Long, long ago, probably sometime in the late 80s, it was Saturday morning. I had just finished packing up my Ford Ranger with my fishing tackle, a deflated raft, and a Styrofoam cooler. My daughter Carol Anne gave me a big hug goodbye. I leaned down to kiss my wife Grace on the cheek but paused as my eyes fell on the untouched manila envelope on my nightstand. 

We had married as soon as I got back from overseas and maybe I had scared her one too many times waking up hollering in the middle of the night. She never stopped sucking on her cigarette long enough to even say bye. I didn’t want to think about any of it, really, so I got in the truck and drove on down to Chickamauga Lake.

I parked next to the blue-glass water shimmering with tiny ripples. After I pumped the raft up, I threw my gear in the boat and got to rowing towards a small island. I’d got a late start, so it was already hotter’n hell out. The air was hazy, and it was dead quiet. The island wasn’t that big, maybe the size of half a football field. Maple and sweetgum huddled up with skinny pines. I jumped into the water, pulling the raft up onto the shore and tying it to a dead oak tree. 

I set my line up, opened a Budweiser, and waited for a bite. Usually, the haze over the lake would disappear the hotter it got, but today I couldn’t even see my truck parked on the lakeshore. I drank the rest of the beers and ate my bologna sandwiches and might have nodded off. And then I finally got a bite.  

My pole was bowed up like a scared cat. I saw the fish splash out of the water a couple of times during our struggle, its slick body red as a sunset, a big fat catfish that might even make Grace smile when she saw it. She loved a good fish fry. When I finally landed that big sucker, all I could do was stare. I’d never ever seen a red catfish.

I wanted to fillet it right there on the spot. It flapped wildly as I pressed the tip of the knife against its flesh. The blade entered and the thing's mouth gaped open with a scream like a man in unbearable pain, a sound I knew too well. Reflexively I used both hands to heave and hurl that thing back in the water. I sat shaking for a sec, then I packed all my stuff in a hurry. I swore I’d never drink a whole six-pack on a fishing trip ever again as I pointed the raft towards the mainland. 

The fog thickened as I approached the lakeshore. Instead of seeing my truck, I was back at that dead oak I'd tied my raft to. I chuckled at myself and paddled until I faced the opposite way. I pulled out my compass to make sure I was headed east. But, no matter which direction I paddled, I was always headed west. After seeing that dead tree materialize again and again out of the mist, I felt panic closing my throat. 

“Help! Can someone hear me?” My hoarse voice skipped across the water like a stone, echoing back to me in bursts. “Help!” 

--

It was a constant mid-afternoon Tennessee summer day on the island. Time didn’t seem to change. I occasionally saw other folks cruise by on various watercraft. But it seemed no one could hear or see me. They simply did not register the place and never came near. 

I explored the whole island looking for a clue and got nothing but a leg full of seed ticks for my trouble. Sleep would never come. I thought I’d go crazy. So, I grabbed my pole. I set my rig up just like before. I stood in the same place and cast. I waited. 

I saw my pole bend, the shock of red beneath water, and my heart pounded. It let me just reel it on in. The fish stared at me with a golden eye as I laid it on a flat rock. It was eerily still like it was waiting.

I dug around in my tackle box until I found a crushed box of Rainbow Brite Band-Aids I’d bought for Carol Anne. 

Her voice tinkled in my mind, “Daddy, I don't watch that show anymore. I’m grown up!” 

“Really? Two years ago, you had to have that doll with the yarn hair for your birthday!” 

And then she laughed. “Yeah, but that’s a loooooong time!” 

I missed her so much that I grit my teeth to keep from wailing like a baby. 

I used the edge of my t-shirt to gently dab at the gash still visible on the fish’s side. I took a couple of bandages out, sticking them over the wound.  Just imagine how stupid I felt putting cartoon Band-Aids on a damn catfish. 

“Look. I know this ain’t much but it’s all I’ve got and I’m sorry. I won’t come around here again, um, Your Grace. Please let me see my kid again.” 

I waded out and let the fish swim free from beneath my arm. I prayed for the first time in fifteen years as I rowed my raft across the lake. And this time I saw a dark roadside come from the mist. Leafless branches rustled in a breeze that chilled me to the bone. Shit. Looked like my truck had been towed, too. I deflated the raft and rolled it up before I started walking towards home, thumb out. 

The first thing I was going to do is hug Carol Anne tight. Then, I was going to pull the divorce papers from that manila envelope on my nightstand, sign them, and give them to Grace. If she felt like she was in a prison, I wasn't gonna keep her locked up.