I was always perfect, from the second I entered this world. Don’t get me wrong, if you had scientists, engineers, and business professionals design you, you would be perfect too. While stunning in form, I am deficient in all things human… like humility. Unlike you, I remember my birth and it was flawless: no dings, scrapes, or dents – modern engineering at its best. Then the anodizing, and I was complete.
Soon after my birth, I arrived in my florescent prison with a handful of my kin. We sat, in complete silence, for months with our vision blocked by another package full of our family; they may have been distant cousins, brothers, or sisters. Then one day, we awoke to our new mother. Her red hair contrasted against an abnormally tan face and leathery wrinkles; she carried a piece of paper between her lips: a receipt. We sat as she figuratively and literally weighed us against a rival. Up and down, up, down, up, down.
Eventually, she cooed, “Better spend the money, can’t trust this China shit.” Another victory for the mother land, and we were on our way.
Our new home was glorious because it was either sunny or pitch dark. When dark, we were able to rest and prepare for our future battles. I was lucky – a stroke of destiny struck – because my sister had bitten our mother’s hand. After the recoil and a hand wave, I was chosen. A quick fitting, and I was on the front lines.
I held my position for twenty or so trips – exactly twenty seven fish… I was good… really good. Through each fight, I gave a piece of myself – for my mother – and entered the world of the flawed. No fish escaped my grasp; they banged me against rocks, logs, and even the boat, but I remained resilient. I can’t say the same for my partners – whether worm, brushhog, or crawfish – they didn’t last more than a hundred, or so, casts. By then, their body’s latex had begun to crack and disintegrate, which meant, it was time for the garbage.
Our surrogate mother would say to whoever was with her on the boat, “Can’t catch a fish, without a good looking lure.” Whether the lure was missing a tail or just not working, into the trash it went. The other famous phrase that she would spout, “I know that the fishies are here.”
Every trip, I would do my duty and grab the fish and fight… I never lost. This last trip, it was normal. There was no work to be done at the first spot. I would snag some weeds, a tree, or some artificial entity on the lake’s bottom (never a boot). Oddly, I never saw a single fish where we were.
Not seeing fishes wasn’t an issue for mom, and she would keep saying, “I know there are fish here.” Eventually, even she believed there weren’t any fish, and the two partners moved to a new location.
The new location was a great place for bass, lots of wood, big rocks to break up the current, and of course weeds. The weeds were a little far out and swayed like prairie grass as the invisible current lapped across them. On my first trip through, I caught sight of a bass. At the time, I was wearing a tiny little blue thing with two tails. I believe it was called a whoolybird. When I came out of the water, my mom said the same thing as always, “I know there are fish here.” She was right!
A few more casts, and I got closer and closer. Each time I came out, she gave more advice to her friend, “Throw towards those rocks, I know there are fish here.” I came closer and then was back in the boat. She changed my blue dress for a hot pink and black brushhog, my favorite. As she cast me, I overheard, “Gotta be the color.” In I went, I was closer this time and overheard the fish: not hungry. It was all it said. This time I caught a weed, I held on but apparently that isn’t what mom wanted because she cursed at the weeds. I let go immediately, but it was too late, “Damn, ruined the brushhog. Let’s try a neon yellow tube.” Again, she redressed me and tossed me into the lake. Her voice trailed after me like the tail of a comet, “I know there are fish here.” She was right.
Again I passed it, the fish, but I was dressed better this time. I jigged on by, my frilly skirt jumping up and down, and this time the fish said: hungry. It placed its mouth around me, hundreds of invisible and blunted teeth bit down. I lost a little of my body for mom. I wanted to grab on immediately but mom didn’t give me the signal. For a few feet, it carried me in its mouth, I could feel the umbilical cord to my mom slacken and then go taut. The signal!
I punctured the lip of the bass and a fight ensued. Me, on his lip, and him struggling for position. She had just retied the cord, and I was still in my prime. But, this wasn’t a normal fight. The wood was still nearby and the bass swam for it. I noticed the fish was able to pull without any resistance. I wasn’t upset, but I knew mom hadn’t set her drag. While she was working on the drag, the fish began to enter a tangled mess of limbs and roots. Then its motion stopped, the drag was set, but it was too late. The umbilical cord was wrapped and snapped on a branch, and I was free.
