A childhood memoir of life before polio, and immediately after, and my magical childhood adventures in and out of a wheelchair
The Skate
I must have been about five. The skate swam in and out of the old tyre. The skate was obviously fascinated by it and took great joy by just swimming in and out of this partially submerged rubber loop. It was having the time of its life. The water next to the Neptune Jetty was summer-warm, just right for the fish, just right to bask in. The skate never noticed the fisherman, didn't pay any mind to the shadow with its gaffing hook. Still the fish swam in and out, in and out. This time he had him! The gaff pierced a part of his wing and was hauled up and over the side of the jetty.
It lay on its belly. It lay on its belly and HONKED! It actually HONKED! Taking in air where there should have been water, drowning in air, wrenched from one reality into another. I was afraid of it, scared to touch it. It honked and honked and honked. Why wouldn't it stop honking? The fisherman said that he had never heard anything like it. But it was mine, as I had noticed it first, all mine!
After a while, I'm not sure how long, the honking faded and it died. I put it in a basket and covered it in live crabs. I'm not sure why I did this. The crabs escaped and made their way back to the sea. I wish my skate could have followed them. Dad cooked him. I didn't have any. I didn't eat any skate for the next 10 years. The memory of that skate came back again and again. Maybe now he'll leave me alone.
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