Dance with Me

knew
he wasn’t up to it. He was sore and he wanted to lay down and go to
sleep. Pete gave his mom a pleading look. 
Help me.
She hesitated. “He’s tired, Bill. Maybe another time. It’s been a crazy
morning.”
Dad waved a hand. “Nonsense. He’s fine. Fishing calms the nerves and
relaxes the mind. Come on now, get ready to go, Pete. I got sandwiches
already packed. It’s going to be a great time, you’ll see.”

---

The sun was brutal even through a haze of clouds. Pete leaned back in a
folding chair next to his dad on an old pier. A cooler sat between them and
an old tackle box was spread open at his dad’s feet. Pete’s arm was sore, so
he didn’t do much casting of the fishing line. Instead, he took in the scene.
A handful of small boats were in the lake with people—mostly old people
—fishing in them. Every few minutes, the water rippled in the stiff breeze
and brought with it the scent of decaying fish and plants. Pete couldn’t
remember his dad catching any fish at the local lake. He wondered if
anyone caught anything here—ever.
It seemed weird, fishing alone with his dad. It had probably been a
couple of years since they’d been to the lake, and Chuck was usually
tagging along, filling the silence with a bunch of questions for Dad. Chuck
always had to 
know
things. Why something worked or how it worked or
where things were made. Pete wasn’t sure if Chuck really wanted the
answers or the attention, but either way he was used to it. Chuck liked to
ask questions and Pete didn’t care to talk much.
“So, Pete, I want to know how you’re doing,” Dad said.
Pete lifted his hat, scratched his head, and slipped his cap back on. “I’m
fine, Dad.”
“Your mother says you stopped playing football and haven’t been getting
along much with your brother.” His dad didn’t use an accusing tone, but
Pete could feel his disapproval, just like he had with his messy room. His
dad always acted like it was Pete’s fault when things went the wrong way.
Outside events—like, say, parental actions—didn’t come into the equation.
It must be cool to be an adult and be right all the time,
Pete thought.
Pete shrugged even though his dad wasn’t looking at him. “I’m done
with football. It’s not for me anymore.” The breeze blew and someone’s
fishing line flew past Pete’s face. He flinched and looked at a guy floating
in his boat a couple of yards away, paying no attention to where he was
casting his line.
His dad said “All right. That’s your choice, about football. But you’re
Chuck’s big brother, and there’s no choice in that.”
Pete didn’t exactly need to be reminded, but his dad went on.
“And as a big brother, you have some responsibility. I was a big brother
to your aunt Lucy. Still am when she needs me. She’s got a husband now, so
she doesn’t depend on me much anymore …” At the topic of husband, he
seemed to get a little uncomfortable.

---

Pete ground his teeth together. Too bad he forgot his gum. Lectures were
always boring and a waste of airspace, but at least gum would have been a
distraction. He stared out across the lake, hoping something might break up
this uncomfortable moment.
“But anyway … sometimes responsibility can be a lot for a kid,” his dad
said, clearing his throat. “You know, with school, grades, and girls making
you feel funny.” His dad gave him a side glance. “Got any questions about
girls?”
Pete’s cheeks burned and he shook his head adamantly in a negative.
“Okay, well, my point is if you need to talk to someone, I’m here for
you, son.” His dad turned to him fully then, staring like he was waiting for
Pete to say something big.
Pete frowned. “Uh, okay.”
His dad ran a hand down his beard. “Or if it’s easier to talk to a stranger,
I can find you a counselor.”
“What? No, I don’t need a counselor.”
“Well, with your wrist …” His eyes went to Pete’s bandage.
“What about it? It was an accident.”
His dad’s gaze became more intense. “Was it really, Pete?”
Pete jerked back. “You think I did this to myself?”
“I’ve heard divorce can affect families in different ways—”