Gone Fishing

“Remember, don’t bring up the lake or say anything at all about fishing in front of your Grandpa.” My mother reminded me for the hundredth time, as we pulled down the driveway to my grandparents’ house. The tires crunched loudly on the gravel.

“I know, mom.” I didn’t look up from the game I was playing on my phone.

“I mean it, Simon. He gets really upset about it.” My mother’s eyes pierced me from the rear-view mirror.

“Listen to your mother, Simon.” My father chimed in from the front passenger seat, distracted by his own phone and whatever website he was scrolling through.

I sighed and looked up, meeting my mother’s eyes in the mirror. “I promise I won’t bring it up, mom.”

***

I stood on the porch with my grandmother, waving as my parents drove back down the driveway and out of sight.

“Oh! I have missed you so much!” Grandma Betty gathered me up in a rib crushing hug.

“I’ve missed you too Grandma.” I choked out before she let me go. “Where is Grandpa at?”

“Oh he’s taking a nap, he wanted to be here to greet you but...”

“It’s OK Grandma.” I interrupted her. “I can see him when he wakes up.”

Grandma smiled and struggled to pick up my suitcase. I rushed to take it from her. It was weird seeing her after all this time. She looked so much older now, fragile even. Not at all the way that I remembered her.

She led me into the house and at least it was exactly how I remembered. It even smelled the same. A mix of lavender candles and freshly baked chocolate chip cookies with a slight undercurrent of mildew. Probably a staple of most lake houses, drought or no drought. Grandpa Chris was passed out in his favorite leather recliner, snoring softly. I noticed with a nagging sadness that he looked much older now too.

Grandma led me up to my room on the second floor and left me there to unpack while she started on dinner.

***

That evening I stood in my bedroom looking out the window at the backyard as the sun began to set. A thin line of trees ran on either side, blocking the view of the neighboring houses, giving the property a secluded, wooded feel. The yard sloped sharply downhill and ended in a little private beach. I knew from previous summers out on the water that every house was set up the same way. They were supposed to be lake houses after all, but now there was no more lake.

I could see my grandparents’ dock in the distance. Where it had once floated on glistening waters, it now stood on spindly wooden legs with nothing but dirt and air beneath it. The covered portion where my grandpa once housed his prize boat was now empty. Someone had nailed a bunch of boards over where the boat would have docked to create a sort of covered porch. I could see two folding chairs set up. The thought of my grandma and grandpa sitting in those chairs and gazing out over the dry lake bed made me tear up.

It had only been five years since my last visit but so much had changed. I was no longer the little kid they remembered, but a teenager. They were no longer the vibrant, active grandparents I remembered. They moved much more slowly now and even after his nap Grandpa had seemed tired, barely talking during dinner.

And the lake was gone. It was strange and disturbing, looking out over that dry, bare expanse of dirt. The summer haze and the dimming light made it shimmer like the memory of water.

I used to come here every summer. My parents would drop me off for a few weeks and they would go on their own vacation, then pick me back up for the family vacation. But when I was ten my dad had to move across the country for his job and after that it was just too far of a drive to come every year. Life happened, and ‘we’ll bring him next year’ became next year and the next year, until five years had passed.

I looked around my old room. My grandma hadn’t touched it, other than to keep it dusted and clean. Hand drawn pictures of fish and boats still stuck to the walls with little bits of tape, their paper beginning to yellow. An old bookshelf still displayed my collection of rocks and shells and oddly shaped sticks. A well worn child-sized fishing pole was propped up against one wall with a tiny tackle box and a hat that would not have even begun to fit my head now.

I glanced back out at the dried up lake bed as the sun finished setting. I’d lost something missing those five summers with my grandparents. I’d never know what it was, but I felt its absence all the same. The sadness from before returned and I recognized it was grief.

***

The next morning I woke up to the smell of bacon and rushed to put my clothes on and brush my hair and teeth. Grandma’s breakfasts were an event to behold. I took another look out my window before heading downstairs. It was a bit darker out than it should be at this hour. It looked like a rare storm cloud or two might be moving in. Ever since my mother had told me what had happened to the lake I was fascinated and horrified in equal measure. I understood why it had happened, but the idea that an entire lake could just disappear like that even over the period of a few years still seemed unbelievable.

