The Nights Are Hard

      It was the first soft night of spring. The peepers sang from the wallow in the woods, and the night air smelled of water. Fred didn’t want to be alone with his memories tonight.

      The road to town offered no surprises. Dim lights and deserted streets lined with shacks. In the distance, a coyote howled as Fred slowed down, questioning his sanity. He could go home, drink, and fantasize some more.

      No.

      Experience pushed him on. He could feel it in the air. It was time for action.

      The road turned with the bay, and Fred followed it. This section of the city was darker. People haunted the sidewalks, ready to vanish into the night.

      He drove until he saw her on the sidewalk, smoking a cigarette. Thick legs in fishnets and long dark hair; a leather jacket and impractical shoes. He’d used her before, but she’d given out too soon and it hadn’t been this cold. He pulled up alongside her. Buckets rattled as he stopped.

      “You’re early,” she said. “Tonight?”

      “It has to be tonight,” he answered.

      She blew her smoke into the air deliberately and looked up and down the road before getting in. They drove out of town in silence.

      There were cars at the mouth of Drystone River, his first choice. He shook his head and sped up.

      “Hey, man, I ain’t got all night,” the woman said, lifting her butt off the seat to pick a wedge.

      “Just relax,” Fred said.

      She looked out the window at the bay as he drove.  Fred pretended this woman was his wife, Martha, waiting on him to find the spot. He was too old now; his legs would give out. He’d have to be happy with watching.

      “What about there?” she said, pointing.

      “Yeah. Good eye.”

      They parked next to an oak tree, and Fred pointed to the back seat.

      “Oh, God. Are those the smelly ones?”

      “Just put them on.”

      The woman shook off her shoes and shimmied inside the neoprenes. Her leather jacket almost didn’t fit.

      “Help me with the straps,” she said, reaching behind her.

      She watched as Fred hobbled around the back of the pickup. His hips were gone, and he didn’t have stamina anymore. He put the straps over her shoulders.

      She snapped one and left the other dangling.

      “Both of ‘em,” he said.

      “God, you’re a pain in the ass,” she said, buckling the other side.

      “This, too.”

      “The light’s too bright.”

      “You need it.”

      She put the strap on her head and flicked it on. He gave her the handle.

      “What are you waiting for?” he asked.

 

      Her teeth chattered. It’d been hours. She felt a fondness for the cute old guy. Her legs were numb. She clenched her jaw and steeled her core against the moving water. Then, a flash of silver and the net felt heavy. Don’t chase, she remembered he’d told her. Her heart pounded in her chest.

      “They’re in,” she yelled, and the old man painfully stood up, grabbed the bucket, and moved to the water’s edge.

      Net after net until the bucket filled with smelt.

      “My God. That was great,” she said, smiling, walking back towards the truck with the bucket.

      The old man hobbled after her. “Yeah. It was a good night, Martha.”

      “Who’s Martha?” she asked, turning, sloshing some water from the bucket.

      His eyes misted and he looked away.

      “Nobody.”