LITR 3731 Creative Writing UHCL sample student fiction submission 2003

LITR 3731: Creative Writing
Student Fiction Submission 2003

David Moore

Wish I Was Fishin'

Traveling down back county roads with Randy early on a summer morning was nothing new for me. Sleep balls are still stuck in my eyes from waking up to late. I could hardly keep my eyes open with the humming of rubber on pavement singing me sweet lullabies. The twangy redneck music on the radio helped by annoying me enough to keep my brain occupied. I think we’re going to some plot of land to see if we can find any property corners to help tie a new survey in with an old one that we did last summer. Land surveying isn't so bad. I can make descent cash until school starts back up and each day brings new expriences. One hour I could be out in the woods killing moccasins with my machete, and in the next couple of hours I am measuring up some rich person's lot who wants their asshole neighbors to move a fence. Man I wish he would change the station. I'm tired of hearing about some guy losing his wife, his truck, and his dog because he wasn't a good enough man or something. I guess the loss some people experience is so intense they have to write a song about it. I know the intersection we passed a few miles back should have had thirty songs written about it by now. The county is working with Randy to design an overpass over highway 288 and county road 44 because of all the fatal accidents. At least five deaths have been there in the last few years since they decided to bypass downtown Angleton and make new 288. I know, new 288 is a weird name for a highway but that is just another one of those redneck things.

"Hey, Kevin look for county road 68. The sign might be on a fence post or something and I don't want to miss it."

"Alright, Randy." He must of known I was about to doze off because Randy knows this county like the back of a cows ass. You know those rednecks and their heiffers to much temptation on those lonely days tending the herd. Randy's a good man, who happens to live in a completely different mindset than me. I just don't understand rednecks. My elbow gets knocked off the window as I am jerked forward.

"Oh, oh hang on there, I almost missed the road" as Randy pumps on the brakes and turns sharply down a dirt road.

"Is this county road 68?" I asked, but really I was only wondering if I was going to have to get out of the truck and start working.

"Yep, why don't ya start flaggin some rods we’re about there." replied Randy as he thumbs through the job folder to look up which fence post or mile marker to stop at. Those folders always seem to have some extra bit of information on jobs like this. Small notes saying stop by the twenty five inch oak with some old pink flagging on it about three miles down or something like that.

I reached down in the center console, which always had quarter inch iron rods and our patent orange flagging. Believe it or not there is a specific way to tie flagging on an iron rod. You have to make sure the flagging stays on for a long time. You get a piece about a foot long wrap it around the rod three or four times tie a knot once, and then wrap it a couple of more times and tie a good double knot. Randy taught me that. "Randy, how many rods do you think, we'll need?"

" Well, a few will do fine." stated Randy as he starts to slow the truck down and pull off onto the side of the road. I don't know why he wanted me to flag up some rods anyways. I thought we were only going to try to find some property corners not set some. Randy likes to keep me busy I guess.

"Well, I think this is it. Why don't ya grab the shovel and those rods and lets see if we can find some corners," as he grabs the map out of the folder and gets out of the truck. I get out with rods in hand and walk around to the bed of the truck and grab the shovel. Randy grabs the metal locator, which is like a status symbol to surveyors, because if you have the locator you aren't the one digging for rods.

"Well, let’s start at this fence post and pace down about three-hundred feet. There should be a half inch metal pipe down there." If you know anything about pacing, three hundred feet, is equivalent to about a hundred steps, three foot a step. Randy had been doing this so long; he could usually come within a few feet of his intended spot. I’m not quite so good at it, but I'm getting better. Most of the time, I stay a few steps back and when he stops I go a few feet farther acting like that was where I paced to, as well. As we start pacing my nine-hole Doc Martins feel like bricks on my feet. My boots probably aren't the best for working but they sure do look good. The humid ninety degree heat sure doesn't make things any better. Beads of sweat are already starting to drip down my face; this is going to be a long day.

Randy stops and I take one last step and stop too. "Did you get three hundred?" Randy asks. "No, I was at about two ninety," knowing good and well I stopped counting a long time ago.

"Well, let’s look around here. The pipe should be about twenty feet from the center of the road." Randy turns on the locator and starts looking around. The locator makes a clicking sound and starts squealing a high pitch, signaling me that it is time to start digging. I shove the shovel in the ground and kick down on the spade hoping I find a pipe and not some old tin coffee can or some other piece of trash. It’s amazing no matter where we are in the middle of no where we always come across buried junk. "You feel anything yet?" asks Randy.

"No.... oh, wait I think I got something." As my shovel scrapes across something hard and straight "I think I got a half inch pipe here." I say in relief of not discovering any trash.

"Lets flag it up and go back to the truck. I'll set up the instrument and you can give me a shot on the pipe and the concrete monument across the road." states Randy.

"What monument?" I ask confused.

"The one over there next to that fence post. Do you see it?” I look across the street, where Randy’s pointing and sure enough there is a monument. How or when he saw that thing I don't know. He must have been using his super spider surveying sense again. The monument is only about six inches above the ground with weeds and tall grass all around it.