I went into the kitchen and I was not disappointed. Grandma Betty had prepared a huge spread of pancakes, bacon, eggs, and hash browns. She had a big smile on her face as she offered me a seat and started piling food on my plate. I glanced up at Grandpa Chris who was already shoveling food into his mouth. I was glad to see he appeared more alert and energetic than he had yesterday.

“Today we’re going fishing!” He announced happily, between bites.

I glanced over at Grandma, but she didn’t say anything. She just sat down and started serving herself some breakfast. Not knowing what else to do, I tried to redirect the conversation.

“Grandpa, I think a storm is moving in.”

“It is!” He seemed extremely happy about this too. “That’s why we’re going fishing!”

Well that redirect had been unsuccessful. I glanced back at my grandma again for some help. I’d promised my mother that I wouldn’t upset grandpa, so I couldn’t exactly remind him that there was no lake to go fishing in. Grandma noticed me staring at her.

“You need some more orange juice, sweety?” She asked.

“Um no, I’m good.” I noticed my grandpa staring at me now, waiting for a response. “I think I’ve outgrown my pole.” I chuckled nervously, praying grandma would take a hint and step in. She didn’t.

“Oh I already thought of that! I got you a new one just in case!” Grandpa Chris beamed at me and then went back to shoveling food into his mouth.

I started eating again as well, shooting glances at grandma and hoping to catch her eye. It didn’t work. She was acting as though all this was completely normal. Maybe there was another lake nearby that hadn’t dried up?

***

Grandpa disappeared shortly after breakfast and I helped grandma clean up the dishes. He reappeared a short time later in his full fishing garb carrying two poles and a tackle box. I could see through the living room window that the couple of small storm clouds outside had multiplied into an entire family.

“Ready to go?” He asked me as he offered the newer of the two fishing poles. I nodded hesitantly and took it, shooting grandma another glance.

“You two boys have fun! Bring me something good to fix for lunch!” Grandma gave us both a kiss on the cheek and ushered us out the front door.

Grandpa didn’t lead me to the garage like I was expecting. Instead he went around the side of the house and started down the rock path to their private beach. A wave of anxiety hit me. We weren’t going to some other lake, we were going to his lake, which was no longer there. Why were both my grandparents acting like this was completely normal? Were they sick?

We picked our way down the slope and across the beach to the dock. Our footsteps made loud, hollow sounds against the wooden planks with no water on the underside to buffer them. The wind was starting to pick up a bit and I could smell the rain on it. The sky was darkening with storm clouds.

Grandpa ducked under the boat-dock-turned-covered-porch and grabbed a small cooler off one of the shelves. I recognized it as the cooler he used to carry fish in. He set it down between the two chairs with his tackle box and then sat down, excitedly motioning for me to do the same.

I sat down and watched as Grandpa Chris leaned forward in his chair to cast his line out into the dried up lake. The bobber landed with a soft thud on the dirt. Grandpa had a huge grin on his face.

I decided if pretending to fish made him that happy then I would just go along with it. I could call mom later that night while I was alone in my room and let her know what was going on. Until then, I would just play along and make sure that my grandparents’ failing memories didn’t get them into any dangerous situations.

I cast my line out the same way he had. My bobber landed a few feet away from his. We sat in silence watching our bobbers lay there alongside their lines and hooks. Little drops of rain began to spatter around them. They were quickly absorbed into the dry, cracked dirt of the lake bed.

I glanced over at Grandpa Chris and saw that he was not watching his line like I had thought, but was instead looking up at the sky. A moment later the clouds opened up and a downpour began. The rain hitting the roof of the boat dock was deafening. Grandpa was grinning ear to ear. I saw him tighten his hold on his fishing pole.

