The Fisherman

He was there every evening when I arrived, his fishing pole in the water, never saying a word. I tried to talk to him a couple of times, but he only grunted in response, so I stopped trying.

One day, my curiosity got the better of me, and I sat on a nearby park bench and started reading a book, as I always did. It was nearly dark when he packed up, but I had formulated a plan. I followed him. I hadn’t planned on following him, but I couldn’t resist. I kept him in sight as he headed for the seedy side of town. The old brick tenement building he entered was older than dirt. I reached the lobby in time to see him park the bike in a corner and head upstairs.

I followed him, the stench of old trash and other smells making me gag. He opened a door at the end of the hall and went inside. Summoning my courage, I rapped on his door. The door cracked open.

“Go Away.

I pushed the door slightly to keep him from closing it on me. “Sir.”

“Who are you?”

“Daniel Jackson.”

“What do you want?” The door opened a little more.

“I don’t know.” I stumbled for words. “I was worried about you. You’re always fishing at the same spot each day but never seem to catch anything.”

The man sighed and opened the door. “Come in. I suppose you’re not leaving until I talk to you.”

The small apartment was sparsely furnished and well-worn. I noticed an antique sideboard covered with photos and medals.

He gestured toward the photos. “My family, when I had one. Lewis Crawford—my name. Coffee?”

“Nice to meet you, Lewis. Yes, I’d love a cup of coffee.”

Coffee ready, he handed me an overfilled cup. As I sipped the steaming hot strong coffee, I glanced at fishing poles leaning in the corner, and his eyes followed my gaze. “Yeah, that.” He sipped his coffee. “Truth of the matter, I’m not fishing—I’m waiting.”

“Waiting?”

He shifted in his chair. “She was supposed to come, but she never did.”

“Who never came?”

Lewis leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes as if to remember. I suspect he remembered all too well. He sighed. “My daughter was supposed to meet me there. We were going to fish, but she never showed up.”

I leaned forward on the couch. “Tell me about it.”

“It was years ago. We were supposed to meet and go fishing before she left for college. She never came.” Suddenly he seemed even older.

“Did she tell you why?”

“No, I never heard from her again. She just disappeared, and I never saw her again.”

Lewis wandered to the sideboard and picked up a photo. “This—this was her.” The picture was of a young woman about twenty and taken long ago from the style of her clothes.

“Pretty woman.” I returned the frame to him.

“Pretty smart too— got a scholarship.”

“Why do you keep going back after all these years?”

He leaned against the sideboard, sadness on his face. “Because it’s the only thing I have left to live for. If I don’t go, I may not get up in the morning.”

I smiled and knew what I had to do. “I tell you what. I’m retired now with too much time on my hands. I think it’s time I took up fishing.”

The beginnings of a smile appeared on Lewis’s face, and the glimmer of joy in his eyes was all I needed to know. We were going to have a great friendship.