"Oh, yeah I see it. Do we only need those two shots?" I asked hopefully so we could move on to the next job, which meant more possible sleep time in the truck.

"Sure is, I think that will give the office enough corners to finish up the job. If the other crew had done the job right the first time we wouldn't have had to come all the way out here. I don't know what those boys are thinkin some times. I bet you could start a bonfire with all the dead wood they have upstairs. If you know what a mean?" Randy smirks with delight at his redneck wit. I give him a courtesy laugh, since he is my boss and all.

We get back to the truck and Randy sets up the tripod with the instrument, while I grab the rod and head back down the road. Randy sets up a back shot sight with the other tripod to zero up the instrument. Then he turns to me and takes distance and angle to the pipe and yells "o.k.” I give him the shot on the monument and head back to the truck. We load up the equipment and get in the beat up 86' white ford truck. Randy turns the key and cranks up 93Q Country and we head out. We don't ever have too much to talk about so I'm kind of glad that he always turns on the radio-even if its country.

"On Saturday me and the boys went fishin out at the pass and caught about eight reds that were keepers."

"Really, how long did yall stay out there Randy?" I asked trying to sound interested even though I hate fishing. My dad loves to fish though; so I know enough about fishing to make it sound like a hobby of mine.

"I don't know probably about six or seven hours, but we caught most all of um in about the first couple of hours. The rest of the time we just kept thinkin they’d run back through there but all we got were a few little bites."

Randy looks all proud and I just nod my head in agreement knowing good and well about my dad's motto on fishing. If you’re not catching anything you’re fixing to start and if you are catching something than you’re going to keep on catching something that being the exact reason I've learned to despise fishing. If you have that mentality you never stop fishing. Who wants to sit around and wait for an hour or two for about ten minutes of excitement? I guess I need a little more action, but you have to admire someone with that much patience.

"Wow!! What the hell?" shouts Randy as he speeds up? I look down the road to see what he is looking at and a little four door blue car is spinning off the road about a quarter of the mile ahead of us on county road 44 at the intersection of new 288.

"Man, I missed it did you see what happened." I asked.

"That car just got hit by an flatbed pick-up." replied Randy with a sound of deep concern in his voice.

"I hope everyone’s O.K." I added.

The intersection of new 288 and county road 44 has a large median seperating the north and south bound traffic that girl was on county road 44 triing to cross the south bound lane. She, like many others, miscalculated the time it takes to cross the intersection, which always in the past has given birth to a new country song.

I tell the operator where were at and to send an ambulance because the girl starts screaming and I notice a baby seat in the back passenger side where the car was apparently grazed by the half-ton flatbed, because if not the car would have been ripped to shreds. Randy gets out and runs over to the girl and opens the rear driver’s side door. He pulls a baby no more than 1 years of age out of the car. My heart drops and everything seems to be going in slow motion. The girl is crying and asking Randy to help.

"I know infant CPR." Replies Randy. I put down the phone down after I told the operator that there was an injured child. The baby isn't crying which even I know is a bad sign. I walk over around the truck as Randy comes towards me.

"Kevin open the door!" Shouts Randy with the pale unconscious infant clutched in his arms. I open the door and Randy lays the baby onto the seat of the truck and begins checking the infant's vitals and finds a weak pulse.

"He's still alive" utters Randy under his breath. The young lady is about five feet behind Randy and me.

She is pulling at her hair and crying and asking over and over "Is my baby O.K. Is my baby O.K." The truck driver arrives and tries to talk to the mother, but she doesn't acknowledge him at all. Her focus is on what is going on in our truck. Randy thankfully had to learn infant CPR because of his daughter who is always sick. I forget the name of the illness but she looks like a two year-old when in actuality she is about six.

By this time two other cars decide to stop. I feel completely helpless and in shock. What was going on here? How did I step into this nightmare? I'm only seventeen what can I do to help in a situation like this. I begin praying. "Heavenly Father, oh Lord, please help this child. Lord this child needs your help. Please God." I mumble to myself repeatedly.

My focus goes back to the mother who is now being comforted by the couple of ladies that pulled over. I look over again at Randy and see him giving CPR to a now bluish color baby. I walk over towards the mother, who is being slightly distracted and calmed down by the two older women, who are probably moms as well. The infant's mom is shaking but has stopped screaming. The three ladies are huddled together in an embrace in the grass next to the wrecked car. Time seems to have stopped. The birds are no longer flying. The slight breeze that was once swaying the grass has dissipated and the overpowering Texas heat has become a faint memory. The red lights of an ambulance appears out of no where. I never even heard the sirens. Randy is still furiously working to save the child's life. I'm wandering around praying but not really knowing what to do. The blue skys of a sunny July day seems inapproriate for the trajedy that is unfolding.

The E.M.S. workers rush out and one of them goes towards Randy, while the other one goes towards the three ladies huddled in the grass. Randy steps back and lets the worker get the baby. The mother of the infant starts screaming again at the sight of her lifeless child. The baby and the E.M.S. worker disappear behind the doors of the ambulance. The other E.M.S. worker consoles the 19 year-old mom and tries to convince her that everything will be O.K., while she checks her for injuries. I look over at Randy, who is now sitting on the edge of his seat with his head down, and I suspect the worst. I walk over towards him and have nothing to say. He glances up with a look of bewilderment and mummers “I tried, I really tried." For some reason, all I am thinking is I wish I was fishing instead of living out a country song.

