Ravennittes
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System Architect - Ch 77
🕑 Added 2025-01-15 17:40:01 +0000 UTCAN: Whooops, forgot to schedule it. Here you go!
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A week-and-a-half later, Dad woke me early in the morning. I yawned as he roused me.
“Ready to go fishing?” he asked.
“Hmmm,” I grunted.
I yawned again.
“We’ll get going in twenty minutes, so take the time you need to wake up.”
I nodded, then yawned a third time. It was far too early in the morning to do anything like this.
I struggled to get dressed—the sleep refused to leave my eyes. I tried washing them, which only made my eyes more watery than they already were. When I stumbled out of my bedroom minutes later, my shirt was on inside out, and I was sporting two different colors of sock—a fashion statement, to be sure. As soon as I noticed, I turned around and went back in to fix it. Today was starting poorly.
“Ready?” Dad asked.
“I guess.”
“Good. Let’s get in the truck ‘n go.”
I nodded and trudged after him.
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The stream was located about halfway across the property with the equipment shed. It served as the boundary between two fields. A small bridge sat across it, allowing me to drive my tractor from one side to the other.
Dad parked before the bridge and we got out. The largest part of the stream was at the extreme right side of the property when viewing it from the street and passed the shed. With the road on the left side, it meant a short hike along the stream.
“Take your rod,” he told me. “I’ll take the rest.”
I accepted the fishing rod, and we began our walk.
In the early fall weather, the grass was still green—as were most of the trees. There were insects and birds in abundance—the birds were just beginning their morning calls. The bubbling stream flowed steadily onward like a comforting companion. The sun had yet to peek over the horizon, but the predawn light was more than sufficient to light our path.
At the far end of the property, we stopped. The stream widened and slowed into a large pool. It was not much bigger than a hot tub, really, but that was our best opportunity to catch a fish—and not a rock.
“Have you fished before?” Dad asked.
“A long time ago,” I said.
“Alright, here’s what you do…”
He explained how to bait and use the rod. The bait—in this case—was a reusable lure. My first cast nearly caught me! Subsequent casts were better. With a small float to keep the lure from snagging on the bottom, we would occasionally reel the line in some—in bursts to make the lure look like the real thing to the fish.
“It’s good to get out and do something like this,” Dad said, while casting his line again. “I remember doing this was your Grandpa Milton when I was a kid…”
“Yeah. It’s nice.”
I smiled. It was nice.
“I’m not catching anything,” I said ten minutes later.
“Give it time. The fish just aren’t biting yet. Maybe we can try a different lure in a little while?”
I shrugged. I didn’t know much about that.
“Sure, I guess.”
I sat down on a nearby rock, letting my fishing rod rest against the log in a way that I could grab it quickly if anything happened. I watched as Dad flicked the rod one way, then the other. He sighed when he caught nothing before tossing it back into the pool and sitting down next to me.
“You’ve seemed distant since the whole… thing… happened.”
“The going back in time?”
“Yeah. That. I’m worried about you, son, and I don’t want to see you shut yourself off.”
“It’s hard,” I sighed. “I mean, who you are today isn’t who you were a few years ago, nor who you’ll be the next time. I’ll be the only one who remembers, because each time, you’ll start fresh. That’s why I’m keeping my distance from everyone.”
“It’s not healthy to do that. Sure, I’m not the same dad you remember, but I’m still your dad now. And I will be for… a while. How much longer?”
“About ten more years,” I clarified.
“So for ten years, I’ll still be your Dad. That’s gotta count for something, right?”
“I guess.”
“Well, I think it does. It’s not the kind of relationship I imagined five years ago, but it is what it is. I’m here for you, kid. Just remember that. Your mother as well.”
“Thanks, Dad. I appreciate it.”
As much as I wanted to push him away, I just couldn’t. Yes, I felt isolated still, but he was right. It wasn’t healthy. Having someone on my side was a good idea, even if all I wanted to do was go it alone.
I stood up and wrapped my arms around him. The simple act of hugging him brought a smile to both our faces. Then his face changed.
“Look at your bobber!” he exclaimed.
I turned to see the float getting pulled under the water. There was a fish on the hook! I grabbed the fishing rod and yanked to make sure the hook was truly set. Then I began reeling it in. I didn’t face any issues—the fish didn’t put up much of a fight. Eventually, I pulled it from the water.
The fish was minuscule. I was honestly shocked that it had managed to fit the hook in its mouth! It flapped about at the end of the line. I grabbed it in one hand and the hook in another.
“Look at me and smile!” Dad yelled before I had the chance to throw the fish back in the water.
I turned to see him with his phone out to take a picture. I smiled as I held the tiny fish. He gave me a thumbs-up when he was done, and that was my signal to release the fish back into the water. Gently.
“Nice catch,” he said.
“It was a tiny thing.”
“Oh, don’t be like that. You caught it and that’s what matters!”
He was right. The experience I gained was proof of that fact.
“Let’s see if your old man can catch something now,” he laughed.
“Probably the same unfortunate fellow,” I said with a teasing smile.
He laughed even harder.
