If I Lose Her

by Greg Joseph Daily

  “You’re probably right, but I want to be with her every minute. I mean I miss her already and it hasn’t even been a day yet. It’s not the same with her as it’s been with other girls I’ve dated. After a few weeks, maybe a couple of months, I always found reasons that I didn’t want to be with them anymore, but with Jo I honestly think I like her more now than I did the first day we met. She’s not just some girl I’m dating; she’s my best friend.”

  “I know. Maybe we can work it out so we head back early so you two have a week or two together before school starts up again.”

  “That would be really good, but I probably won’t say anything to her until we know for sure.”

  There was a long pause.

  “I told her I loved her. It kind of slipped out one night at a baseball game I was shooting.”

  “Did you mean it?”

  “I wouldn’t have said it if I hadn’t meant it,” I said, a little annoyed that she would even ask me that.

  “How did she take it?”

  “She said she loved me back.”

  “Has she ever dated anyone else?”

  “No.”

  “Well, then be careful. Whether you two end up together, like it or not, you are her first love and you will be the one she remembers for the rest of her life.”

  “Was dad your first love?”

  “Oh honey. I was twenty-one when I met your daddy and I did love him very much, but my first love was a boy named Michael Zimmerman. I was seventeen and he was a lifeguard at the pool near our house. God he was beautiful,” and she laughed. “You know what I remember the most?”

  “What?”

  “I remember his hair. He had the most beautiful chestnut-brown hair.”

  “What happened?”

  “Like everything else, my parents. They thought that seventeen was too young to be dating. But boy, we had a great few weeks together.”

  “I think I can see myself with Jo for the rest of my life.”

  Then my mother reached over and squeezed my hand.

  “Just take good care of her Alex. I’ve never had a man in my life who was worth a damn and that’s why I raised you differently. Treat her like a queen and she’ll love you the rest of your life.” Then she trailed off to somewhere else; somewhere in her past and we didn’t say anything else to each other until after the sun set behind the Iowa cornfields.

  We didn’t make quite as good of time as we would have liked, but it didn’t matter much to either of us since we didn’t really have anywhere else to be. We pulled up to the white, two-story house in the little college town of Northfield just after eight, and climbed the same steps to the same door I had come to know so well over the past several years. A key was taped to the front with a note. My mother pulled it off and turned to look at me shaking her head.

  “Small town security huh?” She said, and I smiled.

  The note was brief.

  ‘Hope you had a great trip. Clean bedding is in the linen closet. Will be around tomorrow ‘round ten to make sure you’re getting settled in. –T

  T was for Theresa. She was the lady who owned the house. Her husband had owned the bank in town before he died some years earlier. Now she rented out two of the three homes they had owned around town, both of which were converted into apartments.

  It was all we could do to unload the car before we both crashed hard for the night.

  The first day back in Minnesota we went and spent the day at my grandmother’s house. It was good to see her again. She was just about the tiniest lady I have ever seen before or since, partially due to the worsening slight curve in her back.

  Everything at her house was exactly the same, right down to the bald spot in her front grass that she tried to make grow every year. I told her about Jo as we ate sandwiches for lunch. She told us about my cousins and we went out to a local buffet for dinner. She showed us her pear-apple tree that was so full of fruit that it was breaking its branches and we gave her some photographs of us from the previous year.

  “You’re getting so big Alex,” she said wrapping her arms around my chest, a sign of how short she was.

  When the evening came, my mother and I went back to our little white apartment for the night.

  The next morning I woke early and went for a run around this little town I had come to know so well over the years. Up the street and around St. Olaf campus with the beautiful chapel then down to St. Dominic’s Church and back home.

  When I got back I walked in to the smell of my mother’s French toast.

  “Morning. What do you want to do today? I was thinking that we could go on out to Doc’s Dock and see how Doc and Stella are doing,” she said.

  I reached into the fridge for a bottle of water.

  “That sounds good, but I need to stop at Target and get some stuff.”

  “We can do that on our way.”

  After breakfast Theresa dropped by, and I went into town to see what all had changed while I was gone. A new Blockbuster video was going up along I-35 that ran through town, but other than that everything looked the same. There was the quarterback club where mom and I could get a delicious burger, fries and coke for $4.95, the library overlooking downtown that got dusted in orange and yellow leaves every autumn, the little newspaper that found a way to print a daily edition, Good-bye Blue Mondays coffee shop that served a spicy Mexican hot chocolate that would put all other hot chocolates to shame and my favorite sandwich shop in the entire world- Hogan Brothers. I wanted to go around and buy up all of my favorite eats, but I knew I had to pace myself. So, I settled on a Mexican hot chocolate from Good Bye Blue Mondays, or Blue Mondays for short, which was always full of people since Carleton College and St. Olaf University were both within walking distance.

  I bought my beverage and walked down past the bank where Jessie James was killed, to the edge of the Canon river that ran through the center of town. Afterwards I visited the library and a few of the shops, then decided to see if mom was ready to head out to Doc’s.

  “I’ll be ready to go in a few minutes,” she told me as I walked into the house. “Theresa said that some family from California should be here today to rent the bottom apartment.”