(earlier version)

Wish I Was Fishin

"Hey, Kevin look for county road 68. The sign might be on a fence post or something and I don't want to miss it."

"Oh, oh hang on there, I almost missed the road" as Randy pumps on the brakes and turns sharply down a dirt road.

"Is this county road 68?" I asked, but really I was only wondering if I was going to have to get out of the truck and start working.

"Well, let’s start at this fence post and pace down about three-hundred feet. There should be a half inch metal pipe down there." If you know anything about pacing, three hundred feet, is equivalent to about a hundred steps, three feet a step. Randy had been doing this so long; he could usually come within a few feet of his intended spot. I’m not quite so good at it, but I'm getting better. Most of the time, I stay a few steps back and when he stops I go a few feet farther acting like that was where I paced to, as well. As we start pacing my nine-hole Doc Martins feel like bricks on my feet. My boots probably aren't the best for working but they sure do look good. The humid ninety degree heat sure doesn't make things any better. Beads of sweat are already starting to drip down my face; this is going to be a long day.

Randy stops and I take one last step and stop too. "Did you get three hundred?" Randy asks. "No, I was at about two ninety," knowing good and well I stopped counting a long time ago.

"No.... oh, wait I think I got something." As my shovel scrapes across something hard and straight "I think I got a half inch pipe here." I say in relief of not discovering any trash.

"Lets flag it up and go back to the truck. I'll set up the instrument and you can give me a shot on the pipe and the concrete monument across the road." states Randy.

"What monument?" I ask confused.

"Oh, yeah I see it. Do we only need those two shots?" I asked hopefully so we could move on to the next job, which meant more possible sleep time in the truck.

"Sure is, I think that will give the office enough corners to finish up the job. If the other crew had done the job right the first time we wouldn't have had to come all the way out here. I don't know what those boys are thinkin some times. I bet you could start a bonfire with all the dead wood they have upstairs. If you know what a mean." Randy smirks with delight at his redneck wit. I give him a courtesy laugh, since he is my boss and all.

"On Saturday me and the boys went fishin out at the pass and caught about eight reds that were keepers."

"Wow!! What the hell?" shouts Randy as he speeds up? I look down the road to see what he is looking at and a little four door blue car is spinning off the road about a quarter of the mile down county road 44 at the intersection of highway 288.

"Man, I missed it did you see what happened." I asked.

"That car just got hit by an eighteen wheeler." replied Randy with a sound of deep concern in his voice.

"I hope everyone’s O.K." I added.

"Kevin use my cell phone and call 911 and tell them where were at and that there has been an accident." I quickly dial and give them the information as we arrive at the scene. There is a young girl around nineteen thankfully getting out of the call slowly and merely seems a bit confused and dazed. The truck hit the passenger side of the car, luckily for her. I look down the road and the trucker has stopped on the shoulder and is running down the road to see if every ones o.k. I tell the operator where were at and to send an ambulance because the girl starts screaming and I notice a baby seat in the back passenger side where the car was apparently grazed by the eighteen wheeler, because if not the car would have been ripped to shreds. Randy gets out and runs over to the girl and opens the rear driver’s side door. He pulls a baby no more than 1 year old out of the car. My heart drops and everything seems to be going in slow motion. The girl is crying and asking Randy to help.

"He's still alive" utters Randy under his breath. The young lady is about five feet behind Randy and me.

She is pulling at her hair and crying and asking over and over "Is my baby O.K. Is my baby O.K." The trucker arrives and tries to talk to the lady, but she doesn't acknowledge him at all. Her focus is on what is going on in that truck.

By this time some other people begin to stop. I'm completely clueless and in shock. What was going on here? How did I step into this nightmare? I'm only seventeen what can I do to help in a situation like this. I begin praying. "Heavenly Father, oh Lord, please help this child. Lord this child needs your help. Please God." I mumble to myself repeatedly as calm begin to come over me. My focus goes back to the mother who is now being comforted by a couple of ladies that were passing by. I look over again at Randy and see him giving CPR to a now bluish color baby. I walk over towards the mother, who is being slightly distracted and calmed down by the two older women. The mom is shaking but has stopped screaming. Time seems to have stopped. The ambulance arrives, while Randy is still trying to save the child. I'm wandering around praying but not really knowing what to do. The E.M.S. workers rush out and one of them goes towards Randy, while the other one goes towards the mother to check her out. Randy steps back and lets the worker get the baby. The mother starts screaming again at the sight of her lifeless infant. The baby and the E.M.S. worker disappear behind the doors of the ambulance. The other E.M.S. worker consoles the mother and tries to tell her everything will be O.K. while she checks her out for injuries. I look over at Randy, who is now sitting on the edge of his seat with his head down, and I suspect the worst. I walk over towards him and have nothing to say. He glances up with a look of bewilderment and mummers “I tried, I really tried." For some reason all I am thinking is I wish I was fishing right now.