by Patrick Siniscalchi

On the calm lake, before the winds of the predicted low-pressure system arrived, Elmore’s mind was split between remembrance and a deliberate forgetfulness. The two-seater Jon boat rested in a marsh of lily pads; the sweet fragrance of their flowers permeated the humid air. The boat’s bow dipped a few inches without the usual counterbalance on the second seat in the stern. Every few moments, he’d catch a pair of amphibious eyes peering, like miniature periscopes, from the free-floating vegetation. They seemed to question why he kept staring vacantly, not casting his line, and why had he brought two poles? He shrugged off the extra pole as part of his Sunday morning routine. Yet bug spray had been forgotten, allowing a mosquito to drill into his bare arm. He watched it pierce his skin, devoid of the drive to smash it into a bloody smear. That blood-sucking pest’s trilling counterparts created a symphony that neither soothed nor annoyed him.

He had dressed the part—his combination life jacket/fishing vest clung to his tired bones, and his lucky fishing cap, courtesy of Big Billy’s Barbecue, protected his hairless crown. When he initially wore the hat to a bass tournament three years ago, he clinched first place with a thirteen-pounder and earmarked the cap as essential fishing gear. Is that what life comes down to, luck? Does luck determine which bass gets yanked from the safety of its watery home?

Elmore rubbed his gray beard, foreign to his face until a month ago. It drew double-takes, but he lacked the energy, the will to make himself feel at ease in his world, now forever unsettled.

That pivotal day had also held the promise of quietude until the DJ cut into the smooth jazz station during his morning commute to announce an active shooter situation at the factory where Lamar worked. Elmore had prayed his son had been caught in traffic and arrived late. Why couldn’t luck have delayed him long enough to avoid the carnage? Why did luck come up ‘heads’ when you called ‘tails?’

He removed his cap, letting the quick-rising heat of the day penetrate his scalp. After regarding the hat, he flung it into the water. Luck was never to be trusted again. Elmore cast his line and waited.

Photo by Rainhard Wiesinger on Unsplash