No, I Didn't Say It

I never say "I told you so."

I don't like people to say it to me, so I don't say it either.

That having been said, I must tell about a time when I could have said "I told you so." A time when I didn't have to say it, because the event itself said it for me.

You may want popcorn and a comfy seat for this one.

Okay. As I have mentioned before, my husband loves to fish. I mean he really loves to fish. He will fish day or night, rain or shine, pond, lake, creek, ocean; it doesn't matter. I like to fish. But he loves to fish. Well, when we first got married, sometimes I'd go with him, or he'd take a friend with him, but quite often he'd go alone. I had no problem with this. The only time I would ever worry was when he went night fishing alone.

"Be careful. Don't fall asleep and fall in the water."

With scorn, "I won't fall asleep and fall in the water. You're worrying too much."

"I know you and how easily you fall asleep. I'm just afraid that someday you'll fall asleep and fall in the water."

You can see where I'm going with this, can't you?

May of 1996. Eler Beth was four months old. Thomas and I had decided that we were going to take Andrew fishing and camping one night, and that we'd let my Mom keep Eler Beth. It would be the first time I'd left her with anyone, but we needed a little outing with Drew. We decided to go to a nice little area of a creek that is in the county where my mom lives, and where we'd not fished for a while. It is on property owned by a friend of ours, and we have permission to fish and camp there whenever we want.

This creek winds between several big hills. If you are from the country, particularly my part of the country, you'll understand what I mean when I say that the creek is "down in a holler". Way down. We walk about a mile and a half to the spot where we want to camp and fish, carrying all of our gear. Andrew was in heaven, helping to carry things, keeping up with his dad, never more than a step behind him. I carried a .22 rifle (for protection against the odd snake or what not) and brought up the rear. We set up camp and got the lines out into the water.

The creek is your typical little Kentucky stream. Some areas of it are wider and deeper than others. There are some spots you could swim in, and some places where you cross and barely get your feet wet. On either side of the creek are hills. The spot we like is a widening of the creek where it is a very deep fishing hole with very cold water. Across the stream from us the hill rises up from the creek in cliff rock; you can see some places where the rock overhangs the creek. We have always assumed from the temperature of the water year 'round and the look of the catfish and other fish that come out of it that there is an underground spring there, probably issuing from a cave, and possibly that where there are outcroppings of rock the water actually goes back under those cliffs for a bit as part of a cave system.

On the side where we were the bank rising up from the creek is only maybe four feet above the water, perhaps more in spots. We had chosen this spot because of the fishing hole, and also because there is a nice level, cleared area on that side, good for camping. As I said, we set up camp, threw out our lines and built a campfire.

Now Thomas doesn't believe in "one fisherman, one pole". He usually has two or three poles per person, and that time was no exception. I know we had at least six, maybe more. He had rigged them up with bells on them, so that if he went to sleep he'd hear a bell if there was any movement on one of the lines. He positioned the poles where no lines would get tangled, and we proceeded to fish. Andrew and I both tended to our own poles and then also helped if there was something on one of the "extra" poles. (We caught quite a few fish on that trip; I think that was the trip where I caught the biggest channel catfish I've ever caught.)

We fished and ate, and finally Andrew and I bedded down. Thomas had built the campfire into more of a bonfire when it got dark, but he started allowing it to burn down as we went to sleep. When I finally nodded off he was sitting on an upturned 5-gallon bucket, holding a pole and keeping an eye on the others.

I woke in the wee hours of the morning with a headache. The fire had died down to a glow. It had grown cooler, and all was quiet. I was lying there trying to talk myself into getting up and taking a Tylenol, when I heard a crash and a big splash.

I knew. Down to the very marrow of my bones I knew.

I jumped up and started screaming, "Thomas!" over and over. In between screaming I was saying "Oh God!" and feeling around for my flashlight which I'd had right beside my bed. Whizzing though my head were several thoughts at once: What do I do? I can't find the light. We're miles from anyone. I don't have a phone here. I can't jump in to look for him. What if something happened to me? Andrew's asleep. I can't go for help and leave him here. If I jump in, I wouldn't be able to see anything -- it's too dark! I can't leave Andrew alone.  Along with these thoughts a part of my brain was praying feverishly. And all the time that those thoughts were chasing one another, I was still screaming for Thomas and standing right we're I'd been the whole time. I know only a matter of seconds went by, but it felt like minutes.

Finally I heard a little sound -- a ripple of water. Then another, and another. He was there! He was swimming to me! I could hear him, even though I couldn't see him. I was still yelling and crying at the same time. I heard a rustling, some heavier sounds, saw brush trees moving on the bank. And finally, there was Thomas' head rising above the bank; and then I saw all of him, as he climbed up, came to his full height in front of me, walked to me, grabbed me by the shoulders and demanded, "Are you all right?"

"Am I all right!" I sobbed, holding onto him, while buckets of water ran from him. His teeth were chattering, and if either of us said anything intelligent right at that time I can't remember what it was!

He built the fire up into a roaring bonfire and I got him some dry clothes and blankets. We spread his wet clothes out to dry and then we discussed what we thought had happened -- me breaking off to cry every few minutes. Andrew had slept through the whole thing, thankfully.

We deduced that he had apparently fallen asleep, heard one of those dratted bells, and, still asleep, had got up to get the pole. In the morning we found where he'd gone down the bank; there was a trail of broken brush. He didn't have a scratch or bruise on him, so we think he probably just stepped down off the bank, slipping and sliding right into the water. He told me that he remembered dreaming that he was swimming, so we assume that he started swimming underwater as soon as he slid into the water. He's a very good swimmer, and it's a good thing he is. In his dream he was swimming to me, because I was calling his name. When he finally broke through the surface of the water he turned and started swimming toward my voice. He was all the way on the other side of the creek when he surfaced, which means he'd swam several strokes underwater toward the opposite side! When he got to our side of the bank he said he stuck his hands into the bank and hauled himself up. He really didn't fully awaken until then! The whole thing was just a part of his dream up to that time.  When he saw me standing there he was still sleep-befuddled and didn't know why I was standing there crying and calling his name, and that's why he grabbed me and demanded to know if I was all right!

I will never forget the total helplessness that I felt that night; the emptiness. For a long time afterwards I could tell the story or listen to it, but not without still feeling exactly how terrified and helpless I had been then. I'd laugh and joke and tease with Thomas when he told the story, but it must have been a couple of years before those feelings wore off. That was the fishing hole that I'd always been afraid of his fishing alone at night. That was the one. I was so terrified that he'd fall in the water and get trapped back under those cliffs.

The very next day Thomas told me, "Well, you said it could happen. I never believed it could. You don't have to worry anymore; if I night fish here again, I'm tying myself to a tree!"  And he did.