Chapter 6: fishing for bass

A few days have passed. This morning I made a terrible mistake. The man in the brown hat was outside my window. It made me nervous. Anxious. I didn’t know what to do so I texted someone, hoping to get out of my house. I was beginning to feel trapped inside of my house. Like a sitting duck. Waiting for whatever terrible thing the man in the brown hat would one day bring.

The person I texted was an old coworker named Tanner. I don’t know why I texted him. We were just casual acquaintances when we worked together at the plastic factory, and I hadn't worked there in three months. Tanner was one of those blue-collar guys. Like a modern-day cowboy. He even wore a cowboy hat. He was well over six feet tall, and just an inch short of being noticeably tall. Even though he always wore baggy shirts, you could tell Tanner was as strong as an ox. Being around him just made me feel comfortable. He made decisions, and never second-guessed them. Tanner was completely confident sitting in silence. He never had an awkward moment, and he was always right. Imagine being that confident. That must be a beautiful way to live.

Tanner lived in a big house on a sprawling property on the outskirts of town, or at least that is what I had gathered from other coworkers who went out to hunt or fish on his property. He was one of those country types who always work simple jobs, but seem to have a never ending flow of money. Every other week he would show up at work with a new truck, or talk about the new Yamaha four-wheeler he had purchased. When we worked together, he had told me to stop by any time. This morning I don’t know why but I had texted him and asked if I could come over. He had told me to stop by any time and we would go fishing.

A week ago I had bumped into Tanner at the liquor store. He was buying Budweiser Light, and so was I. He had told me that he left the plastic factory we had worked at and was now a construction contractor. We had bumped into each other a few times before this and said we should hang out sometime. Setting up vague future plans with casual acquaintances is a must when you see them in public. So we always said we should drink some beer and then parted ways knowing fully well we never would. This morning I had violated this social contract. I actually set up a time to hang out. I was mortified.

After I had texted Tanner I immediately felt regret. I had lost control of my day, and left everything up to someone I barely knew. I thought of every possible excuse I could say to him to get out of our plans, and get back to the day I had planned: watching TV and drinking at my house. Tanner would see through all these excuses, but maybe he was sitting in his home hoping that I would make up some excuse and he wouldn’t have to spend the day with me. It would be best if I just made up some excuse and canceled our day, and we could go back to the simple relationship we had before: two guys who know a little bit about each other and are friendly to one another when they bump into each other in public. We could just go back to our normal days. It would be easier for everyone.

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I’m driving to Tanner’s house. The guilt of canceling the plans outweighed the burden of spending several hours in someone else's home. I pulled up to Tanner’s house. Dark, ominous clouds were starting to come in from the north. You can really see everything out in the country. The clouds. The stars. Nature feels a little closer and sometimes that feels really good.

I park my car, and start to walk up to Tanner’s giant home. The dark ominous feeling of the impending rain feels good. I’ve always loved the feeling of the sublime. It must be the feeling other people get sitting in church pews under high arched ceilings. A warm, fuzzy feeling of terror that something bigger than you controls your life. Tanner greets me at the door. He was just as I remembered him. Tall. Strong. Confident. Relaxed. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt, and tight fitting jeans. He really looked like some modern cowboy. Like the pretty-boy country music singers, but Tanner was actually walking the walk. I had worn blue jeans, and a flannel shirt. Now I felt self-conscious. Like Tanner knew I had picked out this outfit specifically for my visit, which was true. A city boy wearing a costume.

Tanner invites me into his living room. Baseball is playing on his giant Samsung flat-screen television. He comes out of the kitchen with two bottles of Budweiser Light and hands one to me. I like how confident people don’t ask you if you want something, they always know what you want and they give it to you. How do they know? There were already five empty Budweiser Light bottles on his coffee table in front of the TV. Men like Tanner drink beer like water when they have a day off of work. No one bats an eye when a cowboy drinks a case of light domestic beer on their day off of work. Say what you will about blue-collar living, but they sure know how to relax. They know how to have a good time. I’ve never heard Tanner say a thing about how Budweiser Light is made or manufactured. There’s no need to talk about beer. Tanner has a beard, but he’s never talked about that either. These things just are. Why would we waste time discussing them?

