The Stream of Conscience
Down a 15 foot rock embankment, located at the backside of my high school, there was a storm water drainage channel. Underneath it may have, at some point, been concrete and rocks to prevent the natural stream from meandering; now it was an overgrown waterway with trees, teeming with wildlife and mosquitoes. We're not talking 'deep in Manoa Valley' level mosquitoes where you walk into a cloud of them and come out having lost a pint of blood, but it was enough to be annoying.
It was a late Friday afternoon following band rehearsal when I decided to make a solo trip down there. The path, worn by frequent use, was easy enough to take. With slippers on, I walked past the toad eggs and tadpoles and stepped into the cool, bubbling, less than calf-deep stream. Dragonflies wandered past, a couple of crayfish snapped back behind some rocks, crickets jumping to and fro, and then I saw them — big fat tilapias, the catfish of Hawaii.
Long before television shows popularized noodling — catching catfish with your bare hands — people were catching tilapia with their bare hands. There's nothing to it, right? They're slow, fat fish in shallow water. I strove to catch one.
Nope.
They deceptively floated in place right up until they saw you close-in on them, then dash away. Ah, but I was smarter than a dumb fish. I picked up a medium sized rock and pulled my arm back slowly so as to not to alert the dumb fish. There I stood like a statue for a minute or so, waiting and watching for the right moment.
PLACK!
Yes! I hit the tilapia and it started to float on its side. But then I immediately regretted it. I walked up to it — it was still “breathing”. I reached down into the water to grab it and hold it upright.
“Boo! That's so odious!”
I looked over my shoulder to see the dragonflies, perched on a rock, as they shot arrows at me.
The crayfish boiled furiously. “Harumph! How pathetic was that?”
“Aw c'mon guys, can't you see that I'm trying to get him to recover from the hit?”
The toads were hopping mad. “Oh, so you threw a rock at her just for fun? What a great guy you are.” They turned back to their tadpoles. “Kids, look away from the monster!”
The tadpoles screamed in horror.
“Hey now, look at her. She's breathing just fine. All I did was daze her a little!” I was lying; she had googly eyes.
Crickets.
“Liar, liar, liar, liar!” The cacophony of their accusations grew.
She finally came to as she dashed out of my hands. Whew, what a relief! “Sorry about that, ma'am. Hope you're okay.” That was so lame.
She turned around and looked back at me. “If you're going to apologize come closer so I can see your face.”
I obliged. I leaned down to the water and looked at her eyes — they were still a little googly. “I'm sorry I threw a rock at you. I shouldn't have done that.”
She swam to the surface, and popped her head out of the water.
PHHHPPT!
And with that spit into my face, she swam away as the wildlife laughed at me.
I never did go back to that stream. If I ever do, I'll bring a big net and a bucket.
Just kidding. That stream goes into the Ala Wai and is polluted as hell.
-gk