Chapter 9
Nine
Devon
Iled him to a big rock and the two of us sat down, and for the next hour he talked about how much had changed since he started playing and how much he hated. “I didn’t know you hated any part of it,” I said.
“Playing the shitty clubs and hoping we don’t get something thrown at us, I hate that.
And honestly, I could live without playing at another strip club.
I know it turned out good, but that’s not what I want the band to be about.
It just feels like we had to give up everything important to get anywhere and I don’t know if it’s worth it. ”
“What do you like about it?” I asked, hoping to remind him again of what he had once loved.
“I like it when we’re all in the same space and vibing to our music. There’s something so pure and creative about it. I always thought playing in front of a big audience would be the ultimate high. But playing with the three of you and just enjoying the music means more.”
“How long have you felt like this?” I asked. We hadn’t known each other that long, and as far as I knew his goal was to be in a successful band and tour.
“Right after we played in Vegas.” We’d been there for more than a week and played a few different clubs, but all of them had been crazy, and we were more than ready to leave when that part of the tour was done.
“The last gig?”
“Yeah,” he said, and I knew what he meant.
It was a bar that was far away from the strip but busy.
Lots of rock bands played there but it wasn’t our crowd.
Something they reminded us of through the whole show.
The entire place shouted us down and we had to dodge a few beer bottles.
But the best part was that we had to call the cops to escort us out of the place.
“But you know shit like that isn’t normal. I’ve never played anywhere else that’s happened.”
“I know. But it started me thinking,” he said and had a faraway look in his eye. “How long is it still going to be fun.”
“When we play together, I love it, but the rest of it I can do without. How about we don’t worry about it for a few days.
Just enjoy the time here, and maybe write a song or two,” I said and took both his hands in mine.
His fingers were long and more delicate than mine but just as strong.
The calluses on the tips of the fingers on his right hand were as familiar as those on my own.
“I like that idea a lot. Just you and me,” he said and ran his fingers through the hair above my ear.
“What do you know about fishing?” I asked suddenly, making him laugh.
“Not much, I mean I fished when I was a kid but that was a lifetime ago,” he finally said.
“Me either, but they said we can fish in the river and I’m curious.”
“Sounds like we’re fishing then,” he said and stood. “Let’s see what we’ve got to work with.”
We walked back to the cabin, and I showed him where the poles and supplies were. “Tackle,” he said as he opened the toolbox I’d shown him. “It’s called tackle. The stuff you use to fish with,” he explained.
“How do you know that?”
“My grandparents used to take me camping when I was a kid. I learned how to fish but I was never all that good at it. And I’ve forgotten nearly everything they taught me.
” He looked through the different items and chose two shiny things with hooks attached.
“We’ll try lure fishing. The water’s high so it’s not the best idea but you never know. ”
“It’ll be fun. I’ve never tried before,” I said and squeezed in close to watch him.
“We should go to one of the ponds where you pay by the pound. You just need to throw a line in, and you’re guaranteed to catch a fish.”
“That’s a thing?”
“Didn’t you go camping when you were a kid?” he asked.
“They went. I stayed home. Haven’t you noticed I’m not really all that big on the outdoors. Inside is fine with me.”
“I did not know that. Not that we’ve had time to go explore much when we’ve been playing.
” He got that far-off look in his eyes again before meeting mine with a grin.
“Take this and I’ll show you what to do.
If I remember right.” He handed me one of the poles and we walked down to the river.
This time we followed a trail that led down closer to the water.
There was a sandy area where the water slowed down and lapped against the shore instead of rushing by.
Johnny took the fishing pole from me and got it ready to go.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I asked.
“Of course, what could go wr—forget I said that. Hold it like this, put your thumb there, and when you’re ready to cast it out just release it there and it’ll fly.”
I looked at the pole while he explained it, but I didn’t understand what he was saying. “Maybe I need to see it first,” I said, and hoped it was easier than it sounded.
“Okay, so this is what you want to do,” he said and clicked something and adjusted the line, then stood at the edge and flicked his wrist. The hook went flying and as soon as it hit the water, he started cranking the little handle.
“You want to reel it back in slow and steady. We’re fishing with lures, so you want to make it look attractive to the fish. ”
“So, you’re luring it in?” I said, making him laugh.
“Exactly! Now try it,” he said just after he reeled his line all the way in.
I did as he said, gave it a toss, and it landed in the middle of a manzanita bush. “Fuck,” I said and ignored his giggle because if I was being honest, it was nice to hear, and if it meant throwing my fishing line in the middle of a bush to hear it, I’d do that all day.