Lightning flashed and thunder shook the wooden boards around us. Grandpa seemed oblivious to the storm now. His eyes were glued to the spot where his bobber had landed. Storms of this caliber were incredibly rare here now. I knew from school that areas which suffered severe droughts could be prone to flash floods. I looked back up towards the house taking note of how sharply the backyard angled to the beach.

I set my pole down and stood up facing my grandpa. Cold rain ran off the roof, splattering the backs of my legs and feet. I had to shout to be heard over the downpour. “Grandpa, it’s time to go.”

Grandpa shook his head and motioned for me to sit back down.

“This one storm isn’t going to fill up the lake and even if it did, there are no more fish.” I shouted at him. I know I’d promised my mother, but I was pretty sure she hadn’t considered this scenario when she’d lectured me.

“We don’t need the lake, we just need the rain to ghost fish!” Grandpa shouted back. I watched as he tugged his line a couple of times and then slowly began to reel it in, he tugged on it again and leaned to one side peering around me.

His line had gotten snagged on something. The lightning flashed again followed by another loud crack of thunder. I was going to have to go out there in this storm and get it untangled. It was proving hard enough to convince him to go back to the house, no way he was going to leave his fishing pole behind.

I turned around bracing myself for a cold, wet trek out into the storm and stopped short. The lake was filled with a shimmering apparition of water. Spectral fish packed the edges of the dock so tightly that they were jumping over each other. My grandpa’s line tugged sharply and I heard him behind me begin to furiously reel it in. I stared in disbelief as he unhooked a large catfish and tossed it into the cooler. It landed with a very real, very audible thud.

“Ah, you remember that one? Think I caught it back when you were 5 or 6. Made for a good lunch!” Grandpa smiled and pointed at my chair. “Better grab your pole!”

I looked down and watched as my fishing rod tipped from where I had leaned it against my chair. Something slowly began dragging it down the wooden planks towards the edge of the pier. I stepped on it to stop its progress and picked it up. I felt the unmistakable tension of a fish on the line.

“Well you gonna reel it in?” Grandpa asked as he cast his line back out into the lake.

I looked between him and my line, dumbfounded. Slowly I reeled it in but the line suddenly went slack.

“Aw now that is too bad. Must have been that one that kept getting away from you when you were eight. You remember that?” Grandpa shook his head chuckling. “You were so darned mad at that fish all summer long.”

***

The storm had died down to a steady drizzle. I helped my grandpa back up the slope to the house, making sure he didn’t slip and fall down the hill. He carried the fishing poles and I carried the cooler which was somehow packed full of fish. I had made a conscious decision to stop trying to figure that one out.

When we got inside grandma took the cooler from me and told us both to hurry and shower and change out of our wet clothes. About thirty minutes later we were all seated around the table for lunch, plates piled high with fresh cooked fish. It was the best fish I had ever tasted.

“No time for being polite! Eat quickly! Storm’s almost over.” Grandpa declared, wolfing down his food. Grandma was trying to be more polite about it. I followed her example.

The rain outside slowed to a trickle and even inside the house I could feel the oppressive humidity begin to move back in. I stabbed a big flaky piece with my fork and watched it disappear as I brought it towards my mouth.

“Well it was good while it lasted.” My grandpa set his fork down with a sigh. His plate was empty, my grandma’s plate was empty, my plate was empty.

Grandma got up and began clearing the table. I followed her into the kitchen and looked out the back window. The rain had stopped and the sun was poking through the clouds. The lake was empty.

***

Grandma and I waited on the front porch for my parents to arrive. They had just called and said they were pulling into the neighborhood. Two weeks had gone by so quickly.

“Promise you’ll come back next year.” Grandma hugged me with tears in her eyes.

“I promise, even if I have to hitch a ride on a plane!” I hugged her back. We both chuckled. Grandpa was passed out in his favorite chair again.

I turned when I heard the crunch of gravel. My parents’ car was pulling down the driveway. Grandma waved cheerfully at them and then leaned into my shoulder nudging me.

“Don’t mention the lake to your mom, OK sweety?” She winked at me.

“Don’t worry Grandma, I won’t bring it up.” I winked back at her.