Reworking Migizi With a Fishing Pole

Clay got the matching set of coffee cups ready and left both pot and me to simmer. Eyeballing my watch, I first weighed in on the coffee.

“Now listen, you gotta let it perk for exactly 7 minutes. Remove from the heat and let it settle for 5 more. That brew has 2 minutes left to percolate. I’m timing it.”

“No way, cook’s rules. I go by smell and my potion is always better.”

“You mean poison. I used it to clean soot from the pans last time.”

We laughed and it was great to be bantering again.

“Clay, about the Jesus thing…and no, I’m not arguing your faith here. Did he say why he thought this fishing trip was the way to go?”

“Nah, didn’t hafta. If ya read the bible you’d know.”

“I have read it I told you.”

“Well?” asked Clay, “answer your own question then.”

“Clay, get the coffee off the heat!”

“Not quite,” he says, whiffing the air.

“Okay Clay, Jesus did some serious fishin’ with his buds, his brothers. And they talked, talked serious and deep stuff. I bet they yucked it up, farted, cussed. If they didn’t they weren’t fishermen.”

Clay finally poured bubbling hot coffee and sat back down.

“Hold up there Ain’t It. My Jesus wasn’t no cusser.”

“So you’re okay with the yucking and farting though?”

“Hmm, yah, I reckon. And I’m proud of ya. That’s exactly why he wanted us fishin’.”

Clay clapped for me and I returned the favor by lifting a butt cheek and blowing him a fisherman’s kiss.

“Okay, okay, Clay. So we’ll get up before dawn and go to the water. What we got for tackle? For Brook Trout you know I favor spinners. I hope you remembered my brand and model.” 

“Yup, got ya a dozen. You lose ‘em like crazy in this river with all the drowned logs the fish hide under. Yah, gotta sacrifice to the fishin’ god.”

Clay, slapping his thighs and cracking up at himself, aimed his butt at me and let a big one rip.

“Put that in your journal,” he says.

“Trust me, I will buddy, and plenty more,” I retorted.

So revved up about catching Brookies, I got lost in the moment and let my guard down with Clay but hadn’t realized it.

The sun’s position cued me that we still had a few hours till dark. Purging my stomach earlier had left me super hungry.

“Clay, I’m so empty that if I held my lips just right and relaxed my sphincter, the downdraft through my guts would make me reverse whistle. How ‘bout I make us some dinner.”

“Ah, that’s the spirit Ain’t It. Oh, and here’s your card and phone. You better get that mini-puter on a charge. Hey, you do that while I go and fertilize the ground a ways off.”

The small fire, mostly ashes and a few tiny embers, would need to be rebuilt. I hurried to the car and plugged in the phone while Clay went for bowel relief. I guess all our talk of bodily functions inspired him.

Back at camp, I got the fire going and prepared beans and burgers. I heard crunching behind me in the woods and assumed it was Clay.

If only.

Copyright © 2015 Migizi M. New Song. All Rights Reserved.

Jesus Hitchhiked

“At least you’ve come clean about it,” I said, “and after all, we may not get another chance to do this.”

“Yah, that’s what I said Ain’t it.”

“I guess you’re you eh Clay? I don’t suppose you took a pill today. I find it hard to believe you didn’t. You seem normal enough. How’d this happen? You seemed to be getting worse with the spirits or personas.”

“Jesus, yah, it was Jesus did it brother. Got to church with Gal, heard the hymns, prayed and I got me a vision right there in the pew. Oh, and I got rid of them pills. No turnin back until after the holiday. Yup, it’s faith all the way for now Ain’t It.”

Clay stepped over to the circle of rocks forming a fire pit. The wood was set to go and with a single match he lit a fire. I was pondering his words and he motioned me to sit. We sat and watched the flames increase and consume the dead wood. I stayed quiet.

“What is this about?” asked Clay, “this silence, it ain’t normal for you Migizi.”

