The Fisherman - Written by Brett Wells

A long, graceful wave peels along the point.  A light offshore wind blows as the sun breaks the horizon. Harper sucks in a deep breath, filling his nostrils with sweet, salty air.  As he closes his eyes a smile begins to stretch across his dry, cracked face.  This scene had greeted Harper many times before, yet each time was new and fresh, bringing with it a sense of contentment, a sense of peace.

Faint voices appeared in the distance.  Familiar, welcoming voices that made Harper’s head turn ever so slightly.  Eyes still closed, he reached down picking up his 9ft log.  The board, like the voices, felt familiar, friendly.  The smell of wax mixed with the sea air, as the call of the waves begins to dominate his emotions.

“What you waitin’ for Harps?” jibed Blake as he ran past.

Harper’s eyes snapped open as he set off after Blake.  He had no idea at this point that he would be dead in 24 hours.

Today marked the end of the fishing season.  This was a day Harper anticipated every year. A torturous eight month slog at sea, and finally some time to reacquaint himself with a life that was put on hold every year since he was 17.  Harper had recently turned 35, yet his face seemed older, weathered by his years on the boats.  He had been offered many times to captain his own vessel, but first mate had always been enough.  Too many captains lose their houses, families and hair to want to go down that path. He liked his hair, and as for family, he hadn’t got that far yet.

As far as houses go, his was modest.  The doors whistled and windows rattled under the strain of the constant wind that plagued every seaside town.  All of this was easily overlooked as soon as you stepped foot inside.  The house became magical.  180-degree views all the way from the boat harbour to the right down to surfies point on the left.  There he was, sandwiched right in the middle of his two great loves.

Harper threw his board onto the grass and stepped under the shower.  The fresh water felt soft across his back, especially after four hours in the surf.

“So that’s it?  Ya’ done for the season?” asked Blake

“I think so.  Good riddance too, worst season we’ve ever had.”

“Must be cause for a celebration then?”

“How do you figure that?” quizzed Harper

“Come on, we’re all going into the city.  Sarah is bringing a friend of hers,” said Blake struggling to hide a smile.

The corner of Harper’s mouth flickered as he said, “what’s that got to do with me?”

“Nothin’, just sayin’ that’s all.” Barely containing his laughter.

Harper didn’t say anything.  Besides, there was really no point.  He and Blake had been friends forever. They knew each other better than their own family, and by now Harper knew resistance was useless.  Turning to pick up his board he felt a slap across his back, “7 o’clock.  You won’t be disappointed!”

Ding-Dong. “Huh?” Harper said awaking with a start.  “Shit!” He had only sat down for what felt like five minutes.  “Just a second” he yelled as he ran to find his best t-shirt and cleanest pair of jeans. As he flung open the front door he said, “How come you are always earl…” and stopping mid sentence he saw it was not Blake’s face staring back, as he had expected, but a sweet, beautiful face.

“Harper?”

“errrrr, yeah”

“Hi, I’m Emilia.  I’m a friend of Sarah’s.”

“Ah, Right. Ok.”

“They told me to meet here at 7. Sorry I’m a little early,” Emilia said with obvious apprehension in her voice.

“Not at all!  Come in.”

“Thanks” Emilia smiled, and entered.

As Harper followed the silhouette, caused by the rapidly setting sun, down the hallway, he heard the tone of a message emanate from the kitchen bench where his phone resided.

“Can I get you a drink?”

“Sure” Emilia replied, clearly taken with the view of the ocean that greeted her upon arrival to the lounge.

“Err, beer ok?” Harper called from the kitchen

“Beer is good.”

The phone went again, one of those helpful reminders that alert you to the fact you have forgotten to check the awaiting message. ‘Harps! Hope u have a good night! Catch ya tmo.  Blake’

“Prick!” Harper said to himself.

With a mixture of annoyance at his best friend setting him up, apprehension due to having a mysterious woman in his house, and whatever feeling you would attribute to the reality that he had nothing better to do, Harper entered the lounge carrying two beers.  “Have a seat, ummm, sorry didn’t plan on visitors.”  Looking around the room saw an assortment of books, clothes and half unpacked backpacks occupying each chair that inhabited the lounge.  “It would appear we have been setup.”

“Really? Maybe I should go,” Emilia said with a glance at the door she had only moments ago entered through.

“No!” Harper said hastily with what could be akin to desperation.

Conversation came easy between the two.  There was something natural about the connection, as if their friendship had been built over year, instead of mere hours.  They talked of the past, of lost love and missed opportunities.  They talked about travel and all the places Emilia had visited as well as the fact that Harper had always lived in this sleepy little fishing town.

Somewhere around 3am there was a pause in the conversation.  Not awkward, but rather expectant. Harper lent in and bang bang bang came a thunderous knock at the door.  “Wake up Harp, rumour is fish are swimmin’, gotta’ one more time!”

“Can I see you again?” Harper said softly.  No words, just a smile, a kiss, and she was gone.

“Gotta’ good feelin’ ‘bout this trip.” The captain said. “Ready the nets, lets haul these fuckers!”

The sky was dark, and the sea rough but Harper felt at home.  A wave crashed the side of the boat, throwing the crew off balance.  When Harper stood a rope caught him around his ankle, as the captain shouted “Now!” Before he knew it he was surrounded by water, the rope and net dragging him deep.  Harper tried to pull himself free but the force of the water made it impossible.  Moments stretched out as time seemed to slow, all he could think about was Emilia.  As the light faded and peace fell over Harper, Emilia would be left to wonder what could have been.