We sit and watch the baseball game. I have no idea who is playing. Tanner doesn’t watch baseball to make some point about enjoying a sport that is boring. He truly enjoys watching it. It’s not boring to him. Nothing about Tanner is for the sake of posturing. He dresses in clothes that best suit the physical activity he will be doing for the day. He drinks beer that tastes good to him. He drinks light beer so he can drink all day, always having a buzz, and never getting drunk. He watches sports or TV shows that he gets pleasure from watching. Everything about Tanner serves a purpose.

I make small talk with Tanner about his new job. He tells me he likes it. Loves not having a boss. He loves working outside. I talk very little about myself. I don’t think Tanner would understand the things going on in my life. I am also careful not to mention the fact that I am not working. Sitting idle for weeks on end would not be something Tanner approves of. Tanner doesn’t ask. I don’t tell. I ask Tanner about Jackie. Jackie was this gorgeous woman who worked in the sales department of the plastic factory we worked at. A college educated woman in a working-class world. She was probably ten years Tanner’s senior, and she was breathtakingly beautiful. Tanner had started dating her soon after we started working together. Every guy that worked at the factory wanted to be with Jackie, but it was obvious Tanner would be the one who ended up with her. I wouldn’t even have known what to do if Jackie liked me. Whenever I was around Tanner and she came down to talk with him, she would ask me a question, and I always clammed up and just gave her a one word response. Women like that are meant for men like Tanner. Tall. Strong. Confident. Tanner tells me he is no longer seeing her. They broke up last week. Things just weren’t really working out. He looks over at me like he is about to say something more, but then he turns back to the TV. “If the Reds lose one more game, they are out of the playoff race.” I nod like I know, but I actually have no idea. The raindrops begin to softly beat down on Tanner’s roof, and I have had enough beer where I am starting to feel happy and relaxed. I’m glad I came over to Tanner’s today.

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The rain had stopped shortly after the baseball game ended. I fill up a cooler with 24 more Budweiser Light and Tanner gets the fishing poles and tackle box out of the garage. We ride a Gator utility vehicle down to one of Tanner’s ponds. Now we’re sitting in lawn chairs, baiting our hooks, casting our lines, and drinking beer. I’m starting to feel really good, and I start to talk to Tanner about how much I hated working at the plastic factory. Tanner sits slumped down in his chair, nodding and agreeing with me. I get the sense he currently just wants to sit in nature, so I oblige him.

I catch three large bass throughout our time fishing, and Tanner catches six. We both just toss them back after we unhook them. The sun is now slowly setting behind the tree line on Tanner’s property. It is truly a beautiful moment that I could only enjoy if I was buzzed. Thankfully I am. Tanner looks over at me, and I feel like he is about to say something. I look back at him, but he is staring out over the pond. We both just sit for a little while in a peaceful silence that isn’t awkward at all. Moments like that are so rare. Probably only rare for me. I bet Tanner has a million moments like this. Quiet, relaxed confidence. The moment lasts another few minutes, and then without saying anything Tanner stands up and starts packing up. I get up and do the same. We have both had over 20 beer throughout the day, but neither one of us are the least bit drunk.

Tanner and I ride the Gator utility vehicle back to his house. He tells me to crash on the couch since I probably am well over the legal limit. I thank him. I turn on the TV and begin to watch a Bassmaster tournament that is playing on ESPN 2. I hear Tanner putting things away in the kitchen. Then he comes and sits on a recliner next to the couch. “You know,” he begins slowly looking at the TV, “I never really liked having Jackie when she was around. She always got on my nerves. Always talking about things that didn’t interest me. Always making me go places I didn’t want to go. Always making me do things on my day off that I didn’t want to do. But now I can’t stop thinking about her. I miss all the annoying things we used to do together.”

