The Last Good Day by, Thomas Allen Hayden

The clouds moved quickly over the tops of the cypress trees. A storm came over the horizon and the sky darkened. They drug up the jug lines, checked the last of the crab pots, and made for the river. John jumped in the dark water, pulling the lilies from the rudder. He turned the engine on and off as the bay boat bobbed through the duckweed. Following the light, they came out of the back of the bayou, and the branches looped over the path and hung low for a while, then opened up to the Mississippi. The carp were leaping out of the water. The boat sat low and John drug his hand through the wake. The spray kicked up into Ellie’s face.

“I told you to throw them back, John. What are we gonna do with all those?” She said, wiping her face.

“Eat ‘em,” John said. “What else we supposed to do?”

“I’m not cooking those John. You don’t even eat crappie.”

“I know you’re not cooking them. I’m gonna cook them.”

“Since when did you start cooking?”

*Since you stopped*. John wanted to say.

“I’m cooking it, Ellie. Might have some crab with it too.”

Ellie laughed.

“When’s the last time we had crab?”

The spray from the water popped up into Ellie’s face again. John had his back to Ellie facing the windscreen. They caught a few fish that day, mostly crappie, but John had one or two nice carp. The fish flopped flatly against the inside of the cooler and John opened it, dumping water on them. He steered the boat away from the riverbed, through the driftwood, and back towards the center of the river. It was magical in the back channels. The moss hung from the cypress branches. The fish were jumping up out of the water and John couldn’t tell if it was the rain or the fish making the circles. What a great day to fish, he thought.

The fishing had been slow lately and John was very happy with the carp. There weren’t many little boats on the water anymore and the only place anyone could get a good catch was in the back of the bayou. He planned to come back later without Ellie and check the traps that were further back. The wind picked up and the boat popped up against the top of the water. John knew it would be a rough ride in.

“John. Do you hear me?” Ellie tied up her hair to keep it out of the wind. “How do you expect God to bless us with more if you keep wasting everything he gives us now?”

He slowed the boat as they passed through the weeds again. It was a long way back to the dock and John led them out of the winding passages to the main river and they were pushing the little engine as hard as they could trying to beat the storm. It was easy to lose track of time.  Somebody could make circles around the back channels until they ran out of gas and it would be dark before they got out.

“Maybe you would’ve caught more than crappie—maybe you would’ve got a crab or two if—”.
She started again.

“Dave’s wife tells me they can’t stop catching crab. Not even if they wanted to. They got more crab than they know what to do with.”

John checked the cooler again, not looking at her.

“Maybe you should go over and ask him for some,” she said.

He was getting worried. The storm looked bad, but he didn’t show it. He needed to put more water on the fish. He liked to keep them alive for as long as he could, until he could gut them.

“Dave told me that he might be hiring too.”

John looked back at Ellie. “You asked him if he was hiring?”

“I didn’t ask, it just came up is all,” she said softly.

At the start of crawfish season he would take the boat deep into the bayou to check the traps near the cypress roots. He would go out late. It was dark when he got back one night, and he saw Dave’s 4×4 parked half in the yard. He cracked the door and took a bucket of ivory out of the garage. Ellie came running out as he was driving off. He caught a lot of catfish that night. John wished he had fished alone today. He could fish all day alone. He hoped Ellie wouldn’t say anything else until they docked.

“How long has it been this way John?” She asked after a while.

“I don’t know Ellie.”

“It wasn’t always this way was it?”

“No it wasn’t.”

“We used to have some great days.”

“Yeah we did Ellie.”

“Seems like lately all we’ve been having are days like today.”

“It does seem that way.”

They got a flash of sun through the clouds.

“You think we’ll ever go back to having good days? Really good days like we used to have before—before everything.”

John didn’t know how to say it. He wanted to say it all right then, but he didn’t.

“Today was a great day.” John said. “Today was a great day Ellie, we just wasted it on each other.”

The storm came in fast and a heavy rain overtook them before they made the dock. John forgot about the fish while he talked with Ellie, and the carp ran out of air and were dead in the cooler before he could gut them.

Thomas Allen Hayden

Image by Kreingkrai Luangchaipreeda from Pixabay – Freshly caught fish in a pile.