Friends on the Wing

I believe in friends. Earlier today I was checking my email. I wasn't shocked find a letter from as close friend. Dane and I went through school together in upstate New York. Whenever I was having a problem, Dane was the first to know about it and offer help. Whether we were running countless laps around the high school track or forgoing a day of public education for a sunny fishing hole tucked away in the mountains, we were the masters of all the world.

On a sunny spring time day and we were checking our fishing tackle for our annual "First fish after Hell' fishing trip. These trips always took place directly following winter months, when it was warm enough to go fishing again. Dane was showing me his expensive new fishing lures when I made the suggestion to take the canoe out rather than the row boat. I made the argument that the canoe would be lighter to carry to the lake. He agreed, and in moments we were paddling our way out to the other side of the lake.

The water was cold, too cold for fishing. We both knew it. It didn't matter because to us, fishing really wasn't about catching fish; fishing was about relaxing. Catching an actual fish was more of a bonus. The lake was bright from the sun's reflection against the fresh greens of the surrounding trees. An older couple sat on a dock across the lake, watching us paddle fifteen minutes to our spot. We dropped anchor, threw our lines in, and relaxed.

The hours began to pass quickly and just as figured, no bites. Suddenly, Dane's pole nearly jumped in the water. We jolted at the action, ready to risk life and limb to land whatever monster was on the other end of that line. The drag setting on Dane's reel was screaming as he fought the fish up to the surface. We saw the shadow of the fish rising toward the boat and our eyes went wild with awe. "Get the net!", Dane shouted. As I rose to reach for the net, I felt the canoe shift under me and I knew in an instant, it was too late. The last thing I saw before I went head-first into the water, was my friend being catapulted from other end of the canoe.

As I was submerged, the only things going through my mind, besides the shear chill of the water, was how angry Dane was going to be. I thought about his new tackle and his fishing pole being dragged under by a beast from the deep. I fought through the cold and swam for the surface, not knowing what to expect. When I finally broke through I found Dane, holding on to the other end of the capsized canoe, laughing hysterically with wide eyes. We gathered all of our floating belongings into the center of the canoe, even though it was full of water. As we swam, laughed, and shivered our way into shore, I searched for the right words to convey my apology. All I said was "That old couple brought out towels."

With everybody moving around so much, it's easy to lose track of people. But with the people I truly consider friends, the years feel like minutes. We can pick up right where we left off and still have the same bond. We're held together from the past. Sometimes I find myself lost in life. I feel as if I'm walking through a blinding fog with no destination. If there is one thing that keeps me moving, it is the fact that I know my friends will be waiting for me when the fog lifts.