I am the bug finder. With the sow-bugs, jooper beetles, nightcrawlers, and dead bumble bees I find, I’ll catch the biggest fish my father has ever seen. We’ll eat it for dinner and everyone’s bellies will be full. I turn over stones and check the wet mud for the worms. The cinder blocks in the garden bed are best, but I wait until Mom is on the phone to turn them over. Then I place them black carefully so she won’t know. I don’t think, when she sees the fish I’ll bring home, that she’ll mind me turning up the wall of her garden bed. I’ve got my pole ready by the door and I’m full of energy because today is a good day for bug finding. I’ve already put two ladybugs, three flies, and four worms in my tin. I’m not sure which will be the best bait, and I’m not sure if one type will eat the other. I know I need a few more before I head to the pond.

            I am distracted by the girl. She’s jumping on the trampoline with her older sister. They bounce and bounce and I figure if I am to catch bugs for a big fish then they are to bounce just because. I’m not mad at them. I just find the springs so distracting from my important work. I have a house to feed. I have adventures to have. What if I get distracted by the springs and a garter snake comes by? I won’t be ready to pounce on his striped body. I’ll miss a great catch and my aquarium will be empty when I go to bed. The aquarium has been empty for too long and I need to stay focused. That’s what all the animal books say. If you want to find an animal in the wild, you need to be in the wild, wild yourself, focused, ready to spot your trophy at any moment.

            The springs keep springing and I take my tin and my pole down to the pond. I want a lot of bait, but a little will have to do. The springing is scaring my bugs away.I can’t stand the girls and their springs. Why bounce on a trampoline when there are fish to catch? Why put your hair in braids when there are stones that need to be turned. I stop in my tracks and remember, the braids are pretty and the girls are laughing on the trampoline. I decide that I’ve been unkind and say a little prayer like Mom taught me. When you catch yourself up to no good, say a little prayer for forgiveness. I was up to no good thinking those girls were silly, but really they might think I’m silly for being in the mud and looking for my bugs. I remember that I had played with the girl with braids. We played keep-away as the sun was going down. We’d never played together before and I never asked Mom for permission and that was the fun part. She was good at keep-away, and I told her that I let her win when really she was just better than me. I said a little prayer for that too because I never did that night because Mom called me in for dinner. I ran away from her yard without saying goodbye.

            On my way to the pond I turn over a few rocks that rest in puddles on the edge of the trail. No worms, only water is beneath them. I remember that the authors of the animal books always say that more times than not your efforts won’t get you what you want, or something along those lines. I can read a fifth grade level, but I’m pretty sure that these books might be more like seventh or eighth grade. Mom helps me sometimes before Dad is back from work and she tells me what the author is meaning to say in smaller words. So I don’t mind not finding the worms. That’s another lesson from my animal books. You make do with what you have. If you’re surviving or you find your trophy, you will almost never have the perfect set-up. That’s the wild. That’s the fun of it. I know I can get a big fish with my pole even though it’s small and made for a kid. I know that the poles they use for sharks have thick lines and grown men with big muscles are the only ones that can catch sharks. It’s like a ratio, I learn those in math. If a big man with big muscles and a big pole can catch a big shark, then a little man with a little pole and little muscles can catch a little bass or a little catfish or maybe even a little trout.

            When I get to the pond I notice that there are big men with bigger poles out there casting. They have spinners on the end of their rods, or weights and bobbers. Trust me, I know exactly how to use these, but according to Dad, I’m not ready for them. Once I can catch a fish with the rod I have, then for Christmas, or my birthday, whichever comes first, I can get a tackle box and a new rod. If you think about it, the fish I catch today will be even more important than food, it’s proof that I can handle tackle and big hooks. That I can have a multi-tool to bend my hooks back into shape after I catch a fighting bass. I won’t be concerned with the men and their tackle. I’ll catch a fish as big as they do and Mom will definitely cook it better than they ever can. She knows how to cram it full of lemons and dill to make it taste refreshing and really tasty.

            I cast out and use my usual walk and tug method. I know that since I don’t have weights, or a spinner that I’ll have to pretend the bugs are alive on the end of my line. I try to see where the bait is and I hop from rock to rock to make it bob and move, just like it’s swimming. I don’t know if ladybugs can actually swim, I’ve never seen one, but the one on the end of my line can swim and I make it swim like an olympian on tv. I can see little guppies coming up to the lady bug and I jerk the line away from them. Not guppies, I’m not bringing home anything that Dad will call, “bait,” again. Today I’m bringing home dinner. That’s why I hope onto bigger rocks, farther out into the pond where there is deep water and less guppies. My animal books say, no your habitat, and I know that big fish need deep water to explore.

