Solitude

He gazed across the water and saw a sight right out of an advertisement for camping equipment. The moonlight silhouetted a leaning white pine that was growing on a small point near the outlet of the pond. The moonlight danced with the motion of the ripples that crossed the pond and the cool breeze invigorated him. Tom took another sip of Scotch from his enamel coated drinking cup while he pondered tomorrow's attempt at catching brook trout. It was several weeks past ice out and supposedly the fishing had already peaked, but he hoped the trout were still hungry. After all, very few people paid attention to the local outdoor columnist and his predictions about the best days for fishing. Tom was sure the brookies certainly didn't.

The muscles around his shoulders and neck were still sore from carrying the canoe the three miles into the pond. His best friend Kevin, cancelled out of the fishing trip at the last minute sighting several lame reasons for his actions. They had planned the trip several weeks ago and couldn't wait to get away before they had to start their summer jobs.

Tom had a hunch that Kevin's libido couldn't stand the thought of being away from Monica for that long. It was only for three days but for a young adult male with all his hormones circulating, it's an eternity. Tom really didn't blame him. If he had a girl with Monica's figure, personality and especially her touch of nymphomania he probably wouldn't even think about trout fishing either.

As his muscles relaxed with each sip of whisky he forgot more and more about Kevin and thought more about crawling up into the sleeping bag and nestling up to the warm fire he had built with some fallen beech he had found. Hornberg or Matuka he thought as he adjusted his bag to the contours of his body. What streamer would the trout be after tomorrow? Maybe some wet flies or nymphs fished in the shallows would be better. Trout fishing or sex, which was more satisfying? Well Kevin, maybe you aren't so dumb after all, he thought. A warm glow and numbness engulfed his body. His eyes closed. He felt the radiant heat of the fire on his face. The raccoon that came to forage through the knapsack was actually annoyed by Tom's snoring.

The car was gently rocking. The windows were fogged over. Inside the car Kevin and Monica were rocking in time with the music although they were oblivious to any sound but the ecstatic moans of each other. The atmosphere was thick with sweat and passion. Monica groaned gently at first and then increased in a steady crescendo until Kevin was just beginning to moan and gasp.

"POLICE, OPEN UP."

A gust of cold air hit Kevin's moist rear end and he started to shiver. He felt a rough hand grab him by the neck and pull him out of the car. He could barely stand up and as he wiped the sweat from his eyes he noticed the mud covered boots of the cop who interrupted his play. As he looked up he could see by the glow of the headlights of the police car that the trousers of the officer were green. He stared squarely at the face of the gray haired cop and defiantly as he could under the circumstances he bellowed, "You're not a cop, you're the game warden!"

"That's right Don Juan, where's your fishing license?

The sunlight seared through Tom's eyelids. It was five fifteen and the day was just starting. Soon the trout will be having their breakfast. Tom felt a chill as he slowly emerged from his cocoon-like sleeping bag and stumbled toward the edge of the pond.

As he splashed some ice cold water on his face Tom thought, poor Kevin, caught without his fishing license.

All rights reserved. Gerald Desko 2012