Fish

            by Megan Gaebler

 

            My parents died on my fourteenth birthday. They’d crashed into a tree trunk as we took our annual outing to Rosie’s Café. I’d seen the accident from the backseat. It had been raining, the steering fluid needed to be replaced, and my parents had a habit of hydroplaning. A cat trying to get out of the rain had dashed in front of the car. My parents swerved, lost control, and crashed, head first, into a tree.

            They were killed instantly.

            The paramedics said I was lucky to be alive, that the only thing that saved me was my seatbelt. They said my parents were stupid for neglecting to wear theirs, and had they taken two seconds to put them on, at least one might still be living.

 

            A week later, after I got out of the hospital, the small town I lived in held a beautiful memorial service. There were flowers all around my mom’s casket and my dad’s was covered in a black cloth with a picture of my parents on their wedding day propped on top. They looked so happy in the photo. I’d never seen them that happy in real life.

            Everybody who knew them was crying, but I sat stony-faced in the pew, staring straight ahead. The townspeople thought I was in shock because I had seen them die. Actually, I couldn’t find it in me to care. I was sad, of course, but I couldn’t sustain the grief.

            Throughout the service, I stood with the Brunner family, who I’d been staying with. Their son, Michael, had always been my best friend. He was pretty much my only friend. Our parents were really close. In fact, his mom was my godmother. Since my parents had been only children, I didn’t have any aunts or uncles to be shipped off to. So, I was allowed to live with the Brunners. I’d stayed there all the time, anyway, even when my parents were alive.

           

            “Paul, wake up,” came a voice from somewhere above me. I groaned and pulled the covers over my head.

            “Mom made your favorite breakfast,” the voice came again. Someone was tugging at the covers.

            “Go away,” I said.

            “No. You’ll miss breakfast. It’s pancakes.” The blankets flew off my body and sunlight pierced through my eyelids.

            “Dude, what the hell,” I said, sitting up and trying to grab the blankets back, but Michael had already danced out of reach.

            “Come on, man,” he said, throwing the blankets at my chest. “Get dressed and eat already. We’re supposed to go fishing, remember? It’s your birthday.”

            “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I said, but he’d already gone to get the fishing poles. I pulled on yesterday’s jeans, a T-shirt from the floor and shoved my feet into sneakers before heading out to breakfast.

            “Good morning, Paul,” Michael’s mom said from the stove.

            “Good morning, Nancy,” I said, sitting down. “I heard you made my favorite breakfast.”

            “Only because it’s your birthday,” she teased, setting a stack of pancakes in front of me. “That reminds me,” she added, turning back towards the stove, “the sheriff stopped by earlier. He said that you now have the deed to your parent’s house.” I froze mid-bite. I had only recently accomplished walking past that house normally. “It was left to you in the will, but they couldn’t legally give it to you until now. The Sheriff said, now that you’re eighteen, you don’t have to live with a guardian anymore. You can stay here as long as you like, though,” she added with a smile.

            “Thanks, Nancy,” I said. Michael burst into the room, carrying fishing rods, a tackle box, and a cooler.

            “Ready to go?” he asked.

            “Yeah,” I said, pushing my barely-touched pancake platter away. I’d lost my appetite. “Thanks for the breakfast, Nance.”

 

            The sky was a beautiful deep blue, reflected back at us from the calm, glass-like lake surface below. Michael and I set down our supplies at the end of the dock and prepared to cast.

            “So, I heard about the house,” Michael said. “Are you gonna go live there now?”

            “I dunno.” I threw my line out. It hit the water, barely leaving a ripple. “It’d be weird, living by myself.”

            “I could go with you, you know. To visit.” Michael had his line in the water now. “I mean, just check the place out. See if you want to live there.”

            “Yeah… we could…” I stared aimlessly at the point where my fishing wire entered the water. Michael shrugged.

