For the thousandth time, my thoughts demand I turn back to the safety of my car, but to turn back now would make my car a prison of social awkwardness.
With each step, fuzzy details become more precise: the windblownness of his thick salt and pepper hair, the neatly tucked white T-shirt into blue jeans, the squint at me, facing the sun.
I put my hand in the air, continue to close the gap, and say, “Hi.”
Next to the tailgate, he straightens, turns, and returns the greeting, “Howdy.”
Pointing to the pole, I ask, “Catching anything?”
He turns to look, “Nothing yet. But I haven’t been at it long. You fishing?”
“I do fish, but don’t have my pole on me. What type of fish are in this lake?”
“Most people don’t know this, but it’s actually a reservoir,” he says, turning towards it, “And there are all kinds: walleye and rock bass, yellow perch, and a few types of trout.”
“Fun!” I say “I wish I brought my pole.”
There’s a moment of silence, and I ask his name. “It’s Jim. Yours?”
I learned that Jim is a retired postmaster from the nearby town of Sheridan. He’s a similar age to my Dad. When I mention my road trip, he tilts his head, “You’re not from around here? I just figured you had to be, not too easy to stumble upon this place.” His comment makes me feel proud, proud of my self-reliance and fortitude.
“I saw it from the highway and was trying to point myself in this direction. I guess it worked.”
“Well, I’m impressed,” he says, shaking his head. I’m about to say something, but he interrupts, “Pardon me, Jaclynn, I need to check on someone.” He moves to the side, turns toward the cab, and says, “You’re welcome to join me if you like.”
I quickly felt comfortable with him and said, “Sure,” and followed.
“Robbie. This is Jaclynn.” Before moving aside, Jim gingerly dabs a handkerchief at the side of the still-strapped young boy’s drool-glistened chin. “Hi,” I say, placing my hand on his permanently tensed, curled position, “It’s nice to meet you.” Due to his bone-thin body, glazed-over, and distant-looking vision, it’s obvious the child is disabled.
“Well, buddy, I just want to check-in. Jaclynn here came to visit, so we’ll chat at the back. Be back soon.” Jim pats Robbie’s thigh, leaving the door open, and the two of us return to the tailgate.
Once there, Jim begins, “It happened fast. Just last summer, we were hunting in those hills,” Jim motions to a spot to our left. “Such a big strapping guy – Tall too.” He holds his hand up a foot above himself. He shakes his head, “He was to start graduate college and had his whole life ahead of him.” Jim pauses and looks me over, “About your age, I bet.” The image Jim creates causes my chest to tighten, and my heartbeat quickens.
“By winter, this rare disease turned him into a shell of what he once was. It’s just heartbreaking.” Jim’s loss is all there is; the heaviness presses down at every angle. “He’s cooped up inside all day, but I’m good friends with his folks. They let me swing by and take him whenever I like.”
With a smile and a tongue click, he shakes his head. “But you know, Jaclynn? For all he can’t do, he can still reel a fishing pole.” That action, to Jim, is a blade of grass in the meadow of who this person once was, but now this something appears to be everything.
Going On 40 
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