, stopped it after a few seconds, and then gave it a good jerk, but the fish got the better of him. When he reeled in the line, all he had was a clump of grass and no bait.
“Figures,” Russell said. “If it weren’t for bad luck—”
Samuel’s line began to whine. He locked his reel and jerked the line, bending the pole hard. The fish came thrashing to the surface, its whiskers visible through the splashing water. Seeing an opportunity, Russell ran to Samuel.
“Give it here, Sam,” Russell said, his hands stretched before him. “You don’t know what you’re doin’.”
Samuel stared into the water, not breaking concentration.
Russell grabbed the pole. “Seriously, Sam, hand it over. You’re gonna lose her.”
“I got it,” Samuel said, pulling the pole from Russell’s grasp.
“Ease up, Russell. He’s doin’ fine,” I said.
Russell seized the pole with both hands. “Give it. It’s my pole anyhow.”
Forgetting about the fish on the line, they fought over the pole, until Samuel let go and watched Russell snap the line and lose the fish.
“Holy crap, you see that?” Russell said, dropping the pole to the ground. “Almost had her. Must’ve been some fish.”
Samuel picked up the pole, stared at it for a minute, and went to the tackle box to try and fix his line.
“You should’ve let him try. He almost had it,” I said.
“Yeah, right. You serious?” Russell’s smile fell from his face. “Slow man Sam? He didn’t have a chance. The reason I didn’t bring it in’s ‘cause he didn’t hand my pole over sooner.”
“I think when you tried to take the pole, the fish got the upper hand.”
Russell looked from me to Samuel. Then he asked him, “You really think you had that fish?”
Samuel remained silent, his head down, avoiding Russell’s stare.
“See, he knows he didn’t have no chance. ‘Sides, that fish is still out there. I gotta get my line back in the water,” Russell said, walking back to his spot.
I went to Samuel, who was having trouble with the repair. I opened my tackle box and told him not to worry; I’d get it straightened out.
After another hour or two, the sun’s rays overcame the shade of the trees. Beads of sweat had begun to run down my neck, with the thickening of the air. Not much was said between the three of us for some time. Russell tried breaking it once or twice, but it was a question from Samuel that ended it.
“So…are there really alligators out here?”
“Heck yeah, there is,” Russell said. “That’s why I brought this.” From out his pack, he drew his father’s loaded revolver.
Russell’s father had left him and his mother when he was still a baby. He always said the gun was given to him, but it was really just left behind, along with all the other things I guess his father didn’t need.
“Why the heck’d you bring that,” I said. “The only thing you have to remember your dad by and you got it out here.”
“Screw him; he ain’t comin’ back. If he wanted it so bad, he’d of taken it with him. He’s got plenty of others, anyway. Ain’t that right, Sam?” Russell turned to Samuel, waiting for an answer.
“I think you need to put it away. There ain’t no alligators around and I doubt that’d even pierce the skin,” I said.
“Don’t think this would do anything? I bet I pop that gator in the eye it’d do somethin’.” Russell raised the gun with both hands, one eye down the sight.
I shook my head and turned my attention to Samuel.
“So, Sam, what brings you and your mom down here? I know it wasn’t to visit this guy,” I said, throwing my thumb in Russell’s direction.
He stared hard at the water. I thought he hadn’t heard me, then, he spoke. “My mom and Russell’s mom needed to talk.”
“Oh yeah? You guys plannin’ a family vacation or something?” I reeled my line in to check the bait.
“Not likely,” Russell said. He sat the gun on top of his tackle box. “My mom and his don’t get along, haven’t for fifteen years.”
“I didn’t know your mom had a sister, and you never mentioned Sam.”
“They used to be real close,” Samuel said. “When they were younger, they’d do everything together.”
“What happened?” I asked.
Samuel hesitated, glancing at Russell, who had a cold look on his face. “I guess…I guess they just had a falling out.”
“If that’s what you want to call it,” Russell said. “Now..."
Before Russell could finish, we were struck silent. Samuel’s reel began to whine as the line unraveled. He moved towards the pole, when out of nowhere, Russell snatched it from between the rocks.
“I’m gonna catch me that fish if it’s the last thing I do,” Russell said.
“What the heck do you think you’re doin’? That’s Sam’s fish. He should be the one to catch it.”
Russell laughed. “Oh yeah, I suppose you’re gonna be the one to make me give my pole away?”
My face was on fire. Here was Russell once again trying to prove he was some kind of something. “Dang right,” I said, lunging at Russell. He pulled the pole close to his chest. I tried again, this time grasping the pole on either side of Russell’s hands.