            “It was just an idea,” he said. “We don’t have to go.” I realized I’d been holding my breath and slowly exhaled. The water was beginning to get a bit choppy, breaking the reflected sky.

            “I don’t know,” I said. “It’s been so long.” Truth was, I kind of did want to go back, but I wasn’t sure I wanted Michael there. His parents hadn’t died. He wouldn’t understand if I started freaking out at being inside that house. Then again, he had practically been my brother for four years. It was obvious that he just wanted to be there for me. I watched my fishing line gently swaying in the slight breeze, unattractive to any fish.

            “You shouldn’t let time stop you,” Michael said. “If anything, it’s better to go back now just because it’s been so long.” He was right, but I still couldn’t make myself go with him. “We could even go today, if you want.”

            “Yeah, I know.” Flies buzzed close to the lake’s surface. A rainbow trout would occasionally jump out to catch one, but they weren’t taking our bait. A few minutes passed before I decided to tell Michael I would go without him.

            “Hey, Mike—” I started.

            “Dude! I got one!” Michael suddenly exclaimed, jumping to his feet. Something was jerking his line around to and fro, creating tiny ripples as it moved. He jerked his pole to lodge the hook deeper into the fish and started reeling the wire in. “What were you saying?”

            “Just that I was gonna go to their… my house today.”

            “Cool, man,” Michael grunted, his face screwed up in concentration. “Want company?”

            “Um…” I looked up at him. I couldn’t just abandon him. We’d been through too much together. “Sure,” I said, a bit of malaise creeping into the pit of my stomach. The fish was out of the water now, a beautiful eighteen-inch specimen flopping around the deck with a hook in its mouth, gasping for air.

 

            The house looked like all the other houses in the neighborhood: stucco exterior with a black shingle roof and a porch stretching along the front side of the house. The only variation found in the outside of the houses was the color, and even those came from the same area of the color wheel—pastel.

            Over the years, the house had become slightly dilapidated due to lack of upkeep. The once perfectly manicured lawn had become overrun with weeds spreading onto the front walk. Ivy grew along the side of the house, partly covering some windows. Some of the shingles had fallen off of the roof. The wide windows were caked in dirt and dust. The entire house marred the neighborhood’s uniform look.

            “It’s a fixer-upper,” Michael joked in his best realtor voice, “but I guarantee that you’ll know your way around.”

            “That was awful,” I said.

            “Sorry, just trying to lighten the situation.”

            “Whatever, let’s just go inside.” I walked up to the porch, found the spare key under a dead potted plant and opened the heavy mahogany door. The stale smell of dust greeted my nostrils as I stepped into the house for the first time in four years. Michael walked in after me, surreptitiously glancing over with a worried look on his face. I just stared around at everything. It looked the same. Older, but the same. The inside was in much better condition than the outside, probably because it wasn’t exposed to the elements.

            “We don’t have to be here if you don’t want to be,” Michael said, breaking the silence.

            “No, it’s okay. I think I should be back here now. It has been four years,” I said. It was quiet for a little longer.

            “Are you sure?” Michael asked. “It was just an idea. We can come back later.”

            “It’s fine,” I said. “Like you said, time is an excuse to do things, not run away from them. Besides, this is my house now. I can live here if I want to.”

            I walked into the living room and sat on the couch. Sunlight streamed through the huge windows. My parents smiled at me from across the coffee table. They were in their pajamas, looking on expectantly. Glancing at my hands, I noticed a brightly wrapped box. It was my birthday. I was fourteen. I was getting my customary morning present before we went to Rosie’s Café to get breakfast.

            “Go on, sweetie,” Mom said. “Open it.”

            “Come on, sport,” Dad agreed. “The sooner you open this, the sooner you can have Rosie’s pancakes.” Pancakes were my favorite breakfast! I looked at the present in my hands and reached out to rip off the wrappings. They came off to reveal a… a… model airplane? My face fell. I was expecting a stack of new CDs like I’d asked for.