For the rest of the morning, we fished and chatted. That same small fish must have been caught a handful of times, because it began looking pretty ragged after our time in the pool. That’s when Dad decided it was better to leave it be and pack up. It was time to go back home and do something else for the day—probably do some maintenance on the tractor and check on the grain.
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A few days later, I took the rest of the pesticides I had and lugged them to the stream. I felt sick to my stomach with what I was about to do. I truly enjoyed nature—the fish, the trees, and, yes, even the insects. That I was about to wreck it for experience was depressing enough. It wasn’t the sort of action I took lightly, but I had done the math. This is what I would have to do in order to save the world. Well, a future-past version of it, at least.
With a heavy heart, I dumped the pesticides into the stream. There was no immediate reaction. I took the empty canisters—complete with their skull-and-crossbones warnings—to the trash. The town I was in didn’t recycle. Those containers struck me as rather unrecyclable, given their former contents. I wouldn’t trust them to be handled correctly, that was for sure. Honestly, burning them was probably the safest option, but I didn’t feel the need to do that. Maybe they’d kill some bugs in the landfill or something. That was more of what I needed, anyway.
The most important thing about this whole affair was that I didn’t tell a soul. While I was reasonably sure Dad would understand, I wasn’t going to take that chance. The fewer people who knew, the less likely it would get back to me. I didn’t want to kill any people. Animals, though? Those were on my hit list. As long as no one ate them, it would be alright.
I made a note to order more pesticides now and then to dump into the stream. I knew that—long term—I would run out of things to kill that way. The pesticides would dilute too much and everything else… well, I couldn’t kill what was already dead. I shook my head. I had other things to worry about.
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That weekend, it was time for Dad and me to go to the state fair. This time, we went without our neighbors. While they were decent people—and fun to hang with in short bursts—their children were in the throes of puberty and taking out their suffering on the world around them. Where I had been able to play with them, they now wanted to be on their own with people their age.
I still saw George at his store from time to time. He had been close to needing another injection of cash, but ultimately pulled through into profitability. I—in turn—was pleased by the return on investment experience wise. I didn’t care about the money, though that was profitable as well.
The main reason Dad and I went to the fair was to see if I’d won an award for the pumpkin. Secondarily, I was looking forward to carving it into a boat so that I could join the race. That there were other things to do—like eating deep fried whatevers—was simply the cherry on top.
“Ready?” Dad asked after parking.
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
Unlike last time, we got to park closer to the fair now that I was a participant. No matter what place I ended up with, I’d need the truck close to put the pumpkin in the back to bring it to the river. That alone afforded me the better parking. And that was something I was grateful for.
Dad and I walked through the gate after our guest pass was confirmed by the security guard. The inside of the fairground was similar to last year’s, but not the same. There were many of the same sights and smells. However, many of the rides and vendors had changed. There were newly invented fried foods, a small rollercoaster in place of the Ferris wheel, and a newly added stage for local folk music acts to play at throughout the day.
“Where do we need to go?” Dad asked.
“I think it’s the building where we dropped off the pumpkin.”
He nodded.
“We can always ask someone if it’s not,” he mused.
“Mhm.”
We walked towards our destination, all the while letting our senses wander. The smell of cinnamon-sugar one way, the sight of colorful stuffed animal prizes the other way. The distance was short, but with all the people around, it took a long time. There was even a line to get into the building with the pumpkins!
“Wow,” I said, when we stopped at the back of the line. “I didn’t expect this.”
“Maybe your pumpkin was just that awesome, eh?” Dad laughed.
I blushed and shook my head.
“I doubt it,” I said.
“Well, we’ll see, won’t we!”
“I suppose so.”
The line moved relatively quickly. We were inside in under ten minutes. The room was felt large in spite of the amount of people inside. They weren’t packed together as I had expected, but rather there was a limit to how many people could be inside from a safety perspective. There was someone at the door counting how many folks left so that many more could come in.
“I think you’ve got this in the bag,” Dad pointed out.
“I do?”
“Look at the sizes of the pumpkins. There are some big ones, and then there’s yours.”
I looked. He was right. There were around ten pumpkins varying in size from three to four feet across. And then there was mine. Compared to the others, it was around twice the size!
To the side of the pumpkins was a large board with names, pictures, and numbers. All the pumpkins had numbers except one: mine. When I got closer to read, it looked like they were weights. Behind my pumpkin were two forklifts and a bunch of straps. A tall man was animatedly organizing the effort of moving the giant pumpkin to the scale in front of the pumpkin lineup.
“I hope they don’t drop it,” Dad said.
“Don’t jinx it like that!”
“It’ll be fine.”
“It better be. I’ve been looking forward to paddling that thing. It might be big enough for both of us to fit inside.”
“Hmm.”
I watched as the forklifts slowly lifted my pumpkin. Instead of moving it in tandem, a handful of men pushed the scale under so that it could be lowered gently down. Inch by inch, it came down until it was fully supported by the scale.
The tall man walked over and checked the numbers before pressing some buttons and checking again. He did this three or four times before he was satisfied. That’s when he went over to the board on the side and wrote the weight in the open space: 2,218 pounds.
