The Boat Comes and the Line goes Kerplash. Off, Off, and Away the Little Fishies Dash.

All was silent ten feet beneath the cold, black water. The depth of the darkness over took me and I experienced perfect chilled serenity. There’s something magical about the allowing yourself to completely give over to the power of the light, twisting movement of the lake.

I was looking for a ring that had slipped off my finger while playing “king of the hill” with my brother, sister, and our friend Miles. The game was something of a notorious tradition for the lake house, the brutal force of one child against all the others was required to remain victorious. My brother, Levy (one year younger than me), and Miles were yet pre-pubescent and easily mastered by my sister and I. We were as tall as our male counterparts but had the advantage of some extra muscle that came from a daily obsession with crunches and pushups to remain our enemy’s physical superior. King of the Hill was a pretty simple game. There was a floating dock some 20 yards from the beach, and our goal was to race out to the dock as fast as we could, arms and legs splashing and splaying the whole way, and spend the next 2-4 hours claiming dock territory by pushing all opponents, screaming and flailing, into the chilly dark water. My sister and I would occasionally combine our potent powers and dominate, but the union would always end with one double-crossing the other and taking advantage of a vulnerable position. It was a vicious cycle that always ended with four hungry, tired, and waterlogged children.

This particular game had an unfortunate ending. I don’t remember the ring actually slipping off my finger but I do distinctly remember the feeling in the pit of my stomach, when I noticed an empty finger as I sent my squealing brother flying off the dock.

I didn’t really have time to gain composure and I felt two strong hands push me from behind and I turned to see Miles smirking at me as I smacked the cold water. It was getting late and the water was getting so dark. I dove deeper and deeper, drowning out all the noises from above, all I could hear was the beating of my pulse in my ears and the muted sounds of underwater movement. I slowly trolled the bottom of the lake, searching desperately for any shiny sign of my precious birthday ring. I finally did spot something shiny… but it was the last thing I could have ever expected. My Dad’s fishing pole was swimming, quite rapidly, away from me. I rose up to the surface to get a gasp of air and ignored the shouts and banter of my siblings and dove down in pursuit of that pole.

I kicked my legs as fast as I could and tried to remember all the things my third grade swimming coach taught me about swimming really fast. I chased that pole until my lungs seemed like they were about to burst! I stretched out my arms with one last ounce of strength and grasped the handle of the pole. I yanked it upward only to realize that there was something attached to it. Something heavy. I tried to swim towards the surface but whatever was attached to that pole was swimming in the opposite direction.

There comes a time, in every person’s life, when they have a moment of complete and utter fear. A moment in which a person is completely positive they are going to die and for one brief second, gives up on the fight for life. The person floats in some strange, passive state. Comfortably numb? Tunnels of darkness take their vision and within moments they are gone. Just as they once were, they now are gone.

HAHA. WELL THAT DIDN’T HAPPEN TO ME. I DIDN’T EVEN GET TO THAT POINT OF ALMOST DEATH.

I burst through the water rejoicing in what seemed like slow motion. In my mind I was bursting through some thin sheet of shiny glass, sending tiny shards of virulent heat missiles out from around me. As I flew through the air, I slowly looked over at my brother and sister, both with their jaws dropped. I fought that catfish for at least 15 minutes. My brother and sister sat on the dock and laughed as I sat treading. Damn Fish. I’m pretty sure I mentioned the fact that I might drown. They didn’t care. They said I had survived this long. Fine then.

I finally dragged the stupid fish up onto the beach. I took one look at the fish and almost died, it was only about a foot long and no more than 3-4 pounds. Damn fish.

Apparently my dad had decided to leave one of his fishing poles outside over night. He had it rigged up so that nothing could swim off with it. Funny. Didn’t work.

And then you know what happened? Amidst of all that havoc I completely forgot about that ring I had been so desperately trying to find. To this day, do you think I really remember the pain of losing that ring? No. I remember fighting with catfish and trespassing to go creek stomping through the woods over across the lake. I remember making dangerously large bonfires with my brother and shoving dangerous amounts of marshmallows into our faces. I remember building rafts to cross the “dangerous, white water river”, though I feel I must be honest and let you know that it was really just a lake. Imagination was alive and our adventures were crazy enough to last a great deal longer than a ring.

So I guess what I have to say is… in life, sometimes you lose precious rings… but there’s always a good underwater catfish struggle to make you forget your problems.

I don't know why I love you like I do

All the changes you put me through

Take my money, my cigarettes

I haven't seen the worst of it yet

I wanna know, can you tell me

I'd really like to stay

Take me to the river

Drop me in the water

Take me to the river

Dip me in the water

Wash me down, wash me down

Wash me down, wash me down