Tales of the Groundbound: There and On The Dock, Chapter 17.5

[steuben]

Gene sat with his feet hanging down off the end of the dock. He flicked the fishing rod in his hands causing the bob to dance on the surface of the water. No one knew who built the dock. Every time he came here he thought whoever built it was immensely skilled in esthetics. The dock and landscape looked like something out of a Kriedrich painting.

 

He turned around hearing footsteps on the wood. “Hey Jeb,” he said.

 

“Hi Gene.” Jeb walked over and leaned on one the pilings. “The conservation folks’ll have fits if they catch you fishing.”

 

Gene chuckled and reeled in the line. “They’d have to catch me.” He held up the bob, a darning needle hung down from it. “But, I’d also have to catch something first.”

 

Jeb guffawed.

 

“It’s more about the mediation of fishing then the act of fishing .” Gene put the rod down and fished around in the cooler by his side. He pulled out a beer and held over to Jeb.

 

“Sorry,” Jeb shook his head. “Got a maintenance flight in a couple of hours.”

 

Gene nodded, “next time.” He cracked it open a drunk a mouthful.

 

Jeb nodded, “next time.” He looked out across the water, past the horizon.

 

“Hey, Gene,” he said after moment. “You’ve been there, right?”

 

Gene froze for a moment. You didn’t ask someone that. You either knew or you were told.

 

“Yeah,” he said carefully. “I was there. I flew he-vac before I … I transferred to flight ops.”

 

“No shame there,” Jeb said. “Even us daring fighter drivers thought you he-vac guys had them made from chrome steel.”

 

Gene chuckled. “Yeah.” He looked over at Jeb. He wondered where the question was coming from. He looked back out over the water. “It was few years after I got off the plane before I finally came home.” He took a long pull from the can, draining it. “Even then, some nights I’m back there.” He put the can in the cooler. “But, fortunately not as frequently as I used to.”

 

Jeb nodded. He shook his head as if to clear it. “How did you know it was time?”

 

Gene shook his head. “Knowing it is the last time isn’t the trick. If you live through it, you know. The trick is figuring out the second last time.” He looked at Jeb. “You wondering?”

 

Jeb looked down at the water. “More than I care.” He nodded his head up to the sky. “Up there is one of the few places where I am sure of where I am.”

 

“Then it isn’t. When you stop wondering then it might be time.”

 

 “Yeah,” Jeb shrugged. “I figured. Thanks.” He started to walk back up the dock.

 

“Hey Jeb,” Gene said over his shoulder. “There’s a bunch of us that meet at the rec center alternate Wednesday evenings. You know, if you need to talk, or want to listen.”

 

“Yeah thanks Gene, I’ll be through if I need to.”

Edited November 29, 2019 by steuben