From The Place I Hate, Came My Love

Fishermen's Tales

 I rub my fingers over my right temple as I look at it in the mirror. It's been over a week and it's still all red and sensitive to the touch. Thankfully, it was more of an internal injury than an exterior one and didn't need stitches. Hopefully it won't scar too bad. I don't mind scars, but at the same time, my torso is decorated with them from previous history, I don't think I need another.

 Whatever. It's not that big of a deal. With everything else that's going on recently, a small scar potentially on my head isn't really my biggest concern.

 I look down and see a plane ticket on my dresser. I leave for home in a couple of days. Hopefully by then I'll have the issues with my insurance and my job all sorted out. No one really knows how to handle the paper work for 'should be dead' problems.

 The stress of all this is being a huge pain in my ass, so hopefully what's about to happen tonight will go smoothly. I can't actually believe I'm doing this, if I'm being honest. I don't really have to if I don't want to. There is no pact holding me to it, but yet I'm walking out of my house and getting in my car...on my way to the beach.

 This is stupid.

 Why am I actually going?

 This will probably be more of a hassle than it needs to be.

 What if I can't even rent a boat easily? It's not like I know how to handle one anyways.

 I still hate the ocean, so why am I going there?

 How on earth did I manage to drive all the way here...shit.

 I sigh and lean my head back against the head rest. Out of my windshield, I have a clear view of the beach. It's a beautiful place this time in the afternoon, but I'm not here for the sun and the sand.

 I look over to my right where a small building and deck are. It's a small little harbor where only smaller speed boats and fishing boats are floating. Rumor has it you don't really need a license to rent a boat from this place, which is good, because I sure as hell ain't gonna pay for one.

 Still, the fact that I'm trying to rent a boat in the first place is ridiculous...what the hell is wrong with me? Maybe I do have internal damage from where I hit my head?

 Regardless of how dumb it is, I'm here. No point in leaving now.

 I step out of my car and walk over to the small building. Upon entering, the run down state of it is apparent immediately. It's written everywhere in this place from the peeling paint, to the putrid smell of fish hanging in the air. It's a small place with a couple racks of old products like chips and pop on one side, and bait and other fishing needs on the other side. Directly in the back is an older guy sitting behind a low counter, reading a news paper.

 I walk over to stand in front of the counter but this old guy doesn't seem to notice my presence...I guess he's pretty invested in whatever he's reading. Maybe if I....

 "Ahem" I clear my throat to get his attention.

 He lowers his paper and looks up at me. Now that I can see his full face, I can see that it shows off his age harshly. Maybe it's rude to think like that, but it's pretty true. His mostly balded head, bitterly wrinkled face, and pale blue eyes behind his glasses just can't hide it.

 He gives a gentle smile and adjusts his glasses, "What can I do...for...." That's as far as he can seemingly manage before his eyes go wide and he just stares at me.

 This guy better not be having a stroke or something right now. That is the absolute last thing I need after a shit week like this.

 "You...." he says quietly.