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Bluegill

I passed the man, skinny and deeply tanned, missing a couple of teeth, with a non-ironic mullet and a ratty t-shirt, as he was preparing to cast his line into the creek. I gave him a wide berth so my nosy (and noisy) dogs wouldn’t upset his prospects. He noticed, smiled and gave me a small wave as I passed. I smiled back and didn’t think more about it as the dogs snuffled and pulled and waggled their way down the walking path.

Some time later we were coming back, re-tracing our steps back to the car, muddier and moving a lot more slowly than when we’d arrived. The man was nowhere to be seen so I thought I’d take the dogs closer to the creek’s edge, it’s always better sniffing and seeing closer to the water, after all.

About 100-ish paces from where the man had been I thought, “There’s going to be a fish there. There’s going to be a fish there. There’s definitely going to be a fish there.” I glanced at the ground and, about 95 steps later, I saw the flash of blue in the vivid green of the grass. The Bluegill was lying there, seeming somewhat resigned to its fate, but still pumping a gill every few seconds in the vain hope that the air would become breathable.

The dogs didn’t even notice it.

I gently scooped the palm-sized fish up and took it to the water’s edge, pitching it out a bit so it would land in the deepest part of the creek. It disappeared so it either swam away or sank to the bottom and died later, after I was gone.

Granted, THEN the dogs became super interested. I finally pulled them away, loaded us all into the car, and drove home. Talking to my husband about it he said, “But, HOW did you know the fish was there?”

I have no idea how I knew the fish was there. Beyond all question, it was a fact in my mind that the fish would be there and there was little surprise when, sure enough, the fish I knew would be there was actually there. Whether I knew the fish would be there because I am good at reading people and somehow knew the man was the kind of man who would leave a too-small fish on the bank instead of throwing it back or whether it was something more intuitive is hard to say. Because I’ve ALWAYS had those moments. A name that sticks in my head for days that then turns out to be the name of a just-caught serial killer or a political figure new to the scene. An overwhelming knowledge that I need to call someone RIGHT NOW. Picking up an item or a book from a shelf that there’s no reason for me to need at that moment only to be asked if I had that same thing a few days later.

None of these moments are ever truly useful – it’s not like I really understand what I’m seeing or why in the moment. Had there been no fish I would have felt roughly the same way as I did when I saw the fish. I should correct myself, that moment certainly was useful TO THE FISH. So maybe it’s true that following my instincts can save lives – maybe not in the sense of the serial killer (I mean, I’m never going to call a tipline because a name is running circles in my head) – but remembering to trust myself can make a large difference when it comes to the things I do touch.

Like a forlorn Bluegill on a creek bank. Hope you’re still swimming, little buddy!

© Regan Wann 2018

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