Clay alternated use of names for me, a good sign actually. He was truly respectful and acting the friend he could be when in his right mind. “Right mind”…I considered those words and wondered who was fit to define them. Converting to ash, the wood made no fuss. It was dead but even so, retained usefulness. Hmmm.

“Well Clay, what can I say at this point? I’ve been waiting on you to tell me the things you want included in your memorial service. So far, that hasn’t gone so well. You keep changing places with those citizens of yours. And about Jesus, I guess you could explain that a bit more for my benefit.”

“Oh, I see,” said Clay as he got up and arranged the fire to make coffee. “Well, I hope we can cover lots of things while out here and away from what has become so common. And remember Migizi, what I said about the visitors in my body, head, or wherever they make camp. What they say could still mean somethin, right?”

“I suppose. So far, they seem to have it out for me and say little about you Clay.” 

I extended my legs and crossed them as Clay put the blue enameled pot on for coffee.

“Clay, you got a plan here, I mean other than just relaxing?”

“Yah, fishin, that and eatin, fartin, belchin, and laughin all we can. And if one them others shows up, well, try to deal with it brother. So, about my vision.”

I had hoped that would be forgotten.

“So there I was, prayin. I’m in the country on this road, a red road, and drivin slow. Way ahead, I see a guy walking backward with his thumb out. Yah, so when I get there it is Jesus. I was excited and offer him a ride.”

Clay grabbed a rag and used it while adjusting the pot in the fire. It had started perking. Campfire coffee was unequaled for satisfying flavor. Smelling it made me smile and groan pleasantly in anticipation.

Still standing, Clay continued. “So as I’m driving, he tells me to do what I’ve done and here we are.”

“And because it was a vision with Jesus, I’m to go along, no questions, is that it Clay?”

“Well yah, duh.”

“Please, one question. The Red Road?”

“Our Ojibwe traditions, follow them,” said Clay.

Copyright © 2015 Migizi M. New Song. All Rights Reserved.

Reworking Clay

Journal Entry: Rendezvous With Clay/ Fishing Spot

(Memorial Day Eve)

By my estimation, I’d get to the river around 5 PM. That would leave us, me only if Clay was missing again, another 4 hours to renegotiate the plans for his obituary and memorial service. Darkness would force our hands.

A few days earlier, I’d have used the two plus hours of road trip fuming and plotting. Nope, this time I was feeling weary, exhausted, and mentally numb. I drove the entire time without a pee-stop and listened to the radio.

Memory, my organic GPS, got me to the two-track drive that dead-ended at a small parking area.  The trailhead of a foot path began there and led to our favorite campsite on the Boredman. The gorgeous day, Memorial Day Eve, allowed for open car windows. Oxygenated air from new growth leaves smelled of green, the color of rebirth.

Mixed feelings of relief and dread gnawed at my mind as I spotted Gal’s car at the parking area. Clay, leaning against it and listening to the radio, smiled and waved as I approached. I was too mad and didn’t return the gesture in kind. I birded him and he, or whoever he was, chuckled.

“Welcome to Camp Clay Ain’t It,” said Clay as I shut the car off, got out, and stretched.  “Hey, prepare to get pliable brother. I got us some relaxin time planned.”

Clay’s demeanor and choice of words hinted at him being present and accounted for.

“Says you ass-wipe, ya thief,” I said back. “A credit card and my phone, you with a restricted license, what were you thinking?”

“C’mon Migizi, we’re burnin daylight. I already got camp set up. One match and we’ll have us a fire.”

“Hunh?!” You gotta be shittin!”

“Nada, nope. Got us brand new gear so we can do this deal up right, well, one last time. I mean hey, had the card and all. I forged your name pretty good I guess.” 

Clay grabbed my travel bag from the car and left me to carry my “possibles” case as I called it. It had a few tools, medical kit, medicines, and odds and ends. Leaving me in awe, Clay boogied off down the trail. Shaking my head and caving, I sighed deeply and followed my friend.

