UPPERThe fin

Calling catching two fish in six hours a success may sound strange. My minimal fishing experience combined with a lack of time spent with my grandpa seemed to be a recipe for disaster. But, on the day of our fishing trip, that disaster never came.

Despite moving 400 miles closer to my grandparents from Jacksonville to Charlotte, my chance to spend time with them was immediately stolen by my grandfather’s kidney transplant and the pandemic. Disappointed, I anticipated the day where I could spend time with them as I had planned.

As COVID wound down and he recovered from the transplant, my grandpa invited me on a fishing trip to Belmont. A mixture of emotions settled in as my excitement was met by my realization that I had never fished on a boat. Furthermore, he and I had not had a conversation outside of a quick hello when I dropped off groceries at his house and the once a year birthday wishes we exchanged. My dread quickly outweighed my excitement as my nervousness for this trip with my grandpa grew. He loves to hunt, fish, and farm; meanwhile, I have minimal fishing experience, no desire to hunt, and have never lived anywhere farming was an option.

The morning of the trip, I awoke at 4:30 a.m. to the sound of my alarm and made my way to my grandparents’ house while still half asleep. Dodging files covered in dust older than me, I got in my grandpa’s ancient minivan, and our fishing expedition began.

We encountered a problem upon arrival, as our guide, Larry, and his boat were nowhere to be found. Thirty minutes and half of a nap later, I noticed a sparkling white boat being hauled into the lot. Before I could even unbuckle my seatbelt, my grandpa was approaching

Connor Little

Larry, shaking his hand and conversing like they were lifelong friends. I introduced myself, imagining words like “newbie” and “outsider” circulating in Larry’s head as I stood out amongst these men who came prepared with hats decorated with fishing lures and blue jeans lined with flannel while I stood next to them shivering in a sweatsuit. Once we hit the water, I volunteered to help prepare the rods. Surviving my first test, I began to earn the respect of my fellow fishermen. My second test came quickly as my rod jumped. I grabbed it instinctively, tugging and reeling until I was gripping the lip of a bass and smiling for a picture. I hoped this was a sign of things to come, and my nervousness began to fade as I grew more comfortable and began to enjoy the trip.

It was not a sign of anything other than beginner’s luck, as three hours and zero fish later, my enjoyment had disappeared while my grandpa was reeling in one fish after another. In the meantime, I figured I had time to eat my sandwich. I was wrong. As soon as I bit into it, my rod jumped, and so did I. Shoving the sandwich in my mouth, I grabbed the rod and fought with the fish, who had already seized the upper hand (upper fin?). I lost the fight, trudging to the bait bucket as both men shook their heads at my rookie mistake. I failed, missing my only opportunity in hours to prove myself. I hung my head for the rest of the trip, not even feeling the rush of catching my second and final fish.

After docking the boat, I noticed my grandpa smiling at me. Although I had just demonstrated my complete ineptitude at fishing, my grandpa was as happy as I had ever seen him. This was contagious, and I smiled for the first time since I caught my first fish, realizing that I had gotten exactly what I wanted even if I had not succeeded in the way I had expected to.

Isabel Yang

Sunday Evening Errands

pick the pennies off muddied tiles at the Giant Eagle grocery indigo spills in blanched fluorescence pocket your gold gummy smile weaving between canned soup aisles rusty carts squeaky wheels the legs of giants beware their stomping feet stiff khakis slush sole boots hear your polka dot puffer chime amid cashier clinking casual chatter zippers conceal forbidden jewels chilled wave from green sliding doors flee back to Mother’s side with scavenged riches strangers’ losses cling to her warm hand in her other a sack of sweet tomatoes

Thank You For Shopping With Us tiny numb fingers in wooly mittens tally your gems food for a curly tail plastic pig fruit of a child’s treasure hunt

Max Thompson