SUN RISE 04
“I’m gonna be the greatest fisherman EVER!” I shouted and shot straight out of bed. But my legs weren’t quite awake, so I tumbled face first onto the floor. Smack.
“Classic,” Hunter cackled as the moonlight lit up our boycave.
It was time – fishin’ time.
Outside, the morning dew soaked the neighborhood lawns. Looked like it rained.
Ah, I could almost taste the fish in my drooling mouth now.
Grampa packed while Hunter hitched up the blue and white Boston Whaler. That’s a swank ride for you non-boat peeps.
Ol’ Nessie she was called. She was stocky like the Scottish Loch Nessie (another Google moment), and clearly showed her age.
Overstuffed with duffle bags, fishing gear, grocery bags and a loaf of bread smashed into the side window, Grampa shoved one more item – a basket – into the rusty station wagon.
“What’s that, you’re wondering?” said Hunter, eyeing Grampa’s methodical packing skills. For Grampa had a way of squeezing 13 eggs into a carton so you didn’t even notice the difference.
Looked like an ordinary basket to me.
“You’ll want to get a good look at it,” Hunter continued in sly voice. “It’s what you’ll use when you feed Ol’ Gatar. Any Hampton boy fails this task, well, let’s just say failure is not an option. But dying is. Heh-heh.”
Hunter climbed onto the trailer and secured straps onto the boat. He glided with ease, port side to starboard.
Didn’t think I knew this stuff, did you? But as I said before, I’m gonna be the greatest–
Back to Hunter, who glided port to starboard – that’s left to right.
A half hitch here. A slip knot there. A bungee on top of bungee. His superstar agilities will surely land him a million dollar shoe contract some day.
“Gatar’s the least of your worries,” he said. “Mostly, you gotta watch out for the horseflies. They’ll bite, buzz, scratch, scrape, nag, gnaw, pester and peel the skin clean off your hide.”
“THWACK!” Hunter said and slapped at his ankle hard. “Get used to that sound. The sound of battle, of war, of victory. Means you got one. Anything less of a THWACK!, and you’ll be itchin’ yourself to sleep, beggin’ for Ma’s Avon Skin So Soft.”
Skin So Soft?
“I told you, no girlie stuff.”
“Hmmmmm,” he snickered. “We shall see.”
“Get down now,” said Grampa the Grump. He had a voice that stuck, a commanding voice that spoke volumes without saying much at all. Cause and effect. ‘Cause Grampa said so, that’s why.
Hunter leaped right into a Cajun mudpie. That’s when water mixes with mud and just before it dries, forms a consistency equal to, tah-dah, pie.
Hunter stood straight to attention, my shoulders slightly behind his, side-by-side.
Grampa chewed on his morning coffee stirrer and tilted his head. I could see up his nostrils. Then he spoke–
“Three hours . . .”
I felt a lesson coming on.
“Rule number one,” he continued. “Always listen to Grampa. Rule number two: ‘No’ is not in your vocabulary for the next three days. If I ask you to do something, you do it. If I ask you to don’t, you don’t.”
Hunter stood straight. Clearly he had done this with Grampa many times, and clearly I needed to watch and learn.
“Yes, sir,” replied Hunter, standing firm.
“Yes, sir,” replied me, copy-cat firm.
“Rule number three,” Grampa chewed on the coffee stirrer. He twirled it in his mouth, a full 360°. Then his cold eyes turned to me. “Done your businesses?”
I nodded yes.
“No stoppin’ for three hours.”
“I can hold it, not that hard.”
“Hmmm,” he said and paused. “Hardest thing you’ll ever do in life, boy . . .” he grunted, a cause and effect grunt that caused the hair on my neck to rise. Then he added, “is the right thing.”
Yep, and my pee-pee started.
On to underwear numero two.