A hundred yards later we were alongside the small tributary, more a crick than river. The faint odor of trout tainted water came to me on a subtle breeze and hooked me in my left nostril like a fish. Whoosh, a gully wash of pleasant memories flowed through my mind. The aroma set its hook and tugged me to the riverbank. 

“That’s what I’m talkin about,” said Clay who crept up beside me and a little out of arms reach.”

The fast moving current of glassy water diluted my frustration and a smirk parked itself on my lips.

“Wow Clay, I gotta admit, you have my attention and yes, maybe even my thanks if you play your hand right.”

Turning around, I quickly did a visual inventory of camp gear to assess my credit damage: four-man tent, fishing rods, tackle box, sleeping bags, coffee pot, camp chairs, gas lantern, frying pan, cooler, and groceries. There had to be charges I remained unaware of.

“Ah…Clay? You got receipts for this stuff?”

He pulled a wad of them from his pants pocket.

“A little under 600 bucks Ain’t It,” said Clay. “Room to spare, I checked the balance.”

Copyright © 2015 Migizi M. New Song. All Rights Reserved.

Venomous Clay

“What was that about?” asked Gal. She added water to my glass. “What words were you talkin’ about and what did they have to do with Clay?”

Taking a sip, I looked at the half melted ice cubes.

“I’ll tell ya Gal, my heart feels like these ice cubes dissolving away and my sanity with it.”  I sat the glass down and looked for Chong as a distraction from answering her question but the cockroach stayed in his condo beneath the table.

“Yah, okay Migizi, but about those words.”

“C’mon Gal, you know the story of how Clay and I became real friends. Those were the words at the train bridge, the ones where he ended up calling me Ain’t It.”

“What the hell you talkin about?” she asked. “You guys go back to little guys. I don’t recall anything about a train bridge.”

Feeling almost feverish, I wondered if delusion was setting in from a concussion. A person can vomit with head trauma but maybe I had some poison in me from somewhere. 

The phone on the wall rang and it sounded far off and distorted. Gal got up and answered it.

“Yah? Hey, where the hell you at mister? Where? Oh boy. Yah, he’s right here, hold on.”

Gal handed me the phone then started loading up her go-bag to leave. My spirit sunk.  

“What are you up to Clay?” I asked. “No shit? Alright then, suppose I better come. Besides, it puts me that much closer to home if I decide to bail and buddy, I’m damned close already.”

Hanging up the phone, I finished my water and interrupted Gal’s departure.

“No need to leave Gal, I’m heading out to connect with Clay.”

“HMmmm. I don’t know Ain’t It.  I got an eerie feelin’ about things. Not sure I wanna be here until things settle down.”

Chong was already waiting at the door with bedroll on board.

“I don’t blame you. You need a few bucks for anything before I leave?” I asked.

“Actually, yah, I could use a twenty.”

Pulling my wallet from the rear pocket of my jeans, it felt a freckle thinner. I hadn’t noticed it before. A quick inventory revealed a missing credit card.

“Dammit Clay! Gal, he took a credit card. Lucky for me, it was one with a low limit I keep capped. Still, Clay could tap it for a grand.”

“Cripes Migizi, sucks to be you. Clay can get in lots of mischief with that much moola.” 

I handed Gal her money and hurried to get my travel bag. Leaving, she offered me good luck and was gone.

I turned on the porch light, locked the door, and hurried to my car. Once there, I reached in my bag for my phone intending to call my wife for an update. It was gone as well. It hadn’t occurred to me Clay was using my phone when he called. Not that it mattered; I missed the cue when Gal didn’t need to accept a collect call.

Going archaic, I pulled a paper Michigan map from the storage compartment. Feeling even more vulnerable, I got on the road and headed for the destination Clay gave me. It had been a long time since camping and fishing with him on the Boredman River near Kalkasker.

It would take about 2 hours, plenty of time for any poison to undo me.  

Copyright © 2015 Migizi M. New Song. All Rights Reserved.