A Bridge for the Waters

 

          Everyone loves to burn bridges. The thrill of it all must be akin to that of a good old fashioned barn burning. That is, of course, all dependent on the reasons they way back lay blackened and drowned. But as I sit next to my fishing buddy Colby, it is not of charred, spear-tipped columns and smothered ashes I am thinking of when he picks up on my state of inner monologue.

“You had any bites?”

“Not a one yet.”  

                    

“How would you know? You’ve been staring off into the fourth for half an hour.”

“Ah, I’m just watching the lake.”

     We were fishing a secluded cove, anchored just right so that to look out at the greater water was to see no land on the other side; much like staring out into the ocean.

“Yeah? And what’s she tellin’ ya AJ?”

“Just stuff man. Toss me a beer.”

     He didn’t say a word as he handed me the flask of scotch, though a few seconds later I heard him utter some sort of sarcastic reproach under his breath. Normally I would have struggled to bite my tongue- but I could have cared less at the moment. My head was in an entirely different place.

     It was in a place across that great expanse of water I mentioned before, where all my devils where known to dwell; and from whence I had just burned the path of sure return not too long ago. I was interrupted suddenly by the sound of my line being pulled deep and away by my supper, and everything else faded for a few moments.

“Damn, that’s a keeper for sure” Colby exclaimed as the fish broke the surface. We both smiled, gasping at the fish’s size as I drew it nearer.

“Yeah, I think we’re in the right spot. Look at your pole man.”

     Colby nearly fell out of the boat as he lurched over to his side to retrieve his renegade pole. I turned my attentions back to my own catch, and as I reached for the giants mouth, my laughter fell short. I saw, in the depths beneath the fish, the faces of the past. My ex, my father, the old man that died in a car wreck, friends from the service who had passed, others lost in one way or another- for better or worse. They all gazed up at me with various expressions, and they all grasped for my hand.

“What are you doing? Hurry the hell up and give me a hand over here” Colby exclaimed.

“S**t…”

     I hoisted my catch, a good 25 pound Cat into the boat and bashed him before bounding over to Colby’s side. His fish was slightly larger, and slightly angrier. We had a hell of a time getting that thing aboard.

“What the hell took you so long over there?”

“Ah… just thought I saw a snake or something in the water.”

“So you practically stuck your face in the water for a snake?”

“Just forget it won’t ya? Bait up.”

     We fished on for a few more hours until high noon with only moderate success before shoring up for lunch. I need not tell the reader what we had to eat. Afterwards we smoked, had a few beers, and passed the flask back and forth for a while in relative silence.

    

“So what was your problem earlier man?”

"Nothing, I'm fine now." 

“That didn’t look like fine. I know there wasn’t a damn snake.”

“…I’ve had that Johnny Cash song in my head all day.”

“Well that’s a real help. Explains everything.”

“Bridge over Troubled Water” I said, throwing an empty can at him. “Let’s get back out there.”

“So what’s the trouble” he asked as we cast off.

“There’s no bridge I guess; one direction or another.”

“Ah. I see.”

     Again in silent fashion, we baited our hooks and cast out before sitting down to a few more drinks, a couple of smokes. I couldn’t help but gaze down into the murky waters lapping against the pontoons, wondering when one of those cold, pale, clammy hands would reach out and pull me under. Maybe they already had, in a sense, and I just hadn’t realized it yet. Maybe I was just as drowned as they were; or maybe I was just drunk.

     I thought back to each of those faces in the water; how my ex had looked so disappointed and hurt. My father had just looked scornful as always- evil, and the old man; helpless. Each expression told the story of how they hand ended up there, in the depths. My ex’s face was the most painful one to recollect, by far. That time of my life had been the most personally challenging by far, and had, for better or worse, shaped who I felt I was today.

“Sun’s starting to go down.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Would you look at that,” I said as I set my eye across the endless watery horizon to where the sky came down.  

The sun, with the beginning tinges of red, shone in such a fashion across the entire body of water it was as if we were travelers on a bridge of tainted gold.

“’Must be another sign from Johnny.”

“Yeah…” I said.

     We fished through the night, catching quite a mess of those damned ol’ catfish, and a buzz to boot.