Fishing

The fish is nibbling the bait. The indicator bobs, but only slight. Oliver’s hands are holding the fishing rod, prepared, in case the indicator dips more, disappears into the water. It’s about time. For two hours, he’s been sitting patiently, watching with eyes wide open the red, white, and yellow indicator. It’s not that he hasn’t enjoyed his wait. A shoal of duck had arrived just minutes after he’d pitched himself on the edge of the pond. They flapped their wings, splashed water, quacked, hunted for their food, and Oliver smiled watching nature’s beauty. The suns rays had shimmered the water, the colorful ducks had twisted and turned in the water, pricking his eyes. He put on his papa’s goggles. How wonderfully it worked. He wanted to sleep, see the cloud scuttle by, feel the breeze, soothe in the sound of the water splashing. But he’d come to fish. His mamma, Oliver knew, would appreciate the fish. She’d kiss, hug, her eyes would water with pride, and she’d say, you are like your father. You care for me.

Oliver had wondered about school also. His mates would be sitting on hard, wooden chairs, on a cold, damp room, listening to Mrs. Peterson, lecturing about Hardy, Dickens. Would use was that, when your stomach was growling for food, when you’d hardly slept all night, when your mamma was crying, unable to bear the loss of your papa? The kitchen was in Oliver's house empty, his morning before he’d left, he’d checked everything. Only empty pots and pans, so easily making noises, that sound, which you don’t want to hear when you’re ravenous, when your belly demands hot food.

A milkman had delivered a bottle of milk; for how long he would continue, Oliver didn’t know, but in his hunger, he’d drank half the bottle, kept half of his mother. Then, with that, with his torn shoes, tattered jacket, he’d left with his papa’s fishing rod.

The indicator stands straight now, erected, without bobing. Perhaps the fish didn't like the dough he'd stolen from his neighbor, perhaps, the fish knows, that unlike Oliver and his mamma, it isn't hungry for stale food, isn't prepared to get trapped on the process.

Still, only two hours have elapsed. Oliver is prepared to wait the whole day. The whole day for food. He has no other alternative.