The Greatest Fisherman (standard:drama, 558 words)
Author: bodhisattva	Added: Feb 02 2002	Views/Reads: 3442/1	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A man recalls his greatest achievement in life.

I haven’t always been sentimental, but lately I find myself reflecting
on my past. Not what I might have done, or on things that I might 
regret doing. More often than not, I just like to remember some of the 
things I’ve accomplished in my years. I’m over eighty years old so 
please bear with my memory; it’s not what it used to be. 

My name is Gus, most people used to call me Fisher, but I’d just prefer
to be called Gus, if you don’t mind. The reason people called me Fisher 
is because that’s what I did. Most folks get known for their work, well 
I was known for what I did in between work. I fished, and I was damn 
good at it. I can still clean fish faster than any of those damn 
talking heads on that ESPN. 

Well, as I was saying, I’ve been living in the past a bit lately, I
think I’ve earned it, and the one memory that I could think of time and 
again is of the weekend my friends and I skipped out of work and headed 
out for the lake. It was one of those beautiful spring days, the 
temperature was perfect, the sun was out, and the wind kissed your 
cheek like a woman at the town dance. 

We fished all day and into the early evening, catching more than our
fair share, when we decided to call it quits. We heard about this new 
tavern down the road from our cabin and we were a bit curious about it. 


Sitting at the bar, sipping my beer, I turned my head as the door opened
and in walked the downfall of my fishing career. Long, brown hair fell 
below her shoulders as she walked towards me. Her eyes weren’t of one 
particular color, they seemed to change with the light, and as I would 
learn later, changed with her mood. She was the most beautiful woman I 
had ever hoped to see in my life. 

With eyes like that I didn’t get much fishing done the rest of the
weekend, or the rest of my life for that matter. We were engaged to be 
married by the end of the month. And next week would be our sixtieth 
wedding anniversary, if she were still here. 

Every time I close my eyes, I see that long, brown hair of hers, just
for a second, but I see it. You might wonder if I regret meeting her 
and not being able to fish as much as I would like to, but as I said 
before, I don’t regret anything I did, or anything I didn’t do. 

“Mr. Ferguson.... Mr. Ferguson it’s time for your medication.” 

Sorry bout that folks, but it looks like it’s time for me to get going.
It’s not so bad here; they feed us pills twice a day, three square 
meals, a bed to sleep on, and television in the afternoons. The hardest 
part is not being able to be with my wife. I do wish they’d let me go 
fishing once in a while, but with my heart condition the doctor says 
that it could kill me. 

Most of my life, I had my wife with me, and the rest of my life I had
fishing. All I have now are my memories. 


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