Still Salt Water
“I’ve never caught anything that big in my life, Paul.”
“You’re telling me. That thing was as big as a Buick!”
“Yeah.”
“Your father never even caught anything that big before.”
Some silence occurred.
“Thanks for inviting me, Paul. It was really great. I really appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“It would have really meant a lot to my dad too.”
“Hey, let’s get out of these wet suits and grab a cold one.”
“Sure thing, Paul.”
On the beach, there was still salt water in their hair and sand coated the bottles, but it didn’t bother them all that much. They talked for a bit longer, ignoring the only thing that either one of them really cared about, but I guess that that was part of the point.
After a time, they got up and got into the car, where Paul drove the whole way home. There were few streetlights and this specific area of coast land was not particularly populated.
“You were there when he died. Did he say anything that day?”
“Mostly just more talk about deep sea fishing. You know your dad.”
“Yeah.”
“But he did scribble something on his pad.”
“Yeah?” he turned to Paul, hoping to know something.
“Yeah. I was there trying to stop the bleeding, but I knew it wasn’t really of any use, you know? And, man, I couldn’t say anything because of the scuba gear and everything. So, I was just kind of holding him there, under the water. And he scribbles something about your mother.”
“Oh.”
“He could never leave her because he didn’t want to leave you too.”
He tried to push the muzzle away, but looking into the old man’s eyes and seeing that there was not much chance, that his mouth and moustache formed a look of determination, he said, “I’m sorry, Paul.”
“I know you are, kid.”