  I found my fishing pole and tackle box and went outside to see what damage a year of disuse had done.

  On a white table in the front yard I opened my tackle box and rummaged around, taking inventory of what I had and what I needed to get from Target when we stopped. Then I moved on to my reel.

  As I stood there with my reel in my hand, a blue SUV pulled into the drive next to my mom’s car. This must be the family from California.

  A husband and wife climbed out and the wife stretched. Then a boy with shaggy brown hair and a girl with blonde curls, like my mothers, climbed out of the back. They both looked to be about my age.

  “Hi, how you doin? I’m Steve,” the father said to me as he walked up to shake my hand. “You staying upstairs?”

  “Yeah, my mom and I are,” I replied shaking his hand.

  “Well, this is Jennifer my wife, and that’s Nathan and Kristina. We’re from California.” Then he leaned back to stretch.

  “We’re from Denver,” I replied looking past him at his wife and kids.

  They looked like a family that you would see in a catalogue trying to sell you something. They were all too damn attractive; Steve, Jennifer, Nathan AND Kristina.

  “Oh, hello!” my mother said from the second-floor deck. “You must be the Browns. Theresa said you would be here sometime today.” Then she came down the steps and shook their hands.

  “I’m Steve.”

  “I’m Jennifer.”

  “And, these are my twins Nathan and Kristina,” Steve said.

  Twins? They don’t look like twins. Although, they do look a lot alike. They must be fraternal.

  “Twins?” My mother asked.

  “Yep, only four minutes apart,” Steve said, and I caught Nathan rolling his eyes as he pulled a backpack out of the back. />
  “I think Theresa left a key and a note for you on the front door there. Alex and I were just about to head out. Can I help with anything?”

  Jennifer walked up to the front and retrieved the note and key.

  “No, I think we’ll be fine. We’re just going to settle in and get washed up,” Steve replied.

  “Do you know where the nearest grocery store is?” Jennifer asked.

  “There are two in town,” and my mother gave them directions and drew a small map on the back of Theresa’s note.

  I walked up and shook Nathan’s hand who simply said: “Hey”. Then I walked up to Kristina.

  “I’m Alex.”

  “I’m Kris,” she said brushing her hair back behind one ear. “You like fishing? That’s all Nate’s been able to talk about. There aren’t a ton of places to fish where we live.”

  Now I need to take a minute to mention that there are pretty girls and attractive girls and then there are those rare few who are so beautiful you can’t help but look at them because they don’t quite seem real. Kris was the latter.

  “Cool,” I said turning to Nathan, who was hauling a second load of luggage into the house. “If you want I know some great places to go.”

  “Cool,” he said continuing into the house.

  “Well, like my mom said, we were just heading out, so I guess I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Okay.”

  My mother and I drove out to the edge of town to Target. Mom bought some groceries and toiletries that we didn’t want to pack with us, and I picked up a fishing license and a new lure.

  We pulled up to Doc’s Dock and it looked like nothing had changed. The windows were still dusted with a patina of antique spider webs and the tint of cigarette smoke. A neon sign hung in the window reading: “Budweiser Sold Here”, that hadn’t blinked with life since Elvis served in the military. Willows on the edge of the river rustled in the breeze.

  The inside of the bar smelled like wet wood and the inside of my tackle box. A single customer nursed a glass of something golden and Stella walked over to greet us with a look like she had been expecting us all along.

  “Well there you are? Where you been all this time?” Stella asked.

  My mother laughed and walked behind the bar giving Stella a hug.

  “Oh, you shouldn’t come behind the bar while I got customers dear.”

  “Oh, sorry. Of course,” and my mother tip-toed back to her safe zone.

  “So, you back for a while?”

  “Yeah, Alex and I thought it would be nice to come up north for a while- do some fishing, maybe sell some brooms.”

  “Mm, hmm,” Stella replied. Then she turned and looked at me. “Well, aint you growed up?” she said finally smiling to show her complete lack of teeth. “You’s bigger than you was last time I seen you.”

  I didn’t know how to answer that so I just smiled.

  “Is it still a dollar to fish on the docks?” My mother asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Well, here,” and she pulled out a dollar bill and layed it on the bar. “Why don’t you go out and do some fishing Alex?”

  “You need a mark,” Stella replied reaching behind the counter.

  I had forgotten until now that everyone fishing from the three, half-falling-down, wooden docks on this side of the river had to pay a dollar and get a black X on the back of their hand. This was absurd on multiple levels, but all two of us who ever fished from the docks just humored Doc and his wife. I accepted my liquid brand and went out to assess the water.

  I have always loved fishing and being back on the lake was invigorating. I had used a simple hook and worm or hook and salmon egg rig as a boy, but I didn’t have the patience anymore for just sitting around for hours staring at the tip of my pole, hoping that at any second I would see the tell tale bounce of a bite. Two summers earlier I had started playing around with rubber worms and spoons and several other more active means of fishing, and this year I bought my first expensive, proper lure. It was called a fire-tiger. It was shaped like a fish with a yellow-belly, orange sides and green top, and it had little black stripes. It was smooth as a fish’s wet body, and it had a tiny rattle hidden somewhere inside it so that it made noise when I shook it. When I bought it I read the entire little foldout flier that came with it about how to adjust the metal eye and what knots were best and even how to cast it. Now I held it in my hand, paying particular attention to the two treble hooks, sharp as rose thorns, hanging from either of its ends.