“Let him have the pole, Will,” Samuel said.
“What’re you talkin’ about?” I said, struggling to keep a grip.
“I don’t care if he catches it. He can have it.”
I let the pole go, sending Russell staggering back. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t try.”
Russell turned toward the water. “Finally. You two been actin’ like ya ain’t got no sense in your heads.” He stepped closer to the water’s edge, his feet becoming damp from the soggy ground. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna share,” he said, turning his head toward us. “I just…he was mine first.”
I wasn’t going to let the day be ruined because Russell was being a numbskull. So, I went back to my tackle box and pulled out the other half of my po’ boy. If Russell was catching a fish then I didn’t need to hold back anymore of my food.
Samuel sat on a log and watched as Russell fought the fish. Russell was just past his ankles in the water, laughing and carrying on like I’d never seen. I knew he had the fish close to the shore because I could see the small waves around the line begin to grow.
“That’s one big fish,” Samuel said.
I couldn’t understand how Samuel could let something like that go so quickly, but if he was fine with it, there was no reason for me to be upset. Russell wrestled that huge blue catfish onto the bank, its tail still slapping the water.
“Check it out, guys. This has to be the biggest fish I’ve ever caught.” He leaned over and grabbed the line, lifting the fish out of the water. A smile stretched across his face.
That’s when I saw the white spot, lurking in the shallows behind him, creeping slowly toward the shore. I started to run for Russell, yelling for him to get away from the shore, but it was too late.
The alligator leapt from the water, sending water over Russell’s shoulders. He was thrown to the ground as the alligator swallowed the fish in a single snap. I grabbed Russell by the arms, trying to pull him away from the alligator’s jaws, my feet slipping in the muck.
The alligator’s blue eye locked with mine as its massive jaws opened. Past Russell’s fear-filled face, I stared down the gullet of the gator. The monster let out a shivering hiss before springing forward. I closed my eyes, waiting to feel Russell being ripped away from me or to be dragged into the water myself. All I could think was, I wish Jack were here.
Then, a gunshot exploded through the air. No pain came. No blood-curdling scream, only heavy breathing. I opened my eyes. There stood Samuel, the smoking revolver in his hand. I looked down at Russell. His face was in the mud. I shook him, but he didn’t move. The alligator lay still, its blue eye now a deep crimson.
I got up and dragged Russell away from the gator. Samuel was frozen in place, still gripping the revolver. I laid my hand on top of his and eased the gun down. “Don’t worry, it’s over.” I took the gun from his hands, walked to the gator, and put another shot in the back of its head for good measure.
Samuel sat next to Russell as he was coming to. Russell began to scramble away from the water. “What happened? Where’s the gator?”
“It’s okay Russell, Sam got him,” I said.
Russell looked up at Samuel. “You got him?”
“Yeah.” Samuel said, shrugging off the question.
Russell’s eyes began to water, as he threw his arms around Samuel. “I’m sorry, Sam. I shouldn’t have blamed you.”
“It’s not your fault. I’d have felt the same way.” Samuel returned Russell’s embrace. “You know he left us, too. He didn’t even tell us goodbye.”
“Our dad’s a real son of a gun,” Russell said.
Still not able to wrap my head around the situation, I suggested we might want to think about heading home.
The sun was on its way down when I reached my house. Russell and Samuel had explained the whole story on our long walk back. They told me about how their dad had left Russell’s mom and ran off with Samuel’s.
When I walked into my house I went straight to my room. Dinner wasn’t quite ready and Jack hadn’t come home from work.
Around six, I heard the gravel crunch under the tires of Jack’s cruiser as he pulled into the drive. I cracked my bedroom door to watch him come in. He hung his jacket in the closet, as he always did, and walked into the kitchen where my mother was making dinner.
I crept out of my room and down the hall. I peeked around the corner into the kitchen. My mom was washing off something in the sink. Jack gave her kiss on her cheek and then wrapped his arms around her waist. They began to sway to the music coming from the small wood radio on the shelf.
“Smells wonderful,” Jack said. “I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you.”
My mom smiled. “You’d starve.”
He kissed her once more, then sat down at the table and began to untie his boots. Then he asked if I’d come home. When I heard my name, I walked into the kitchen
“There he is,” Jack said. “How was fishin’? Catch anything?”
I told him no such luck, but maybe Saturday I could go with him. He nodded, then told me if I’d gotten home so early I should have been helping my mother in the kitchen or setting the table. “Your mother works hard, Junior. You should think about helping her out every once in awhile.”
I nodded in agreement, looked him in the eyes and said, “Thanks, Jack.”
