Throw 'em Back

Growing up I wasn't allowed to go alone to many places. That's because of a few reasons. There was my the incident with my brother, which is a dirty, dark story. Which, I don't really want to get into now. And then there's my biological father, who threatened to do physical harm when the courts charged him for child support. Another topic I tend to keep in Pandora's box.

So, my family became very protective and very watchful of my every move, including during summer time. But, there were some times, some places I could go that were deemed safe. Safe enough that I could go without being monitored and worried about.

Uncle Shorty liked whiskey. He was always happy. If he ever showed up to any family function, I remembered him having a bottle under each arm. Uncle Shorty, to me, always seemed happy.

He rode a motorcycle until the day he died. Smoked Lucky Strikes. He was a bad ass. He never quite fit in completely with the Hill sisters, but they loved him to bits. I think it was his ability to be completely authentically himself that endeared him to us all. When I think of him, so many memories rush through my whole body. His laugh, his smile, the way he transformed when he sat on his motorcycle. No one can ever say Uncle Shorty had any regrets. At least, that’s how I remember him.

It was always a treat when I could go Uncle Shorty’s place. He had acres and acres of land. It was so beautiful. The grass, the trees. All the different animals. Ahhh, it was heaven. I used to breathe differently when I was there. Horses ran free along the edge of his land line, where a small fence guided them. I think the horses were just as wild as Uncle Shorty was.

But my favorite place was right in the middle, which had a lake that spanned for miles. Shorty loved to fish and whenever I visited, fishin’ was always part of the visit. I never was one to be able to sit still when I was a kid. Back then they called me a tomboy. But sittin’ by the lake with Uncle Shorty, somehow, I was able to sit on that grass and just be.

When it was time to fish, we never caught anything. That was not the point. We would just sit there for hours in silence together, holdin’ sticks in the water. I used to run my fingers across to top of the blades of grass, close my eyes, listen to the wind whisper her secrets to me. I think of that me now and I wonder what magic that place held over me. I remember my shoulders immediately lowering, my breath slowing, my mind and heart opening to all the animals and elements surrounding me.

There we were, at the lake. He would bring sandwiches out and we would nibble on them throughout the day. Perfectly content not to move from our very comfy spots.

But there was one time during one of our fishing expeditions that we caught something. He caught this fish and I remember him saying “Hey, I got one!”. And I saw it. It was flailing with this hook in its mouth, struggling to breath. I looked in its eyes. And somehow those eyes on that fish were talking. I saw fear. I saw terror and without a thought, I grabbed that fish. I grabbed that fish right out of Uncle Shorty’s hands and somehow I got that hook out of its mouth and threw it back in the lake. I remember Uncle Shorty being in utter shock. I did not realize it at the time, but when I was done throwing that fish back in, something else happened. To this day, I don’t remember exactly what happened The last thing I remember is looking over the edge of that peaceful lake, looking to the very deepest part and going head first to the darkest part I could find.

I wasn’t sure how long it took, how long I had been “out”, but what finally brought me back was Uncle Shorty shaking me, screaming my name over and over. He was all wet and still yelling at me. And then I realized I was all wet and breathing hard. Was Uncle Shorty crying?

I am not sure how long it took me to come to and Uncle Shorty to calm down, but I remember him rocking me in the quiet stillness of his arms. Catching my breath, my head against his skinny bones. And we both stayed until the sun went down, chilled to our bones. I told Uncle Shorty, "I had to make sure the fish was okay". I guess I was sobbing, Uncle Shorty wiping away my hot, stinging tears.

I don't remember how I got home. I remember Uncle Shorty talking to my Grandma on the porch for a bit. I had been sent upstairs to the place where children allegedly never heard the adults talk. From what I can recall of the conversation, I scared the absolute crap out of him. Now, my grandmother had warned my Uncle Shorty many times that I did not know how to swim. And Uncle Shorty did not know how to swim. And I guess, in that moment, Uncle Shorty learned right quick how to swim. Uncle Shorty told my Grandmother, “Audrey, she told me she had to make sure the fish was okay".

Well, it made sense to me.

That was my last trip to Uncle Shorty’s paradise. I guess I really put him through it, because I think Uncle Shorty enjoyed my trips as much as I did. I remember begging my Grandmother every summer, but it was always the same answer. "Maybe next time".

I missed going back there. I missed the wind. The wind there was so soothing. It was different there. It was so pure. Something about it was so safe. I was able to be still. And breathe. And just be me.