From the first time
we met we were tight. We had a lot in common; shared experiences and similar
roads made us equals on some levels, time and wisdom made him the teacher and me
the student on others. We saw things in the same light. He was one of those
friends you could say a hundred words to with just a look. It was the same with
him. It made for conversations short in content
but long on meaning.
Our last time
fishing together was a great day. He took me around to some of his “spots”
telling me in no uncertain terms that it would be to my benefit to keep the
locations and access points to myself. We didn’t catch many fish that day but enough
to keep talking about at the end of the afternoon as though it had been an extraordinary day.
It was.
It was.
I had told him I was
going to fish with him in the spring. I didn’t. I had tied a bunch of flies for him that I
said I was sending down. I didn’t. They’re
still sitting in a bag at the corner of my desk. At the end of our last phone call
a short time ago I said I’d call the following week. I didn’t. Time seemed short; I had too much to do or some
place to be…now there’s no time.
I should have fished
with him in the spring. I could have easily mailed those flies to him. I would
have made that phone call if I knew time was running out.
“Should ‘a, could ‘a,
would ‘a.” He’d hate that. We talked about those things periodically when
discussing opportunities, options and decisions. He’d say, “So do it. Or don’t.
It’s up to you.” His point was about not making excuses, about owning whatever
you did and living with it, good or bad.
It took me a while
to look my guilt in the face and accept it, to find a place to put it and live
with it. In living with it, I had to say good-bye, in my own way. Whether it
was the right thing or the wrong, I had no idea what else to do or where else
to go. So I went. It was tradition, something left over from a previous life.
He knew it. He’d understand.
I left the office
and stopped at the bar around the corner. I found two seats at the bar, took
one and put my coat on the other. I told the bartender my friend would be there
in a few minutes and ordered two whiskeys. The bartender set the glasses down
and asked if I wanted to start a tab. I paid and told her we were just having
one drink and then moving on.
I took a sip and
flashed through moments we had shared, conversations we had and images of his
cocky smile flooded my memories. I stared in the mirror above the bar and could
see him making long effortless casts and splashing around the flats with a fish
on. I watched him as I finished my whiskey. He turned and shot
me that look that said he knew something that I didn’t and walked out
across the flat toward the point where the water meets the sky. Tears were
streaming down my face when the bartender brought the change back. She asked me
if I was ok. I just nodded, put my glass down and stood up taking one last look
at that flat in the mirror.
“Hey, your friend
didn’t show up”, she said holding up the other untouched glass as I turned to leave.
Over my shoulder, I
replied, “Yeah, he did.”
Time is short.
Do it, or don’t.
It’s up to you.
I love you, Billy.
From the water
30 October 2018
