Narrator: Joey embarks on his fishing trip unaware that life holds depths far beyond his imagination.
The kettle whistled with steam bellowing from the spout. It was still dark outside when Mrs. Haswell removed the kettle from the stove. She enjoyed sitting in the quiet, sipping on a fresh cup of coffee. It was the beginning of spring, and the start of a new fishing season.
Little Joey was turning seven today. It was time he started going on the family fishing trips. Joey was more like his mother in many aspects. He loved nature, and animals in away different from the other men in the family.
She spoke gently, “Joey, sweetheart, time to get dressed,” her voice easing him awake.
He stretched, welcoming the new morning. He was excited to embark on his first fishing trip. His heart raced as his mind replayed the stories his older brother jack told him. Jack often made it seem as though their dad was the best fisherman around. I’m finally going to become a man, He thought.
Joey battled with the zipper, trying to get on Jack’s old jacket. Handed down from father to son for several generations. The Jacket had become a rite of passage for the boys in the Haswell family.
Joey noticed a small inscription inside the jacket, just below the collar.
Wear This Jacket well, it’s yours now. Patience and respect will guide you, as it has guided us all.
He smiled proudly, strutting a little, posing for his grandma. He felt like the menfolk when he wore it. I’m a fisherman, he told his grandma, standing tall with a firm chest. Mrs. Haswell smiled. She’d seen that look before in his father when he went on his first trip.
Joey Imagined himself on the river catching fish with each step down the stairs. Though she saw the joy and excitement in his eyes, she wondered whether Joey was ready. She knew Joey was a little more sensitive than the other boys his age.
She said, you ready, baby? Joey nodded, grabbing his dad’s old fishing cap. Come on, He said, leaping toward the door.
They headed to the river. The sun, only just risen with shadows stretched across the land. Joey was in wonder of it all.
Arriving near the water’s edge, the aroma of fish on the bank imbued Joey’s senses. The light danced across the water’s surface, leaving trails of colors in its wake.
This is it. I’m going fishing, he thought.
His heart pounding, his grandma handed him the fishing rod. It shook in his hands and he shook a little too. He was now living the stories Jack always bragged about. I’m one of the menfolk now, he thought.
The fish arrived, first tugging on his line, then whirling in the air. it was a little crappie. He reeled in with little trouble. He grinned proudly, waving to the fish, and showing it to his grandma. He stiffened and swelled his chest. He had followed through. His first catch.
The fish kept coming, one after another, each one larger than the next. Joey thought he was on top of the world, becoming the man he desired to be. He stared exhausted and perplexed into the live well where the fish swam in circles on his trip home.
Grinning, he listed Speckle, Flash, Mr. Wiggles. They were no longer simply fish now. They were part of his journey and what made today unforgettable.
Though Joey didn’t see, his grandma laughed quietly. To him, the fish were pals. They had been with him at his triumphant moment that he’d been waiting for his entire life.
Arriving back home, his grandma quickly filled the clawfoot tub with the fish back at the house. Joey knelt next to it, watching his companions swim while his fingers danced in the water.
He looked up just as his grandma reaching into the tub grabbing Mr. Wiggles. His Heart sank. “Grandma, just what are you doing?” His voice shaky. She said, “Making dinner, sweetheart,” as she was dragging Mr. Wiggles from the water.
The fish wiggled in her hands, exactly as it had when Joey first caught it, but now his stomach churned at the sight. Something was wrong, he felt it in his soul.
He watched her moving through the kitchen, placing Mr. wiggles on a wooden board sitting on the counter. He flopped his tail up and down. “No!,” He yelled running to her. Joey grabbed at her apron. “Please, Grandma, Don’t hurt him!” Tears ran down his face.
In a swing of her cleaver, he watched as the tail fell to the floor. She looked back at Joey, her hand covered in Mr. wiggles’ blood.
Just a minute honey, she said.
In that moment, he heard the iron skillet clinking against the burner. He smelt the cooking oil as it flowed into the pan. A smell Joey was usually excited for, a smell that meant dinner soon. This time was different. His skin felt itchy, and a nauseous sensation flowed through him.
His grandma knelt next to him, lightly putting a palm on his head. “Joey, this is how it’s always been,” she remarked. We eat the fish after catching them. We came fishing today for this reason.
Mrs. Haswell rubbed the back of his neck, She was afraid of this. He wasn’t ready.
Joey slammed to the ground in protest. “Mr. Wiggles, Mr. Wiggles” he cried out, “They’re my friends, please don’t kill them” He begged.
Her voice softened, but her words were firm. This is our way of life, Joey. We live off the earth and its creatures.
Laying there powerless in tears, Joey watched as she brought Mr. Wiggles to the stove. The sound of him sizzling in the pan tortured Joey’s young mind.
He could not stand to watch, and was helpless to stop it. The joy of the morning had vanished, leaving a crack in his soul.
He sat at the dinner table, ashamed of himself. How could he have brought death to his new friends? When his grandma presented the plate to him, Joey could not glance at it. He sat silent, refusing to eat.
Just hours ago, he was excited to become a man, to become a fisherman. A heroic tradition among the men of the family, but now he looked back in shame at all those pictures of jack’s friends he held up high.
Mrs. Haswell reached over, placing her hand on Joey’s shoulder. Joey, I know this is tough; she said empathetically. But life is not always fun or easy. Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like to survive. You will understand this in time.
Joey omitted responding. He could not sympathize, all he could see was his friend Mr. Wiggles laid out on the plate in front of him. How could you grandma?, he thought to himself, staring at the plate.
Later that evening, he laid in his bed replaying the events of the day. Lost to the dark realities of the world, the little lad who’d begun the day so full of wonder and excitement, felt like a stranger now. A stranger to the world, and to his family.
Gripping his pillow, he stared at the photo of his mom and dad next to his bed. She had passed during childbirth, but he felt her presence in the photo. He whisper to her, “I don’t want to be a man, not anymore”
It wasn’t long before Joey nodded off. He trembled in his sleep, struggling with the horrors he witnessed in the day.
In the middle of the night, his dreams shifted to a small white room. He grinned happily at the young lady in a strange bed, holding him in her arms. He felt different, and The room seemed familiar, but he could not place it.
She smiled at him, and said, Joey it’s okay, baby. You will see him again in time, my son. She pointed to Mr. Wiggles waving his tail in excitement to see Joey. He was swimming around in an aquarium built into the wall.
Joey looked over at Mr. Wiggles just as he faded away. “Mom” Joey called, “mom” he said again. His eyes opened, and he quickly grabbed the photo off the nightstand.
He gazes it, wondering if it was really her when a warming sensation consumed him. A growing sense of peace and harmony flowed through him.
He sat quietly a few minutes with the photo in his hand, unknowingly embraced by his loved ones of generations past. It was then, he looked over at the jacket with a new understanding and began to hear a growing sound, it was the call.
The fishermen's Call.
