Chapter 3 #2
Between resorts, a side channel hidden by old, waterlogged trees and brush became visible.
Bower put his oar into the water on the left side of the canoe, dragging the water and turning us right.
I kept my paddle close to the canoe, not wanting it to get stuck when we entered the small space.
Bower and I ducked under the arbor of trees that bent over the channel’s entrance.
As I sat back up, I felt transported to a magical fairyland.
Knotted tree roots lined the channel, their brown bark covered with fuzzy green moss.
Trees bent over the water, making a tunnel for us to glide through.
Frogs croaked and crickets chirped. I looked back at Bower, who held his oar behind the canoe, steering us through.
He smiled at me, and I smiled back. He knew how magical this was.
I felt special that he chose to share it with me.
The channel opened to an area of clear, shallow water.
It was small but could fit our canoe. I could see the sandy bottom of the lake and the seaweed waving back and forth under the water.
We were still under a canopy of trees, completely hidden from the outside world.
At the top of the canopy, I could make out a circle of blue sky, the light from the hole in the canopy casting a spotlight on the water.
“This is the best spot for bass.” Bower slid his oar underneath his seat and pulled a container filled with water out of his pocket. Black blobs squirmed inside. “And this is their favorite food.” He held up the container. Leeches. They gave me the creeps.
“I’m not touching those,” I said.
Bower laughed. “I figured you wouldn’t.” He pulled a fishing rod from the bottom of the canoe and released the line.
Detaching the hook from the metal eye, he held the sharp hook between his fingers on one hand while he opened the container of leeches he held between his legs with the other.
He plucked one out of the container and pierced it onto the hook.
I reached out to grab the rod from his outstretched arm.
“Remember how?”
“Of course I do.” I snatched the rod from him, rolling my eyes.
He laughed again. “It’s been a while.”
It had been a year since I’d fished, but I remembered. It was one of those things that had been engrained in my mind ever since Bower had taught me. Everything about this week every summer was imbedded in my brain. They were the best memories of my summer—maybe of my entire year.
I cast the line out and reeled it in until it was taut, then watched the bobber float in the water and waited. The whirling of Bower’s cast and the plop of his bobber hitting the water quickly followed.
We glanced at each other and grinned. This was great. It was quiet and peaceful. Easy. Everything was easy with Bower. He got me.
“How’s your summer been?” I kept my voice low and quiet. Just like me, the fish also liked the quiet.
“The usual. Fishing, lighting things on fire, keeping my grandma sharp.”
I smiled and shook my head. “Why do you give her such a hard time? She’s so nice.”
“That’s what kids are supposed to do, right? Give their parents grief?”
I couldn’t imagine purposefully giving my parents trouble. I did that enough without even trying. “Maybe if it’s your parents, but those are your grandparents. They’re sweet.”
“Well, since my parents are dead, I don’t have a choice who I cause trouble for.”
My stomach dropped. “Bower, I didn’t mean—”
He waved me off. “I know.”
Last year, Bower had told me about his parents. They’d both died from overdoses in the city. He didn’t remember much about them. He’d been young when his grandparents had taken him in.
I glared out at the water, furious with myself. We’d barely been together, and already I’d said something so stupid. How could I ruin things so quickly?
“Seriously,” Bower said, looking over at me. “I was just kidding. It’s fine.”
He gave me a big, goofy grin, and I couldn’t help the smile that crept up in response. Like I said, easy.
My bobber went under the water before I felt the tug on my rod. I gasped, and my heart started pumping fast. I gave my line a little yank before I started reeling it in. The end of my rod bent toward the water. Whatever was at the end of my line was heavy.
Bower set his rod down on the bottom of the canoe as he grabbed a silver net with green plastic netting. When the fish was by the edge of the canoe, he bent down and scooped it up. The fish flopped back and forth as its scaly body hit the air.
“Nice one!” Bower exclaimed.
I smiled, beaming with pride. The bass was huge—it’d eaten its fair share of leeches. Bower made quick work of unhooking the fish and holding it up for me, his thumb in the bass’s mouth.
I leaned in close to take a look, admiring its yellow-green scales. My chest puffed up with pride. Then I rocked back in my seat, giving Bower a nod. “Thanks,” I said.
He lowered it into the water and let it go before grabbing my hook and re-baiting it with a fresh leech.
Bower knew without asking that I didn’t want to touch the leech or the fish. But he knew I still wanted to be there, still wanted to participate. It just had to be in a different way. And he got that.