In Search of the Giant Squid in All the Wrong Waters: Week 31
Friday, July 18, 2014, 5:58am
Today, I searched for the giant squid in Laughing Whitefish River and, because I forgot my bait of choice at home (bacon bits), I self-flagellated with a pompon of sad-looking wild leeks that I unearthed from the riverbank with my tacklebox’s cereal spoon. It didn’t hurt, and thereby defeated the purpose, not to mention the leeks themselves, which drooped unwildly. I blamed the early hour, the circular saw that my neighbor started spinning at 5:00am. For bait, I used what was at hand. Someone had abandoned a Styrofoam cooler in which I found an ice tray filled with still frozen milk. On the lid, a HELLO, MY NAME IS sticker marked, in orange Sharpie, 1 Peter 2.2. I racked my brain. I’ve always been bad with verses. In the vetch, a possum hissed at the dragonflies, and the mosquitoes fell down, dead. In the depths, something giggled, but it was no squid. In the sky, something flashed its terrible photography, and three fires ignited in the woods. I heard men’s voices, and the rattling of overall buckles. A metal flashlight clapping a hip bone. Disturbed blood. I cast, and the milk began to melt, draw cursive Ds onto the water. I prayed for giant squid, for anything with more than one heart to rely on. The river babbled in tongues. A twig snapped like bone. It wasn’t just the hour that was ungodly.