See John write

After tying his favorite lure on his line, Ethan closed up his tackle box. He blew on his fingers which were plenty cold in the crisp morning air. The beautiful lake was a few dozen yards away through the trees. A fish leaped out of the water and Ethan heard it splash.

I’ve got to get down there.

Just then Ethan heard the familiar sound of his father snoring. Ethan let out an exasperated sigh. He looked over at the tent, then out at the water. Scooping up his pole and tackle box, he muttered sarcastically, “I’ll be right there, huh?”

The trail down to the lake wound between two other campsites. Ethan could hear the other families still sleeping in their tents. His excitement was building as he realized he could be the first to the lake. Carefully, he stepped down the slope from the camp area to the trail that circled the lake.

Ethan knew right where he wanted to go. On the north end of the lake, the shoreline was quite rocky with several large boulders right on the water’s edge. Ethan was sure he could find some hungry fish hiding there.

Below the campsites, the trail that circles Mirror Lake is a boardwalk over the marshy, muddy edge of the lake. Ethan excitedly hopped onto the wooden planks and looked out across the perfectly still lake. A ripple or two were barely visible in the hazy early morning light. Everything was so quiet, Ethan could hear his own footsteps echoing as he rounded the trail away from the campsites.

He was disappointed that his dad had not kept his word about getting up early. But he was also happy not to have Brandon tagging along. Brandon would have been so keyed up he would have been chattering a million miles an hour. Maybe it was better that he was on his own.

As the trail rounded away from the campsites toward the rocky edge at the north end, Ethan’s heart dropped. He heard the unmistakable sound of a line being cast.

No! Someone is already in my spot, Ethan thought as all of his excitement drained right away. If Dad would’ve gotten up early like he said, we could have been out here in time.

Ethan quickened his pace around the bend until he could see the back of not just one, but three fishermen, occupying the exact spot he’d picked out the day before. Ethan’s shoulders sagged and he let his head hang as if his neck were made of rubber. He knew he couldn’t crowd in with three other fishermen. And even if he could, he knew they’d give him that “who do you think you are?” look. Ethan hated that.

Unable to think of any better option, Ethan stopped about twenty feet short of the other men. He found a spot right off the trail between two trees that seemed OK.

With less enthusiasm than he’d had moments before, he set down his tackle box and cast his line out into the dark, still water. Slowly, he worked the line like he’d been taught. Reeling in the lure just enough to make it swirl and float like it was alive, he watched for the faintest hint of a tug on the line.

As he was casting his line out for the third time, there was a distinct splash to Ethan’s right. He leaned forward to look around the tree. One of the men fishing from the rocks was scooping up a big trout with his net. The two other fishermen looked over and smiled at their friend.

That oughta be my fish! Ethan grumbled to himself.

Ethan jammed his pole down between a couple of rocks so it could stand up on its own. He sat down on a large rock and leaned forward to rest his chin in his hands. He stared out at the water. The sun was still below the eastern horizon and the lake looked like a scene from a movie. A light mist hung over the water and the water looked dark and ominous. Ethan glanced up at the sky. There were a few clouds that were beginning to glow with the first hints of dawn.

Ethan checked his line. Motionless. He knew that no fish would take a lure that wasn’t moving, but for the most part he didn’t care right now. It would almost be better if he didn’t catch anything. Dad would feel less guilty if I came back with a grunt load of fish.

At the far end of the lake, an older man was prepping his float tube to launch out into the chilly water. Ethan watched him slide his tube down to the water’s edge. He stopped to load a few things into the pockets of his fishing vest.Ethan didn’t hear the footsteps until they were right behind him. A young couple came walking up, fishing poles in hand. They stopped not more than five feet down the trail and Ethan heard the husband whisper, “This looks like a good spot.” She giggled and they kissed.

Great! Ethan thought. Lovebirds. Just what I needed.

For the next fifteen minutes, Ethan tried to ignore the couple as the husband taught his “sweetie” how to cast her line and as he explained the advantages of “live bait.” She was not very coordinated and somehow thought everything she did was funny. Ethan could tell she was only trying to get her husband to do everything for her.

Ethan picked up his pole and began reeling in his line. Man, it would’ve been so much better if Mom wouldn’t have pitched a fit over me and dad taking a little hike to the other lake. ‘What if the trail isn’t a good one? What if you guys can’t get back before dark?’ What if you didn’t freak out about everything.

