It's about a big fish that I would have speared, but didn't shoot because at that moment I had a smaller fish in the spear, gun unloaded and legs tangled in the line.Oldsarge said:I don't care how long it is, this has got to be worth reading! :rofl: C'mon, 'fess up!
That splendid fish just passed me by. This fact flashed my mind about wasting chances or taking them, showed me the borderline between regret and happiness.
When three years ago I met the special woman who is now my wife (Dany) I was still messing up with the end of the story with my "ex" (Alex).
Alex and I were not married, but had been living together for five years and had initially planned to make one life in two. Then things didn't work out: different views and perspectives, no more kisses, no more romance, no more I love you's, only quarrelling and arguing every day for any stupid thing. After two years of crisis we were still living together, but had lost any hope that we could go on any longer.
One day we quarrelled ridiculously about the cat's hair on the sofa. I slammed the door and went to my parent's hometown on the lake. I arrived late in the evening and cruised to the nearest bar: vodka & tonics (plural), cigarettes, I just stood alone and didn't want anybody around.
But there I had to meet Dany, who was in town just for the holidays and going to leave the day after. We stood talking until five o clock in the morning. Just talking, with a magic understanding: charming each other, but with some mysterious kind of mutual respect which prevented us to waste that special encounter with a trivial sex thing.
I had fallen in love, we had been flashed, but the day after she wet back to her world and I was still undecided: try again with my ex, or leaping into this new feeling?
In this doubtful mood, the day after I slept till afternoon, and it was almost evening when I went spearfishing in the lake.
It was the end of october, one of the last dives of the season. And sunset was incoming in half an hour. Dive after dive, I ignored the small fishes swimming around, looking for something special to spear. But couldn't find, so when I realized that the sky was darkening, I lost the patience and shot a small 400 grams black bass: the slim 6mm shaft didn't stone him, so the fish had a desperate reaction and made a messy tangling of the line all around itself and my legs.
It was then, while I tried to untangle the fish with my unloaded speargun lost somewhere afloat, that THE tench passed me by: it was huge, wonderful, the green orange colour shining in dark water, the big lips smiling, mocking at me: "Sometimes you loose the big chances of life".
It was late evening in late season and I was 35, with a fish I wasn't intersted in tangling my line, gun unloaded, hopelessly dark.
I phone called Dany and told her the story: "That tench is you", I said. She laughed, I jumped in my car to get the big fish in my stringer.
(ok, nothing special, just my story )