I wanted to thank the Elk Grove Writers Guild.
A picture in June’s Newsletter of a father fishing with his son made me want to take my own son fishing. I thought you should know how it turned out.
I decided we would go to Lake Shasta on Saturday.
I printed out the page with the picture and stuck it to my fridge with a magnet.
Tommy lived with his mother most of the time after the divorce. Every other weekend he came to stay with me, and usually just wanted to sit on the couch and play games on his phone. So when I asked if he’d like to go fishing, I was surprised he said yes.
We stayed Friday night at a friend’s house in Redding so we could reach Shasta early.
We woke at 5:00 a.m. I loaded our fishing poles and cooler into the back of my pickup, and we headed out. We stopped at an AM/PM. Tommy got a donut and I filled my thermos with coffee.
When I pulled into the bait shop at Crag Knot Pine, the dock was lined with boats, tethered in groups of three.
I gave Tommy the job of carrying our gear down to the dock and loading one of the outside boats. He puffed out his chest and dragged the cooler down the planks.
Inside, the old man at the counter made polite conversation and took my money. “Be back in a sec with the worms,” he said.
I looked around the shop. Nothing had changed. It was the same as when I was a boy with my father.
Through the window, I saw Tommy moving between the boats, shifting our gear. One of the boats drifted slightly as he stepped across it. I held my breath as he steadied himself and brought them back together.
The old man handed me a Styrofoam cup of soil and worms and wished me luck on the lake.
I stepped back outside, whistling a Grateful Dead tune my father used to hum.
When I looked up, Tommy wasn’t where I expected him to be.
The cooler bobbed softly on the surface of the water.
“Tommy?” I called.
There was no answer.
The Sheriff’s report said he probably hit his head and drowned.
I still have that picture on my fridge. I thought you should know that.
Sincerely,
J.R. Roth