FEBRUARY 2013 - FICTION
My mother swore up and down it was pure coincidence, me showing up at home the same day the old man decided he had to land himself a sturgeon. I wanted to think it was more than that, it was unholy concatenation. Whatever the old man thought, he kept it to himself. Knowing my father, the fact that it was illegal to fish for sturgeon in New York State was the pepperoni on his pizza. Me showing up without warning, I couldn’t say what that meant to him.
I told him I wasn’t going sturgeon fishing with him. Telling him no was less than useless. I was only laying down a marker he’d ignore.
Big Chief Blow His Top, that was what my mother called him in the old days. Edmund Greene was half English, a quarter Irish, and an eighth Lithuanian. But from the way he bragged on the remaining eighth, you’d have thought he was pureblood Indian.
1 of 22