Dan rode down to the docks to see an old friend who wasn’t doing so well. Douglas and he had been friends for years. Dan was short and stumpy, with a tangled mass of curly gray hair. Douglas was thin and weathered and as bald as an egg. He had bad lungs, due to a pack and a half of non-filter cigarettes a day. They had fished together, shrimped together, and took drunk together. It was an everlasting bond. When he got there, Douglas was straightening out the inside of his boat. And he had his mullet net hung up on a nearby railing.
“You aiming to catch some mullet?” Dan inquired.
“Them island mullet are running good now.” Douglas replied enthusiastically.
“You grunt when you bend over to tie your shoes. How you gone pick up a net full of mullet?” Dan pressed.
“I can still do it.” Douglas insisted.
“You’re half blind cause you won’t go see the eye doctor. How you gone spot them mullet?” Dan kept on.
“This here one eye works good. It’s the other one that can’t see the fish.” Douglas explained.
“Well,” Dan went on, “I’d best go with you to make sure you don’t hit a stump and fall overboard and drown.”
“It don’t take but one eye to see a stump either.” Douglas put in.
“How you gone sling that net when your arm is so stove up you can’t hold a cup of coffee?” Dan continued.
“I still got one good arm. When you gone stop worrying so much?" huffed Douglas.
“Git in the boat. I’ll drive,” Dan said in irritation. So they took off for the island to look for mullet.
About halfway there, the engine started to sputter. “Did you remember to get gas in this thing?”asked Dan.
“Who do you think you’re riding with? Of course I got gas.” Douglas replied indignantly.
“Then how come we’re out?” asked Dan. “Dadgummit! I knew I forgot something!” Douglas exclaimed.
“You gone have to retire this here boat once and for all.” Dan scolded.
About a half hour later another boat came by and gave them some gas.
When they reached the island marshes, Dan got out the net. Pretty soon he saw a school of mullet and got ready to throw. “Hold up! I’m gonna throw it!” hollered Douglas.
So Dan handed him the net. As soon as Douglas got it up to throw, he dropped it in the water and it sank out of sight.
“Where did it go? I just had it in my hand!” he exclaimed in bewilderment.
“It’s about time to head back. Those clouds are gathering up over there. We likely to dodge a storm if we go now.” Dan said firmly.
“What happened to my net?” wailed Douglas.
“We’ll come back for it tomorrow,” Dan said just to pacify him.
“This has been one sorry fishing trip!” Douglas complained.
“Can’t get any worse!” Dan added. That’s when the sand gnats descended on them.
“Let’s get out of here. I’m itching all over!” Douglas yelled. But bad luck wasn’t done with them yet. The engine wouldn’t crank, so they squirmed and slapped for the next fifteen minutes until Dan could get it going.
Finally, they headed in. Dan was so relieved to be back at the dock, he went to the truck and got out a pint of whiskey. “What you got there?” queried Douglas. So there they sat, on the dock, drinking whiskey and remembering.
They talked about the the wild times and the sad times. They talked about old girlfriends and bar fights and big hauls on the shrimp boat. Then, they talked about bad storms and now they narrowly escaped a water spout on the shrimp boat one time. The night wore on and still they reminisced.
A few weeks later, Douglas’s lung problem got worse and he passed away in his sleep, dreaming of mullet. Dan sat at the dock, mourning the loss of his friend and thinking about the sorry fishing trip, which turned out to be the last and, perhaps, the best.
