The best smell ever: a rundown bait & tackle shop on the lake. I caught a whiff of it on the wind just now and it’s absolutely blissful.
An aroma of rubbery fake worms mingled with real ones, the dampness of a minnow tank bubbling gently with its green algae coated sides, earth and dust, an open jar of beef jerky on the counter, and the whisper of penny candies that sit uncovered in wooden display boxes by the aged cash register. I'm with my dad. The clerk wears a black apron. From its pocket he pulls a crisp little paper bag, no bigger than my reaching hand, and winks at me. My dad talks to him about who's catching what, where, and the ones that got away, but that would've certainly broken the state's record, as I fill the bag with carefully chosen sweets. I pick them up, two fingered, each individual one lifted out with the precision of a jewel thief. You're not supposed to touch the ones you’re not taking because you will get you germs on them.
I chance 3/4 of a bag. My dad usually lets me get 1/2. He doesn’t seem to notice as he pays for the bait, the candies, and two cokes. I feel guilty as we're walking to the door and lift the bag up to him saying, "I picked some out for you too, Daddy." He looks delighted and says, "Thanks, Bub." Then I feel guilty for lying, but I know in my heart that I'd have given him more than half of them if he’d asked. It is our day. The two of us out with the boat, alone.
I don't remember anymore of the flashback; how many fish we caught, how long we stayed, if we shared the candy and talked about outdoorsy things, I only know that it all blew past with the breeze in a matter of seconds and then it was gone, along with my father. I miss him. I'm glad he stopped by today, even if it was just for a moment. Where did the years go?
