Christmas is a time to be close to those you love, to hug the present, and smile when memories come to visit.
A short story - The Pond
I remember the day we bought bright orange nets at the hardware store. Wading through weed-thick water we stretched them out as far as we could without toppling in. He gripped my tiny hand in his gnarly, old fist like it was a precious thing. We only caught a knot of wee, brown frogs, each no bigger than Grampa’s thumb nail.
The week before I started school, cygnets wobbled from the forest of meadowsweet and plopped into the water. We named them – One, Two, and Three.
Next day it rained. We watched the big swans drift alone in the shallows amidst green flashes of dragonfly. Grampa said a big fish lived deep below the water-hyacinth. Young swans were fair game. His knees cracked when we rose to leave.
He bought me a rod for my ninth birthday. I’d never had a rod before. He spun stories about how we’d catch the fish and what it would be like to wrestle it from the water. I can still feel his hands around my waist, the whip and swish of the line cast high into the air. The dazzle of raindrops held in sunlight. We never caught the fish.
The last time we visited the pond it was frozen over. Wildings crusted around the pond edge like lace. We didn’t speak for a long time, blowing our breath in white clouds across the surface to see whose went the farthest. He broke the silence first.
‘I suppose it’s a good thing to spread your wings.’
‘It’s only college, Grampa. It’s not the moon,’ I said.
Afterwards, walking home, it felt like we’d fallen-out.
A year later, I’m crouching in swathes of yellow iris. There’s a sudden, familiar waft of tobacco. I don’t look round. My only thought is the big fish. I wait. Ripples comb the surface of the pond. A torpedo shape flies into the air, lightning fast. A splash and it’s gone. My hand tightens on the reel. Glints of silver flicker on the surface then fade. A shadow beneath the skin of the pond is moving slowly towards me. I lay down the rod and trail my hands in the cool water then open my palms wide. The fish glides between them tilting to one side. Its huge eye mesmerized by the sun. I close my hands firmly around the muscular body. The skin’s silky feel surprises me. Hoisting the fish from water to sky, I hurl it onto the bank, my fist poised to deliver the final blow to the head. His gills open, then, close. Powerful fins thrash the delicate mosses and creeping buttercup over-spilling the water’s edge. His scales are a rainbow of amethyst and aquamarine-blue. As the gaping mouth slows, I lift, and gently release him, back to the pond. One last tail flick and he disappears.
I need to go now. The family cars will be here soon. Mum said I should wear a suit. I’ve never worn a suit before.
blog post