Part 2 – Fishing Friends (a short story about friends and fishing)
The two boys are good friends and it seems like they always have been from their earliest memories. Only six months apart in age and three blocks in distance; they can’t recall themselves when they first met or became friends. They just remember that they are good friends since toddlers playing in the park.
Straight after Sunday church service they change into jeans and t-shirts, taking a jacket to please their mothers, and meet up at their prearranged corner on Elm and Meadow Streets. Tackle boxes tied to the back of their bikes are filled with bobbers, lures, and a sandwich. Their fishing rods balanced off the bike handlebars at angles and each boy carried a plastic bag, air holes punched in, filled with worms and mud dug from their backyards. Both of them had four dollars saved up from chores in their pockets to buy soda or bottled water and a bag of potato chips at the local gas station near the river.
They are still young enough that what they eat, drink and see throughout the day and night is the stuff of wonder. The fishing trips are their weekly Sunday afternoon adventures riding their bikes through the small town to the river. The small town is in a green valley bounded by fall-colored tall trees. The river cuts through on a curve through town. They ride their bikes past grassy foothills in the valley on an old road that runs along the river. The boys are lucky to live in a town in a valley set under grassy hills near the big river that runs with water even in dry weather.
Its four p.m. and they been fishing at the river since noon. The younger boy caught a small catfish and the older one hooked a nice size bass. They talk, without slowing down their casting, about the fish in the river, sports and video game scores. On the banks other people have packed up their fishing gear.
The blue heron and snowy egret have flown away and the ducks and geese hide in reeds and rocks on the shore. The river is a quiet empty watery space. Afternoon sun is shining bright and it is still and hot. The only sounds are the boys’ laughter and river current. They’ll have to finish soon and head home for dinner. “One last cast,” the older one says with a smile. “Yeah, one last try,” the younger one nods. With practiced skill they swing their rods forward as the lures glide on fishing line through the air.
Part 1 – Fishing on the River