So while Julie and Dave the piano player make their escape, let us take a break from the soon-to-be-trilogy and explore a scene so common, most men will deny that it has ever happened…to them. Here is today’s entry in my continuing series, Flash Fiction Fridays!
A very short (and somewhat true) story by D.J. Lutz, copyright January 2011
There was no beer to be had because, as everyone knew, fishing was serious business. It was a calling, bestowed upon a lucky few by a higher power, and Stanley had that calling. That said, there might as well have been a keg on board, given the lack of fish in the cooler. Stanley had been out for the entire day, running the outboard at full throttle, going from hole to hole. Nothing. Not even baitfish were biting. While the empty cooler did indeed seem to mock him, Stanley was really bothered by his wife, who had told him before he left that the fish wouldn’t be schooling today.his is
“Moon’s not right,” she said.
“How would you know about fishing and the moon?”
“A wife usually knows more than her husband gives her credit.”
“We’ll see. Just get the grill ready, we’re having fish for dinner.”
The trip had been a loser almost from the beginning. Just starting the motor took over an hour. Seven hours later, rainstorm. It had snuck up on Stanley while he was pulling up to a bridge. Everyone had said “Don’t go out today, front coming in,” but Stanley knew better. No, a little rain wasn’t going to bother him. He would just set the anchor and allow the current to push his boat safely under the bridge. The plan worked, keeping him out of trouble for the moment. Nice and dry, Stanley knew that his luck, like the tide, had finally turned. The rain eventually stopped and he was ready to weigh anchor and get going.
Stanley had never lost an anchor before, but then again, he had never dropped an anchor into a pile of rocks like those. Cutting the line, his anchorless boat started drifting with the tide, the engine now only sputtering in vain.
A day of running the boat at top speed meant that, like the cooler, there was nothing left in the gas tank. Two hours of drifting with the waves gave Stanley time to think. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. “Damn, could my wife have been right?”
Fortunately, a Jon boat came by, skippered by an old man hoping to net some shrimp. Stanley sighed in resignation. He knew that there was nothing more embarrassing than getting towed back by a flat bottomed boat, but he had no choice.
Fishing was, indeed, serious business. It was a calling, bestowed upon a lucky few by a higher power. Stanley may have been skunked this time, he thought, but there would be a “next time,” for he had that calling.
As his powerless boat was being tied to the dock, Stanley realized that he now had to answer to that higher power.
His cell phone had buzzed.
“Hi dear…no, you were right…”