“‘And
this also,’ said Marlow suddenly, ‘has been one of the dark places of the
earth’.”
—Joseph
Conrad, Heart of Darkness
Dad clambers
into the boat with the grace of a roller skating giraffe. Clutching the tackle
box in one hand and lugging our rods in the other, he’s able to muster up
enough balance to keep him from toppling right over the other side and into the
lake. Me reaching out and grabbing the edge of his lifejacket probably helps as
well.
“Whoa geez,” he
mutters. It takes him a second or ten to regain his equilibrium, the now sharp
rocking of the boat from side to side not aiding the process in the slightest.
Arms spread, he shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. By the
time he’s fully exhaled the boat’s perilous oscillations have been reduced to a
slight lateral bob. His eyelids flick open and the corner of his mouth turns
upward, removing a few lines (and a few years) from his face. “Thanks, hon,” he
says.
