Reflection

Wayne McCoy · 01-21-2012, 02:16 PM

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but our hearts will need us to be steady and strong

so we can stand and face the fire

burning higher and higher

SSWM Word Count → 612

The rough collie rummaged through a pouch, and Wayne glanced serenely at the river as his hand played over the weave of the basket. Her sudden outburst, however, made him jump and glance over at her before he broke out into laughter as she triumphantly snatched up the fishhook. He could relate to suffering a multitude of minor injuries from equipment, including smashing his thumb with a hammer and getting splinters and rope burns on a day to day basis. When she coughed awkwardly, he only shot a wink her way then listened with interest as she went on.

“You have a boat?” the southern man asked, half-flopped ears pricked. He realized sheepishly that she had mentioned trawling for fish on the boat before, but he’d been distracted from asking the question like he’d wanted to. He adjusted his posture on the bank, bringing one knee up and resting his arm across it as he stared curiously at her. “Did you build it yourself, or find an old human one?”

The cowboy hadn’t been around boats other than the few occasions as a whelp, but he believed he knew what she was talking about when she mentioned fishing with it. Then again, maybe it was because “trawling” sounded like “trolling,” which some of the fishermen he’d spoken to back then had done. With the right kind of fish, one could troll even in a slow boat.

The woman moved suddenly, and sheer luck landed the fish she had thrown at him into his broad hands. He smirked at her then took an experimental bite. Pretending to choke crossed his mind, though there was no danger of him actually doing something like that; he wasn’t outgoing enough for pranks. Besides, he betrayed himself immediately with closed eyes and a sigh of contentment as the flavor of the fish reached his tongue.

“If I can taste somethin’ that again, I’m motivated,” Wayne said, teasing slightly—though even if it hadn’t been cooked nicely his hunger would have made it taste like heaven. “Been a good while since I’ve had fish.”

Once again, Neela dug into the pouch, this time pausing for a moment to look at what she had pulled out before handing it to him. He ran a thumb pad over the leather guard and wondered why she would have more than one before abandoning the inquisitive train of thought. It was probably just more practical to have more than one in case the other was lost or damaged.

He did his best to follow her instructions, hooking the line into the guard. His fingers weren’t very dexterous, but after a couple of attempts he figured it out and was able to flick his hand to let the line fly—careful not to send the hook into Neela after her recent brush with it.

“I ain’t gonna take chances,” the Labrador mix said, reaching for the bait and sliding it onto the hook. Even if the fish were okay with chasing after something pointy and shiny, he didn’t think he would have the same skill to hook them.

He flicked the line into the water, watched the current pull it, and waited for when he felt a bite. As he did so, even if his eyes were on the water, he addressed his fishing companion. “Have ya lived in Nova Scotia long?” Small talk could be seen as nothing more than idle chatter, and it was odd for the soft-spoken cowboy to be the one to start a conversation, but he liked talking to the older woman so far and supposed he might be able to learn another thing or two from her.

Wayne McCoy

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