The lure came up out of the water and Ethan wound up for a big cast. As he let it fly, the line caught and the lure whipped down awkwardly a few feet out in the water.

The happy couple both looked over. She giggled of course, and he tried to hide a smile.

Jerks.

~~~~~~~~

Vince was starving. His Honda sped eastbound along I-80 at 70 mph heading toward the face of the Wasatch mountain range. He checked the highway sign for the next exit. Two miles.

The morning sun created a glare off the Honda’s filthy windshield. Vince could barely make out the exit sign in the distance. He twisted the turn signal to squirt washer fluid onto the windshield. The pump squealed as it spit out the last few drops of fluid and the wipers smeared it into a blinding mess.

“Sonofa—“ he yelled.

Twisting the wipers onto high only made the problem worse. Vince ducked and bobbed his head trying to see anything through the glare. Suddenly, a pair of brake lights appeared out of nowhere. The Honda’s tires locked up and the car began to slide sideways. A fraction of a second before impact, Vince let off the brake and swerved violently into the emergency lane. Slamming on the brakes again, he skidded the car to a complete stop.

He lay slumped over the steering wheel for a long minute. His heart was pounding and he was out of breath. Then it happened again. A boyhood memory. The sound of the breeze as it pushes its way through towering pines. The musty smell of a tent that has been in storage too long.

Vince sat up. He looked at the windshield and ran his hand through his long hair. Rummaging through the back seat, he found an old water bottle with a little water still in the bottom. He opened his door and poured the water onto the windshield. The wipers swished back and forth and in a second Vince could see again.

Traffic was light. He had no problem pulling back into the exit lane and making his way down the ramp.

Vince pulled into the 7-11 parking lot and turned off the engine. He looked down at the 357 which he had shoved down between the parking brake and the passenger seat.

Don’t leave the gun in the car. Take it in.

Vince looked around. No one else was in the parking lot. He reached down and slipped the revolver into the waist of his jeans.

Inside the 7-11, Vince made no eye contact with the clerk. He went straight to the freezer and pulled out two breakfast burritos. He popped open the end of each plastic wrapper and placed them in the microwave. After he hit start, he made his way to the snack isle. He grabbed several candy bars, a couple granola bars, and a bag of chips. Next he filled up a 32-ounce cup with Coke and ice.

The microwave beeped and Vince took out the burritos. At the counter, the clerk rang up the food. Vince looked over and saw some pre-packaged deli sandwiches in a case next to the counter.

“Ring me up a couple of these sandwiches, too,” he said pointing to the case.

“Ya gotta bring ‘em over here,” the clerk answered.

Vince shook his head and walked over to the case. He picked up two ham and cheese and walked back to the counter. With an irritated glare, he shoved the sandwiches across to the clerk. Then he took a credit card out of his pocket and tossed it on the counter.

The clerk rang up the sandwiches and slid the card through the reader. He watched the screen for a second, hit a key and slid the card again.

“Sorry, dude, it got rejected,” the clerk said with a little bit of a smirk.

“What!?” Vince demanded incredulously. Almost without thinking, he reached under his shirt and put his hand on the handle of the revolver.

“Your card got denied,” the clerk repeated with an exaggerated slowness.

Vince leaned into the counter. “You don’t want to jerk me around. Try the stupid card again.”

“Whatever you say.”

The clerk slid the card through again. Vince stared at the clerk without taking his hand off the revolver.

“It must be your lucky day.” The clerk said as the receipt began printing out. Vince relaxed and signed the receipt. He took the food out to his car and in a minute he was back on the freeway.

By the time the Coke was gone, Vince had passed through Park City and had turned onto highway 40.

It’s like every other time. Everyone knows you’re nothing but a pathetic loser.

Vince reached down and turned up the radio.

After leaving highway 40, he turned toward the small town of Kamas. It had been years since he had been to the tiny town but the road looked familiar anyway. The fields looked exactly the same. The rolling hills. The old barns and barbed wire fences.

Outside of town, he passed the sign that read “Kamas, Gateway to the Uintahs.” He could see the Sinclair sign ahead on the right. He needed a bathroom.

The young lady behind the counter tried to flash a courteous smile at Vince as he walked in. He didn’t even look at her but went straight to the men’s room.