By Alan Kolok

Christie had a rule to never kayak solo, but today’s trip was different. She loaded the kayak herself, tying it down the way Scott taught had taught her. Readjusting the driver’s seat of Scott’s truck, she repositioned the mirrors and prepared for the long trip, which would take the balance of her day.

The truck drove rough, but as the miles peeled by, she got used to it. She stopped for gas and rummaged the glove compartment looking for Life Savers. There was a healthy stock on hand: peppermint, cherry, butterscotch. Her favorite flavors. 

Christie drove past the campground, reminiscing. The first few years they tent-camped, later they had a fifth wheel. The fifth wheel certainly made their lovemaking more comfortable. How many nights did they camp there, thirty, maybe more? 

At the boat launch, she backed the truck to water’s edge and eased the kayak onto the lake. She put his fishing pole in its holder, then opened the hatch to the ample bulkhead and stowed her cargo. 

Scott used to laugh at the way that she would enter a floating kayak. This morning, she performed the task flawlessly. 

Christie trimmed the kayak and set out for the far side of the lake, a 20-minute paddle. The first few strokes were stiff, reminding her just how long her absence from paddling had been. She tried to stretch her back, all the while avoiding a capsize. Muscle memory eventually took over and she fell into a rhythm. 

Her destination was a large bay filled with lily pads on the far side of the lake. Christie stopped paddling just outside of the bay, her t-shirt damp from sweat. If Scott had been there, he would have flashed his trademark smile and tapped his paddle blade on her kayak’s bow. Scott had been her rock, a source of encouragement that respected boundaries. Such a rare combination in a man. 

Just outside the bay, she balanced his paddle on her thighs, undid the latch and pulled out the half full Ziploc bag. Turning it upside down, she watched as Scott’s ashes blended into the water and disappeared. A few moments later the only remnant of the ceremony was a small oil slick on the water’s surface. 

She spoke a few soft words into the gentle wind.

Christie paddled deeper into the bay to complete the ceremony. As promised, she pulled his fishing pole from the holder, and on her fifth cast, watched as the lure disappeared underwater.  She set the hook.

Once played out, the fish surrendered itself to her.  It was a nice fish, a 2-pound largemouth bass. Grabbing the fish the way Scott had taught her, she pulled it onto her lap. Christie looked down at the exhausted animal, its scales reflecting a kaleidoscope of sunlight. 

Her last year had been gut-wrenching. A life lesson that no matter what you lose, you can always lose more. There had been far too many trips to the oncologist, too many difficult doctor consultations, too many conversations ending with, “we’re sorry, but there is nothing else that we can do.” 

She sat for a moment, fish on her lap, lost in a world of yesterdays. She wanted to take her flotation device off and roll the kayak. She wanted to join Scott, wherever he was, to feel what he felt, to see what he was seeing. 

Even if it was nothing at all. 

The fish bounced on her lap, pulling her back to the moment. She extracted the hook and lowered the animal back into the water.  It rolled onto its back. 

“No. No!”

She reached over the side of the kayak and grabbed the fish by the lower lip. 

“Not you,” she screamed at the motionless fish, “not now!”

She plowed the fish through the water in a figure eight motion, forcing water over its gills. 

“C’mon damn you, breathe.” 

She was leaning dangerously far over the side of the kayak, water splashing against her thighs. Christie watched as the animal slowly came back to life. Its gill operculum pulsed rhythmically, gradually at first, but gaining strength with every passing moment. 

The fish regained equilibrium and righted itself. A few moments later, she watched it descend into the murk of the algae-dense water. She sat in the kayak, staring at the spot the fish had occupied just moments before. 

Dipping a blade in the water, Christie redirected the kayak, shifted in her seat, and began to paddle for home.

*   *   *

Alan S. Kolok is a professional scientist and writer. He is the author of two books, Modern Poisons a nonfiction introduction to modern toxicology, and Twist, a science fiction novel. His short stories and flash fiction have appeared in 10 x 10 Flash, the After Brunch Journal, and The First Line among others. Alan lives with his wife and dog in the great north woods of Idaho.