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Water

Writer's picture: Patty IhmPatty Ihm


They chastised me for not allowing them to pack the fishing rods. I knew, though, that granting that permission would cost hours on a trip that was already pushing my comfort zone to the outer (emotional) boundaries of my existence.


The fighting nature of the past few seasons made me wonder how this would go. Two brothers, separated by a seat back, and me, a self-professed bad driver, traveling three hundred something miles one-way to deliver the big guy to his long-awaited expedition in the Boundary Waters.


We made it to Eau Claire with only a bit of fanfare, brought on by a bad cell or something of the sort. I got to see the 22, A Million painted wall, pass some other Bon Iver historic references, and eat lunch at Madden Ramen. I loved every minute of this pause in my reality, even though the boys were mostly just lamenting their missed opportunity at fishing.


We drew close to Duluth just as the rain began to fall. It was me in the driver’s seat. Though my hands clenched the wheel as we crossed the magnificent, terrifying body of water, I was reminded that it was all bigger than me.


The hotel clerk confused us.


“Did you throw away that speeding ticket?” he asked, fumbling with our key cards which did not, as it turned out, open any doors. “Oh, sorry,” he responded to himself. “I was thinking of something else.”


Me, too, buddy. Me, too.


The lukewarm hot tub seemed a good place to avoid thinking of what the next morning would bring. Too quickly, Moses came from the big pool.


“I have to get away from those guys,” he said as he sank into the bubbles alongside me.


“Those guys,” perhaps eight years old, circled closer, pinning us into our corner, speaking so forcefully about motion sickness patches, Roblox, and immune system inefficiency that their collective spit mingled with the water wherein we sat, Moses and me, trapped in our own reveries and nightmares.


Most of the sleepless night spent with little feet pushing into my back brought thoughts of what I didn’t know. There was gratitude for how far we have come, and fear for what we would never understand.


Aaron is fourteen now, soon to be grown, but nearly lost in the linens of a queen sized bed. Maybe we had almost lost him a few times before. Maybe he was going to find his true self in the peace of the Northern Michigan wild. Maybe he already has.


It was hard to leave the room at the meeting spot. Other students played Jenga, Dominoes, and Hangman to pass the time. My boys shared a chair, talking amongst themselves about the fishing trips they would take once Aaron returned. One dad hugged his daughter and begged, “Please don’t die.”


Then we left him and traveled home for seven hours in the post-holiday traffic. Still, no speeding ticket.


Moses cried for his brother last night.

The big guy is so far away. Maybe we’ll all grow a little while he spends his time on the water. I can’t wait to take the boys fishing again.










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