by Kevin J. Wilson 

There was a time when you stood on my father's dock, in your swim trunks, in the lull of early evening. Your bare torso muscular and tanned, its blond hairs catching glints of twilight. You held a fishing rod, cocked like the hammer of a pistol, over your shoulder. You snapped it forward. The line sang free and cut through the humid delta air into the water. 

I sat next to you and watched. At fifteen, we looked like brothers. You fished with my license. You'd pull the rod close as you reeled, then let it go again back towards the water. The steady rhythm was hypnotic. I reveled in it, followed each movement of your arms and chest until you finally switched to bait, sat down and let the line lie still. 

You spoke in soft tones of the girl you loved and pined for. You knew just where you'd take her if you got the chance  '”the seafood place by the harbor. You'd sit at the narrow table for two overlooking the boats moored in dark water, while the candle's flicker lit her face. Dance on the parquet floor after ten, hands on her hips as you swayed to the beat.

I believed you could do it just that way. Gazing into the murky depths, I saw my reflection, distorted by the river's currents. My dream girl stared sadly back at me. I knew her, tried to shape her with my words for you'”

Tawny hair that sometimes fell over her eyes; how the fabric of her dress would lie over her breasts and hips; how delicate her hands; how long thin smooth her legs, stretching out from their covering skirt; how she could fling her bangs back and swallow someone up with her eyes; how she could fold her body into the envelope of two strong arms. 

You asked, 'Who is she?' 

I wondered, 'How could you not know ?' 

Silence fell between us. Night's blue now covered the dock. I watched you long after you reeled in that final cast, after your whisper ceased, your face a blue outline in the dusk, arms crossed in your lap, moving with your chest as you took in each breath.