Everything unfolded at the pace of a slow motion film. The cheetah poised in mid-air, the gazelle wide-eyed without a hoof on the ground. Unfinished. Inevitable.
Everything breathed deeply. She breathed along with it.
And why not? It (more)was once easy to react, panic, resist. To burn with irritation at the way each drop of coffee counted to six before hitting the bottom of the pot. She had done that before as someone who could not accept that the world was just slow, sometimes.
That person yielded to larger things years ago. She could not speed up time. She could not keep her old dog alive by sheer force of will. She could not make a man love her who was intent on leaving.
She could pause, and breathe, and respond.
So when she woke with a sedate heartbeat and saw sunlight shining tan through the window, she stretched more slowly than usual and spared no thought for the traffic that would back up as she cooked herself her favorite omelet and read a chapter of her book before even getting dressed. The colors would rush back in soon enough. (less)
I am a professional fisherman, very rich if not famous, and now, after a long time anguishing over things, I can finally admit it: I hate myself. What follows is a kind of suicide note. But let me back up a little.
(more) I was born on the shore. My parents ran a sandwich shop on the pier that did middling business. As a child, I spent all the time I wasn't helping in the shop fishing. By watching the regulars, I learned how to make lures, tie knots, and became acquainted with the habits of the fish that populated the swirling water beneath the docks. The old men I fished alongside cursed me under their breath as I, a kid with a bamboo pole and a fistful of bread, started pulling fish after fish out of the water.
When I was twelve, and with some help, I caught a world record halibut. When I was thirteen I started working on the charter boats that ran tours in the deep waters. At first I was just considered a good luck charm, but as my experience grew, I became known as an authority on catching Marlin, dolphin, tuna. There's a photo of me from this time posed next to a seven hundred pound mako shark hanging by his tail dripping with blood and seawater. I caught it five minutes after casting out a line baited with a single, sepia-stained octopus tentacle.
When I was twenty, I had enough money to buy my own boat and, later that year, my own house. Celebrities made appointments to fish with me. A sporting goods company paid me more money I had ever seen to put my name on a line of lures, reels, and rods. (less)