  I tied it onto the end of my line and decided to take a few practice casts from land just to see how it looked in the water while it swam. Zing. It flew only a few feet out landing in the water in front of me. I can do better than that. I reeled it in, watching it shake like a little minnow on fire as I pulled it in. Zing. This time I flicked my wrist more, trying to get some distance while avoiding the branches of the tree overhead. It flew out just past the end of the dock. That’s a little better. Again I reeled it in, this time more slowly to see how quickly its weight would pull it down to the bottom of the water. About six feet out I could see it slowly swimming its way just above the lake grass. Then there was a momentary flash of silver like the chrome of a car handle caught by the sun and my rod bent heavy toward the water. I was startled but instinctively pulled back on my rod. The tip bounced and jerked from left to right. I didn’t want to break the line so I let some line out from the spool; just enough to give the fish some room to fight and tire itself out a bit. Then it broke the water and splashed against the surface, probably since the water couldn’t have been much more than two or three feet deep this close to land. I reeled it in and let it out. Reeled it in and let it out. Slowly the fish wore itself out, and I reeled it in, close enough to see that this was unlike any other fish I had ever landed. Mainly, the thing had teeth; serious, take-your-finger-off teeth.

  I laid my rod down, took my line in one hand and carefully reached underneath the fish to where I could grab it behind its gills. I knew this would be a good hold, and if I was careful I shouldn’t hurt it. Then I lifted it out of the water. Its tube-like form, slick-green with yellow spots, hung in front of me. This was no catfish or bottom feeder. This was a hunter. I looked at it as its mouth gasped for someway to breath. The hook that had snared it was lying between two teeth, and curved down piercing through the thinnest of membranes in its lip. I carefully took the back of the hook between my fingers and turned it up and out of its mouth. Then I ran my free hand underneath its belly. I wanted to show my mother, but I knew that another twenty to thirty seconds of being out of the water would daze it beyond recovery, and I didn’t have any reason to kill such a beautiful lake monster, so I knelt down and lowered it back into the cloudy-green water. I moved it backwards and forwards a few times forcing water through its gills then, with a single motion it was gone. I rinsed the fish grease from my hands in the lake and just looked out through the water, into the river grass and imagined my lake monster in its home.

  Evening came.

  I spent the rest of the night tossing my fire-tiger out into the water with no further luck. Then mom and I headed back for a late dinner and early bed.

  I had dropped off a roll of film for quick developing when we were at Target, and I pulled out the box of goodies that Jo had sent with me.

  I took out her shirt and took a deep breath of it while I imagined her sprawled out on the bed in nothing but this and a pair of cotton whites. There is nothing like the smell of a thing to draw your memory back to it, I thought. I laid her shirt on my pillow and removed the stack of photos from the box. One by one I flipped through them. I stopped at the red one of her in the darkroom at school and I leaned it against the lamp on the nightstand next to my bed. Then I tore open the package of Oreo’s, popped one into my mouth and tore open her letter.

  My Dearest Alex,

  I just wanted to take the time to write you a good ol’ fashioned love letter and tell you that the past nine months have been amazing. Spending
time with you has made me more confident in who I am. There are times I miss you SO much! All I want to do is crawl into your arms and curl up there forever. I so love being close to you…smelling you, feeling your smooth skin, kissing your soft, perfectly shaped lips… You are so perfect to me. I love every drop of you with all of my heart. Thank you so much for who you are. For loving me and needing me, for always trying so hard, for being so fun and crazy. I love being with you. I will miss you greatly this summer. I will miss you deeply. I love you, and look forward with much anticipation to seeing you when you come home.

  Yours Forever,

  -Jo

  Yours Forever, I thought to myself running my finger over the ink on the page.

  I set the letter down next to the photograph on my nightstand and looked out my window. Kris was down in the front yard sitting on top of the white table, sketching in a black-leather book.

  Thirteen

  My Grandfather was primarily a Pentecostal minister for fifty-seven years, but he never led a church that was ever large enough to pay him a salary, which meant that up until about ten years before he died, he worked full-time in ministry and full-time selling something to support his family. When my mother was young, it was salad dressing that he and my grandmother made out of their kitchen. Towards the end of his life it was brooms. These were no ordinary brooms like the ones you would buy at Walmart mind you. No, these were industrial strength push brooms, some four-feet wide, built with all manner of bristle heads. There were your basic straw bristles for gravel and dirt, neoprene (like the rubber on the bottom of your shoes my grandfather would say) for pushing through oil, anti-corrosive for working with chemicals and even soft-bristle heads with holes in the middle and telescoping handles so you could attach a water hose and wash the outside of a truck. Then you had your squeegees and chamois, buckets and mops. Just about anything you needed to keep a factory clean.