I’m taken aback. This is by far the deepest conversation I’ve ever had with Tanner. To this point we’ve only ever engaged in small talk, and this conversation is about the deepest one two male friends can have with one another. Tanner’s not drunk, he just has this melancholy look on his face. I don’t know what to say so I just agree. I tell him that’s happened to me before, which is kind of true, because I currently have similar emotions for the red haired girl. Tanner stares at the Bassmaster tournament on TV. A man has just caught a largemouth bass that has bumped him up the leaderboard. He tosses it back. Tanner continues: “Everyone says women are complicated. But they really aren’t. They just want someone to love them, and so few of us men can give them that. Women have comforted me from the day I was born, and I’ve never known what to say or do to let them know I love them. Usually I just don’t say anything at all, and that’s of course not what they want to hear. I guess I just miss having someone around like Jackie. She always would say out loud the things I was thinking, and there’s something comforting about that. There will be other women though. It is what it is.”

I agree with Tanner, and he tells me he’s going to bed. Blue collar people are always saying “it is what it is,” which sounds very simple, but is actually a complex idea. When someone says this it means they do not believe that we have free-will. It means that whatever happens in our lives is outside of our control. It means no matter what we think, what we do, what we say, the result will always be the same. It means that there is some greater force out there. It means that this greater force assigns positive or negative outcomes to our lives based on their own wayward nature. It means in the end this greater force always picks the same result: death. It means our death is determined at our birth and merit has nothing to do with the situation we are in.

I obviously do not like the phrase “it is what it is,” or the philosophy that it implies. I like to think that we can change our lives a little with each new decision we make. I like to think that every choice we make for the greater good makes the lives of everyone a little better. I like to think no one is destined to suffer. I like to think we are not predestined prisoners. I like to think we are not captives of caprice. Despite this sentiment I cannot deny the peaceful appeal of “it is what it is.” Sometimes I like to dream that everything we do has no impact on anything. That it is all for nothing. Life is just some game created by someone watching over us from far away. No human life has ever had a happy ending. I cannot think of a more cynical, banal statement than “it is what it is.” Usually this statement is thought of as optimistic. It is what it is: get over it, life gets better, try again. But if the result will always be the same, then why should we continue to try? Even though I hate this phrase, I’m beginning to think it’s true more and more each day. It’s like when you’re young and your parent says “life’s not fair,” and you want to argue, but then you remember that the other day when you were trying to save a butterfly’s life and you fell down and scraped your knee. You remember that life actually isn’t fair. Usually those who cheat the most in life are the most likely to tell you that “life isn’t fair.” They know they rigged the game. They know you can’t beat them. They want you to believe that life isn’t fair. It is what it is.

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I wake up on the couch. I set my alarm to wake me up early. When I stay at someone’s house I like to get up early so I can leave the house before they wake up. It helps me avoid sober conversations in the morning. It also ensures that I won’t have to eat some disgusting breakfast to be polite. Every morning when I wake up and am hit with the reality of being alive my stomach tosses and turns. I can’t imagine wanting to eat. I always feel like I’m going to throw up.

I walk out to my car. Before I pull out I text Tanner telling him thank you for letting me come over. It really was a nice time. I’m glad I came. As I drive home I listen to NPR. They are playing a comedy program by a scientist. He’s listing out all the probabilities of common fears. “The odds of dying in a plane crash are 1 in 11, 963, 429! The odds of being struck by lightning are 782, 721! The odds of being eaten by a shark are 3, 748, 067! These are the real odds of these things, yet you people…” The scientist isn’t very funny, but it’s always reassuring to hear the actual odds of horrible events. It makes me feel calm about my own worries. What are the odds I am being stalked by a man? I wish I could ask the scientist that and hear an actual number.

I pull into a gas station to get gas. As I’m paying the man at the counter looks up at me, “Hey buddy, how about a lottery ticket? The jackpot is up to seven hundred forty-nine million, six hundred and ninety-one thousand, four hundred seventy-five dollars, and ninety-two cents.” I tell the man I will take three Powerball tickets. I walk back out to my car. I drive home. The man in the brown hat isn’t outside of my house. I pull all the curtains closed, get into my bed, and wait to fall asleep again.