            I sat on that rock for what seemed like forever. I wave my arm back and forth over the water to pull my line and make my bug swim. That’s when I see it. A fresh-water shark, a bull-shark, a “zambezi,” according to the animal books. Don’t ask me how he got in the fishing-pond. I know some people like to bring in fish to make sure everyone gets to catch some. Some crazy person must have brought in a whole shark. Now I’ve got my little rod, but I think with some luck I can pull the shark up onto my rock real quick and club him. The animal books say that the fastest way to kill a fish is to dash their head on the side of your boat. Well, I don’t have a boat, but I have my rock and it’s big and hard like a boat. Right as I finish making up my plan in my head the monster shark bites on my ladybug. I start pulling up, and my hook is set in real well, right through his cheek, way in the back. He almost pulls me into the water, and that would have been the end of me, but I sit on the rock and dig my heels into the little cracks and I pull. I’m pulling and pulling and reeling the line and he’s getting closer and closer, and right as I think he’s close enough for me to get him onto my rock, I hear a scream.

            It’s not that the scream scares me, it just surprises me and I lose my grip. My rod goes into the water and the bull-shark eats it. According to my animal books sharks will eat anything. Sharks are like the goats of the ocean. Great whites have been found with suits of armor in their bellies. I bet you didn’t know that. But now, some bull-shark is swimming around in the fish pond with my only rod in its belly. I turn my head to where the scream came from, and I tell you, I’m mad. Mad as Dad on Sunday nights. I look at the men with big rods and none of them have moved. One of them grabs a can of chew from his pocket and fills his lip. I make a mental note to not ask for fishing advice from a man who chews. Mom says that people who chew are dirty and stupid and that if I ever chew I’ll be dirty and stupid like them. None of them seem real surprised about the scream and none of them have even seen what I had hooked. The animal books say that bull-sharks can swim silently, that they hunt with what’s called, “stealth.” All these old fishermen must have thought I was struggling with a little trout.

            The loss of my pole really hits me and I realize I’ll have to go back to using traps and hope that Dad and Mom will still get me a cheap rod again for Christmas again. This was pole number three, I will admit, but I lost poles two and both were to the same bass. A basstard named Red that all the old guys have hooked but never caught. I hooked him, and almost had him twice. I’m not supposed to say basstard, but Dad says that when someone is being a basstard truly and honestly that it’s okay to call him a basstard. I say a prayer for thinking about Red as a basstard, he’s just a fish. I say another prayer for thinking those girls were silly for screaming like that while I’m fishing. It does take away our focus, our trophies, and scares away the fish. Red is probably under a log somewhere and God himself only knows where that bull-shark went. He’s probably in an underwater cave somewhere trying to digest my rod and my ladybug.

            What’s a fisherman to do? My books always say to not let defeat get you down. A lot of fishing comes from your brain. Your attitude means a lot and you’ll have to keep trying with what you have, even if it doesn’t seem likely. The rod doesn’t matter, the brain of the fisherman does. I head home and on the way I’m thinking up a home made rod that I can make out of a stick. I can use some string from my winter clothes for line. As I get to the yard I’m reminded of the girls, their shrieks and their springs that keep me from catching my bugs and my fish. I think mean of them and this time I don’t say a prayer for forgiveness. My head is down in the pebbles and the dust when I hear her call my name, the one with the braids.

            She runs up to me and grabs me by the hand. I’ve never held a girl’s hand before, and I won’t lie. I like it. She pulls me up her front lawn and up to the front steps. I’m so caught up with her braids and her hand in mind that I don’t notice she is crying until she turns to face me. I feel stupid because her scream must have been real. I think a prayer of forgiveness for myself for thinking I was stupid. My next thought is that we need her Mom, or my Mom, one of the two, in case the girl is really hurt or really upset. I knew my Dad wasn’t home, and her dad had never been home, and that dads weren’t really all that helpful in times like these. I ask her, where’s your Mom? She chokes on her tears the way some people do when they’re really upset. She points inside and tells me that someone, “hurt Mama.” She calls her mom, Mama, and that’s okay, families are different and they use different names sometimes.

            According to the animal books, you shouldn’t shy away from all danger, that some danger is necessary to survive in the wild. This feels wild, and I think I can help. I know first aid and have read books about how to dress wounds in the forest when you don’t have much besides your knapsack. I go in the house and I find her mama on the ground and she is hurt too bad for my skills. She’s on the floor by the coffee table and there are beers and chew cans thrown about. When you’re looking at other animals hunted you always check for clues. When bears hurt a deer they leave behind traces like scratches in trees and paw prints. I know that chew cans belong to the fishermen. Mom says women never chew. Her mama says she’s okay, that she just needs to rest, but I can tell she’s not talking right. Grown ups don’t talk slow, they talk fast, so I know something is wrong. Her head has a big lump on the side and according to the books a head injury is one of the worst you can have in the wild. I know that we need my Mom now. I grab the girl with braids by her hand now, but it doesn’t feel the same this time. I don’t like it as much. Her and I run to my house and get Mom who comes to her mama. When my Mom and her mama are together my heart finally stops beating so fast. I still hold the girl’s hand and we sit on the couch together while Mom uses the phone.

            While we’re sitting there I say a little prayer of forgiveness because I waited so long on that rock, and didn’t believe her scream.

– Alex Elwell