            “I know how much you like that band Jefferson Airplane,” Dad said. “I thought you might like a toy airplane to remind you of it.”

            “No, Dad,” I said. “You like Jefferson Airplane. I’m too old for toys like this anyway.”

            “But you can paint it! And I know how you like painting,” Mom said.

            “Yeah, sure, Mom.” I stared at the box in my hands. It was a model World War II plane.

            “Paul?” came Michael’s voice. “Paul, are you okay?”

            I shook my head. Across the room, there was nothing except the upright grand piano Mom used to give lessons on. I wasn’t holding an airplane. I was eighteen, not fourteen.

            “I’m fine,” I said. “The couch is still in good condition. Let’s go see another room.” Michael followed me into the dining room.

            “Are you sure you’re okay?” he said. “You look kind of—”

            “I’m fine,” I snapped. I knew it was a bad idea for him to come. He didn’t understand how difficult this was. “Why did you make me come here?” Michael looked at me, wide-eyed.

            “I didn’t! You wanted to!” he protested.

            “But it was your idea in the first place!”

            “You told me you were fine!” he said. “You wanted to come here! I never made you do anything!” I glared at him, annoyed that he was right.

            “Look,” Michael continued, “if you don’t want to be here, then you should leave. It’s okay. It’s difficult to come back to this.”

            “How would you know? Your parents are still alive!”

            Michael stared at me. “I don’t believe you,” he said. “I’m trying to help.”

            “Maybe it would be better if you didn’t,” I said, glaring. There was a pause, then:

            “Fine. If you don’t want me here, I’ll leave.”

            Michael turned and stormed out the door.

            I dropped to the floor, shaking. I couldn’t believe he’d just walked out on me like that. Then again, I had been yelling. Looking around, I spotted a picture from about ten years ago. Michael and I were beaming widely at the camera, both holding seven-inch fish we’d just caught. It was the first time we’d been fishing. Michael’s dad had taught us how to bait a hook, cast a line, and reel in fish. After three hours, the first fish bit Michael’s hook. Shortly after, I felt a tug at the end of my wire as well. Once they broke the water, the fish struggling at the end were pathetically small. Michael and I didn’t care. We had caught fish. We were men.

            When I got home, proudly showing off my kill, Dad looked at me.

            “Do you plan on eating that?” he had said.

            “I guess so,” I said. “I hadn’t really thought of it.”

            “Well, it’s too small to feed the whole family.”  My face fell as Mom walked in.

            “It’s okay,” she had said. “Michael invited you over for dinner, so you guys can have a fish feast at his house.”

            “Okay!” I’d replied, beaming. This wasn’t an irregular occurrence. I had dinner at Michael’s more than I had dinner at my own house.

            I looked up from the picture of my eight-year-old self proudly holding the first fish I’d ever killed. Michael was more of a family to me than my parents ever were. Now I’d messed that up. I stood and walked out of the house, hoping to catch him. When I got outside, however, the street was deserted. I headed towards the docks. They had been our meeting spot ever since we learned to fish. If Michael wanted me to find him, that’s where he would be.

           

            Michael sat on the dock, hunched over and staring into the water. I sat down next to him.

            “What do you want?” he asked. “I thought I didn’t understand you.”

            “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean half of what I said. And I didn’t mean for any of it to sound that mean.”

            “Whatever,” Michael said. “I know you miss your parents.”

            “Yeah… I’m not so sure I do.” Michael looked at me for the first time since I yelled at him. “I mean, they weren’t that great,” I continued. “I was always over at your house, even before they died, remember?”

            “That’s true,” he said, throwing a piece of wood into the water.

            “Your family is my family now. I think you were even before I started living with you. It’s kind of weird how that happened,” I said.

“So… what does this mean?”

“So I don’t think I’m going to live in that house. It doesn’t mean enough to me. Thanks for coming, though.”

            “No problem,” he said, grinning and reaching for the fishing poles. “So, you want to keep fishing or what?”