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Bloop.

I watched the ripples in the water as my hook and bait sank, admiring the patterns in the light shining off the small eddies as the current slid past.

Truth be told, it was too late to be fishing. There was a bit of chill in the air, the first signs of a front moving in from the west, and in only a couple more hours I knew that my quiet fishing spot would instead be the home of late night hook-ups, drug deals, and other activity I’d want to be well away from. But, hell, I’d had a long week, and I’d been craving a little away time the whole while, and there wasn’t a better fishing spot in the city than the Midtown Bridge.

I felt a tug on my line, and tugged back a bit, testing it. Nope, just a nibble. Not that more than a nibble was likely, since I was using hooks I’d cut the barbs off of: I played exclusively for catch and release, and always hated seeing the blood in the water. If the fish didn’t want my bubble gum enough to keep a good grip on it, then the game wasn’t any fun.

I was on my third cast out when I saw her.

I won’t lie and say she was beautiful. Her hair was a little too thin, her jaw a little too square, and her makeup had run, leaving her with raccoon eyes and cartoonishly smeared lipstick, the remants of which covered the cuff of her blouse.

She just stood there, in heels I couldn’t believe she’d walked across the rocks to the edge of the water in. I don’t think she even knew I was there: instead, her eyes were turned to the bridge itself, focused on it in a way I was all too familiar with.

I shifted a bit on my old lawn chair and reeled in my line, letting the clack-clack-clack of my reel serve as warning of my presence, before casting my line again, right across her field of vision.

Bloop.

Still nothing.

“Nice evening, isn’t it?” I asked her, keeping my gaze focused on the eddies around my line but the lady in my peripheral. “Quiet too.”

“Yeah,” she agreed absently, still staring at the bridge. “A bit cold.”

“Storm’s movin’ in.” Another little tug on my line, but nothing really serious. “Maybe rain ‘fore midnight.”

“Maybe.”

“Hmm.”

Another tug, this one a little more serious before letting go. I tested the pull on my string again, but didn’t reel it in: the gum was still there.

“So. What brings a nice young woman like yerself down to the shallows under the bridge?” I asked, casual-like.

“Just….” She stopped mid-sentence to sniffle and wipe her face again, further smearing her makeup. A passing car, one of those with the nasty blue LED lights, illuminated us, and for a moment she looked more specter than woman. “Just getting away from it all, I guess.”

I nodded. “Good place for it,” I agreed. “Bridge is usually pretty busy, but down here at the base, and in the water. It’s like the city just kinda disappears around ya.”

She said nothing.

“But y’know,” I continued, testing my line again and starting to reel it in. “I see stuff when I’m down here sometimes. Bad stuff.”

“Bad stuff?” She asked, watching as I fished another piece of bubble gum out of my pocket and popped it in my mouth, chewing it for a moment.

I nodded. “Sad stuff,” I added, pulling out the gum and pressing it around the J-shaped bit of metal. “People who don’t know what to do.”

“Mm hmm,” she agreed, turning her attention back to the bridge.

I cast my line again.

Bloop.

“It’s just….” She started after a moment, then settled down on the rock next to me, her eyes still turned upwards. “It would be so much easier.”

“Probably,” I agreed, testing my line. Still good.

“You think so?” She asked, seeming a bit shocked.

I chuckled. “Lady, I’m sixty-six years old. It took me half an hour to walk down here from my car,” I said, pointing toward the dimly-lit parking lot above and behind us at the top of the retaining wall. “And I can feel every drop of rain comin’ in every joint I have. I spent thirty years workin’ at the auto plant ‘fore they laid me off and weaseled outta my retirement, so I’m gonna be workin’ at the grocery store baggin’ ‘til the day I die.”

“That’s awful!”

I shrugged. “It is what it is. But you know what?” I tugged on my line again. “My grandson’s at home makin’ some soup for when I get back, and the local po po don’t bother me none so long as I’m not keepin’ anything I catch when I’m down here, and the house is paid off. So, I reckon I don’t got it so bad, right?”

“I guess,” she agreed, smiling just a little.

Another tug on the string, this one more insistent, though only a short fight led to a loss of tension that told me my bait was gone. Ah well.

“I’ve seen a lot of people look at the bridge the way you are,” I told the lady as I reeled my line in again.

She frowned. “I’m not going to,” she said, sounding almost disappointed with herself.

“I know. And if you tried I’d stop you,” I agreed. Sure enough, my hook was clean. “But I don’t think you’da done it even if I weren’t here,” I said before popping another piece of gum in my mouth.

“Why’s that?”

“Because the night is too beautiful,” I said, pointing up at the swirling clouds. “And the water is too nice.” I pointed out at the gently rippling surface, the oncoming storm only starting to give it a touch of chop. “And because you know, like I do, that it’d only be easier on you.”

She nodded, almost imperceptibly, and this time her eyes tracked the tip of my rod as I drew it back and whipped it forward, the line whizzing as it unfurled from my reel.

Bloop.

The woman reached down and took her heels off, then stood on the rock, looking out at the water.

“Be dark soon,” she said, her gaze out to where the waters disappeared around a bend. Somewhere beyond that they emptied into the Pacific, but that wasn’t for another few miles.

“Yeah.” I nodded. “But there’s still plenty of time yet to fish. And the soup will still be warm when I get home.”

The woman smiled again, her face turned into the last remnants of light from the fading sun as it disappeared behind the city skyline, and for a moment – just for a moment – she was, truly, beautiful.

“Thanks,” she said, not so much to me as the setting sun itself, before she turned and started walking along the rocks again, picking her way carefully in her bare feet.

I watched her go, but turned my attention back to my line when I felt a good sharp tug on it.

I tugged back, and the tension remained.

I couldn’t help but grin.

Got one.

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NOTES:

Melanie E.