“Tell me about it
again, Grandpa.”
“I’ve told you
a hundred times, Billy.”
“I know but I
love that story.”
“Alright. Grab
the lines and met me by the truck. I’ll tell you on the way.”
“Yes!” Billy
spun on his heels and ran in the house. Seconds later he busted out
the front, screen door holding two fishing poles and black and
neon-yellow tackle box.
Grandpa shuffled
around to the front of the house, digging through his cut-off jean
shorts for the truck keys. He grabbed the poles from his grandson
and placed them in the bed of the truck. Billy stepped up on the
tire and stretched his arm over, setting the tackle box down next to
them.
“Off we go.”
Grandpa opened the door to the truck and climbed in, while Billy ran
around to the passenger side.
Before his grandpa
could even turn on the ignition Billy was asking about the story.
“Tell me about the big one, Grandpa.”
“Hold your
horses.” He started the old truck up, and then rolled down his
window. Even during the hottest days of summer he refused to turn on
the A/C. “Roll that window down, get some of that sweet summer air
in here.”
Billy cranked the
window while his grandpa backed the truck out the driveway.
“Grandpa?”
“Okay, okay. The
first time I lay eyes on that fish, I knew I had to catch it. It was
like nothin’ I ever seen before.”
Pablo moved to West
Palms when he was just a child. He had been given up for adoption
from his parents just after he was born. His fosters told him that
his biological parents weren’t equip to handle his handicap, which
was just a nice way of telling him that they didn’t want him. It
was a rare mutation. So rare he was the only case ever reported.
Just below his right elbow, Pablo’s arm became a trout.
His foster parents
were well off and had the option to have it surgically removed but
noticed Pablo, even at a young age, was attached to it as if it was
his pet. They decided to leave it. He grew up receiving many taunts
by both children and adults. He had even hid it under a sock while
attending middle school. But his parents were quick to comfort him
and eventual he grew confident in his mutation. After college Pablo
went into business for himself. He was a successful owner of
packaging company, shipping and packing products all over the world.
He was known for his handshake deals; the man that made promises with
his trout hand.
“Hey Pablo,
what’s up?” Devon asked, he had been Pablo’s roommate in
college and they had stayed close ever since.
Pablo stretched out
in the lawn chair. “Not much, sunbathing… waterbathing.” He
nodded to his trout hand as it fluttered around in the small Koi
pond.
“Brought us some
lunch,” Devon said. He plopped down on the chair next him and
unraveled a brown paper bag. “Bloodworms.” He pulled out a
small, styrofoam cup filled with dark soil and writhing with worms.
“And,” he opened a second bag. “Some turkey avocado subs.”
“Excellent.”
Pablo pulled his hand from the pond and reached into the cup. The
trout dug through the soil, gulping down bloodworm after bloodworm.
They ate their
sandwiches in the mid-morning sun, enjoying their weekend and talking
about old times. It wasn’t until they heard tires squealing out
front of Pablo’s home that they stopped. Both men standing up from
their lawn chairs and trying to peer over the bushes that separated
the front yard from the back.
“What was that?
An accident?” Devon asked. He saw the concerned look on his
friend’s face.
“No, I- I think
it’s…” Pablo’s words trailed off internally.
Devon heard two
doors slam and the murmur of muted voices. He watched as panic
flooded over Pablo.
“They found me,”
was all he said before running.
An older man and a
young boy broke through the bushes carrying fishing lines baited with
dangling worms. The boy also had a tackle box full of assorted hooks
and lure while the older man had a wire net on an aluminum pole.
They chased after Pablo like hungry savages.
“I see him,
Grandpa. He’s real. He’s really real,” Billy said as he ran,
hopping over the Koi pond.
“I told you boy.
And this time he ain’t getting away.”
Devon stood
shocked. He couldn’t comprehend what was happening. Pablo had
never mentioned anything like this ever happening to him before. It
was hard to believe.
Grandpa cut him
off, blocking the path to the backdoor. He slung his line back and
tossed the wormed-hook at Pablo’s chest. It bounced down to the
grass lying flat. Tucking the net under his arm, he began reeling
the line in. Pablo’s trout hand immediately spotted the dancing
worm and reacted, darting forward, pulling Pablo to his knees.
“No! Not again!”
he shouted to his hand.
Billy ran up
behind, blocking Pablo in. He set the tackle box and his line on the
ground. “Grandpa, toss me the net.”
Grandpa waited
until the trout hand lunged onto the worm, before tossing the net to
his grandson. Then he pulled the line taunt, snagging the fish hand
on the hook. Pablo winced in pain, watching in agony as the hook
broke through the side of his trout hand's mouth.
Billy grasped the
net from the air and slammed it down over Pablo’s head like he had
been training his whole life for this moment. “We got him,
Grandpa! We got him!”
Devon moved toward
his friend, hesitant to involve himself. “What the hell is going
on here?”
“Stay out of
this, son,” Grandpa said. “This is our catch, fair and square.”
He continued to reel the line in, until he was face to face with
Pablo.
“I'm calling the
cops,” Devon said, running back to the lawn chairs to get his cell
phone.
Grandpa and Billy
ignored him, focusing on their catch.
“Thought you
could get away from me, didn't you,” Grandpa snarled.
“Let me go.”
“You've been
running long enough, time to come home. Got a perfect spot for you
right above my mantle.”
“Cops are on the
way!” Devon shouted from across the yard.
Pablo noticed
Grandpa and Billy glance over at his friend, letting down their
guard. He knew it was his only chance. Jumping to his feet, Pablo
knocked the net off his head with his free arm and then ripped the
hook out of his trout. It tore a small hole, leaving blood running
down his fish forearm.
“Grab him! Grab
him!” Grandpa shouted.
But Pablo was
already running, pushing passed Billy and sprinting to the front
yard.
Both Grandpa and
Billy gave chase but Pablo was too fast, darting across yards and out
of sight.
“Damnit.”
Grandpa cursed as he pulled up, out-of-breath.
Billy stopped
beside him. “He got away again.”
“Don't worry,
we'll track him down. He can't run forever. I'll chase that fish
until the day I die.”
The End.
The Darkest Part of The Forest
