Jim runs out the back door of little farm house, letting the light wood screen door slam gently, the soft sound rumbles after him as he lunges into the sweet damp air of a gathering summer night. Down toward the little pond he bounds, free, nature pouring into every part of his body and soul, the voices of his parents ringing in his head.
Why does his dad have to get mean when he drinks? Jim slowly becomes conscious of a grapefruit-sized knot of bad feeling in his chest, he takes a big breath and runs harder, the house out of sight, down into the sweet fading light near the pond, it feels like - perfect fishing conditions.
At the willow tree, he unjams his fishing rod from the crack in the trunk. Unhooks the barb of the hook from the handle of his spinning rod, kicks over one the giant log rounds that he had cut last fall with his chain saw from the old fallen oak tree, and grabs a giant nightcrawler.
Sorry buddy, as he threads the wriggling worm on the hook. Jim slides the bobber so the worm hangs about a body length down and makes a giant cast - to the middle of the pond. The last ripples move all the way out to the edge of the pond - and then, complete silence, that's better.
More peaceful now, the boy becomes aware of the rhythm of the summer evening, the buzzing of locusts, a few lightening bugs start firing up and drifting down along the banks of the pond.
The bobber in the middle of the pond, backlit a little from the darker blues and purples of the fading sunlight, motionless. Big breath. His mind thinks about the wide world, New York and China, what they must be like right now, and sitting here, connected to the pond by holding up the rod with the line streaming out to the center, he can get a little emotionally centered, away from his parents and their world.
The sun must just be starting to shine on the rice paddies in China, right now. Do Chinese kids have to work on the farm, like he does, and do they get to go to school and be with their friends. Are they free, do the get to grow up and leave the farm and have adventures on the other side of the world? I'd like to go and find out, Mr. Bass, leave you and the willow trees and find out what ponds in China are like, maybe bass in China look just like you.
After all, he's really free, other than being dependent on his parents now, needing to do the things that get him through the day, and go to school, You have to go to school so you can go to college. But there are a few times like this when he can be alone with his thoughts. And being near the city, there's a highway on the horizon, and the cars with their headlights scurry along with urgency, every day so predictable and steady at this time of night, heavy with the resonsibility and cares of holding up the order of the universe, their drivers must be, like his dad, just waiting to get home, entering the second world of their day, after work, the family, and probably impatient to get some free time to be alone with their own thoughts.
Honestly, other than needing to uphold the order of the universe of the farm work and school, Jim could just go flying off right now, just pick up and go off and never come back. Like, when he was younger, lying on his back on the lawn, and seeing the big jets haul off from the city, going south, and east and west, just going off and that's all, not coming back, sometimes catching the sunlight after the sun had set, up there moving along with the sun, free and busy.
But reality always intrudes on this dreaminess. It gets dark, or cold, and you have to go back and do the work of living. And deal with other people, even though you really didn't know where you stand with them always. At least you have your friends, that is, your real friends.
At the last light, more sensing the the outline of the pond and watching the stars pop out, this is the time when your consciousness can expand way out and you just drink in the impressions from the nature around the pond.
Suddenly, the line goes tight and a high pitched zzzzz sound pierces the solitude, line is ripping off the fishing reel. Picking up the rod, a huge pull from the monster bass as it feels the hook. This is him, the master of the pond, Jim has often seen lurking just beyond the line where the willows weep down to touch the water - a black shadow, a couple of feet long, master of the shallows and the deep, unmistakenly now connected at the end of the line, in the dark now, breaking the surface of the water, almost deafening sound of a huge splash compared with the stillness after the sunset.
Jim, ecstatic, is totally engaged in the effort of keeping the line tight, now giving as the giant fish rips off more line, careful to keep tension but be patient, let the fish run and fight, don't break the line. Balanced between a desire to just bring the bass into the dark shore, but not wanting to lose the connection. Half hour later, the dark shadow of the monster is lying on his side, a few feet off the shore in the warm water, and Jim slides his hand down into the warm water, feels the slimy algae and wraps a few fingers around the mouth of the giant.
He hoists the beast in, and immediately the hook falls away. Five pounds, maybe a couple of feet long, this fish too big for the small pond. Must only be one or two this big, holding the fish, which now gives a mighty flop on the dry bank and falls toward the pond, gasping in the air.
Jim rips off his shirt, kicks off his shoes, grabs the fish and wades into the muddy pond, feet sinking deep into the muck, and swims into the darkness, holding the tired fish, which gives a mighty kick with its tail, Jim swims right out to the center of the pond, and lets the fish go.
Feeling the full stillness of the night, looking up at the stars and the banks of the pond from the center, in the cool funky water, and back at the lights of the house now, he swims back to the darkened shore. Beyond, up the bank and almost out of sight, the glow lights from the house looks warm and inviting.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0ZsnHIKXVHE
