My Redacted Life: Chapter 31 (Cont._3)

Marriage loomed a month away. We were stressed by the plans, haunted by doubts, and nervous about the future. Feeling edgy, we went fishing. Lake Conway was nearby and the landings there rented boats and motors. What else could a young couple in love do to settle their nerves?

The bream were biting just enough that day to keep our minds occupied. Still, we made plans for the future. I would become a partner in the firm and gain a reputation for excellence. Maybe I would work on a Master's degree. She would do something someday other than teaching.

Why had she gone into teaching?

“The guidance counselors never told us that girls could do anything else.”

“Oh?”

“Well girls weren’t supposed to go to college in the first place.”

“Oh?”

“Oh no. It was okay to live in a college town, though.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” if you were there to work on your PhT.”

“PhT?”

“Putting hubby through.”

“Oh.”

She yanked her line and pulled in a small bream, wriggling and thrashing as if its life depended upon it, which it did. She unhooked it, examined it, and said, “Go grow a little.” She tossed it into the lake.

I watched her and said, “Where did you learn to fish?”

She shrugged. “Where did you?”

That caught me off guard. “I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve just always known how.”

“So you think I am any different? Hand me the cricket box. Then turn around and face the other direction.”

I did as I was told and held onto the sides of the boat as a good deal of commotion occurred at the other end.

What was I getting myself into?

After a few moments, calm returned and she said, “You can turn around now.”

She had already baited her hook and tossed the line into the water. Neither of us spoke for a few minutes. Finally, I broke the silence. “Why did you decide to teach the third grade?”

She looked down the boat at me. “Because they wouldn’t let me run the torture ward.”

“Oh.”

She examined her bait and threw it back in. “I’ll bet you were a perfect student, weren’t you?”

“Hardly,” I said. “I was the youngest in the class and easily led astray. How about you?”

“Mostly perfect.”

“Mostly?”

“Except for the time I got sent home in grade school.”

“Sent home? For what?”

“This boy pushed me and called me ‘fatty.’ So I hit him in the face and broke his glasses.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Mama and Daddy had to buy him a new pair.”

“Oh.”

“Know what though?”

“No. What?”

“None of the other kids ever called me ‘fatty’ again.”

“I can imagine.”

We fished in silence as I wondered if rich folks in those big skyscrapers up north ever spent such wonderful times while they were waiting to get married.

Teach a girl to dig her own fish bait
and she'll take care of herself forever.