Did you catch (get it?!)  Monday's blog featuring Gone Fishing by Headstall? This little lure of an excerpt should reel you right in if not! (Hey, I can't help it if I was raised by diehard fishaholic and know ALL the puns!). Seriously, though, the story has all the feels too. Read on! 

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He’d been in such a hurry to leave Sweetwater at the time, feeling like he was suffocating because of its limits, but he wasn’t feeling that now. Suffocating? That was exactly how Andrew had said he felt when he dropped his nuclear bomb on their lives. No, he wasn’t going there… it was over and done.

Everywhere he looked, he saw his grandmother. She had raised her daughter, his mom, as a single woman in this very house. His absent grandfather was never spoken of, but nothing appeared to be lacking in the woman’s life. She was, as his dad had said, a going concern. She’d put in thirty-five years at her job with the Roads Department before retiring, none the worse for the physical labor involved. Even then, she was always doing something, whether it was piling every rock she could find on the hillside or using a chainsaw to keep the brush and dead wood cleared. And of course, there was fishing. More often than not you could find her out on the river in hip waders, and if she ever disappeared for a while, it was to fish some other body of water.

The last time he’d been in this house, he’d admired the concrete counter-tops she’d put into the kitchen with no help from anyone. Staring at them now, they looked as good as the day he’d first laid eyes on them, their initial gleam undiminished by those few years. They were a perfect complement to the meticulously-crafted cupboards, again the work of his Grandmother. Not for the first time, it crossed his mind she might have been gay too.

He’d gotten to know a number of lesbians in the LGBT+ community, and every so often he would see his grandmother in some of them. He could be wrong, but the fact was he had never seen her show any interest in men, nor could he remember ever seeing her in makeup, or a dress for that matter.

One day, out of the blue, she had told him she was there for him if he ever wanted to talk, and that she would always have his back. It gave him the courage to finally tell her he was gay. Her response was to hug him and fiercely say he deserved love as much as anyone else in this world—and to never let anyone say otherwise.

Looking back, he could see she might have been talking about herself as well. At the time, he was just thankful she had taken the news well. His eyes began to burn, but he had no desire to get weepy. He just hoped she’d lived the life she wanted.

“Thank you, Grandma,” he said softly. “I miss you, and I’m sorry I didn’t come back more often.”

A flash of silver caught his attention through the front windows as a big fish jumped.

It made him smile. Maybe she’d heard him. After all, her ashes had been spread in that very spot by him and his parents, right after her packed service had ended. It was the only time he’d seen his mother in hip-waders. Right after their private family moment was over, he and Andrew had driven back to Toronto, and he hadn’t been back since.

Sighing, Anthony headed back down the stairs. Enough with the memories—it was time to go fishing.

 

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