Man in the Blue Suit

“He sat down and played the other part,” she said.

“Who did?” I shot back without a clue who she was referencing. “There isn’t anyone else here.”

“I already said. The man in the blue suit.” Her head bopped back and forth between each word.

I looked around, but knew it was just the two of us. No cars in the driveway, no people outside. I knew the cabin was empty when we got here. Uncle Greg said nobody had been here since October, and lord knows I walked through every single room when I opened the windows to let the musty cabin smell out.

“Well, where did he go?” I asked. Her imagination often took her down a rabbit hole to places no one could see coming. It typically drove me nuts when she’d do this, but I had to see this one through.

“He stood up when you came back inside and walked to the kitchen,” she replied with confidence. “He didn’t want you to hear him play the piano because he’s shy.”

“Honey,” I said, without knowing what to say next. “He’s not in the kitchen. Nobody is. It’s just us here.”

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes. Her seven years of age often felt like seventeen. “You never believe me.”

I sighed while searching for words.

“Can we go fishing?” She asked suddenly.

“Yes. Yes we can.” Her lack of attention span never ceased to amaze me, but I was glad she shifted gears. She was getting too old for imaginary friends.

I went to find the old fishing rods and my uncle’s tackle box from the garage. She continued to pound on the piano, forcing it into submission of her “Heart and Soul” rendition. Home felt dreary, while a rainy day in the woods felt bright. We needed to make more adventures. I missed my up north weekends at my uncles’ cabin from my childhood. We’d chase snakes and search for salamanders in the summer and sled down the driveway towards the lake in the winter. So many years had passed since I had last been here, but it still felt just the same.

Uncle Ernie’s tackle box looked as I remembered. A faded blue plastic box with cracked latches, covered in mud smears. I remembered catching bullheads from the dock as a kid and sought to repeat the core memory, hoping somehow I’d remember how to take them off the hook without touching their spines and whiskers.

She popped up with excitement as I rounded the corner and waved at her through the window. It looked as if she jumped directly into her mud boots without having to pull them on. The smile on her face helped me realize how grateful I was that Uncle Greg suggested we use the cabin for a few days; I welcomed the change in environment. Since finding new love in San Antonio, Uncle Greg hadn’t been home much to use it, anyway.

I waited for her at the steps of the porch and felt the moss on the faded wooden railing. I crumbled the moss edges in my fingers and smelled the lake breeze. Uncle Greg used to complain about the smell when the wind came towards the cabin off the lake. I always kind of liked it.

She skipped around the corner and ran her hand along the baby blue siding, to which I told her not to, as she didn’t want any slivers.

I was glad she enjoyed fishing as much as I did when I was her age. She was patient with her casting and watched her bobber intently. She was even willing to bait her own hook.

She improved with each cast and eventually saw the tug at her bobber before reeling in with genuine excitement. The line came in through the lily pads with precision. With less boat traffic on the lake, the weeds had grown unruly.

“Nice job,” I said as I did my best not to say that I’m proud of her too often. I’d heard I shouldn’t make her accomplishments about my feelings, or something of that nature. Although I was certainly proud. “Be careful with the spines, there.”

“I know. I saw it on a video,” she smiled, gently put her boot on the fish and took the hook out without issue before tossing it back in the lake. Her independence instantly aged me, as I recalled needing help from Uncle Ernie with bullheads back when I was seven. “Daddy, did you catch bullheads as big as this one when you were a kid?”

“Some, yeah,” I said. “Plenty smaller, too.”

“I’m going to catch a bigger one,” she said as she recast further out into the lake.

“I’m just glad you like fishing,” I said.

“I do,” she replied. “I really like fishing. Did you have fun fishing with your uncles when you were a kid?”

“Fishing with Uncle Ernie was so fun,” I said. “He’d always take us out. Even in the rain. Uncle Greg liked it too, but not quite as much.”

“And you’d catch big bullheads like that one?”

“Sure did,” I said. “And he always made us laugh. He was always singing and playing the piano in the evenings. He’d tell me and my cousins to play it too, so he could sing loud and dance around the cabin living room.”

She smiled. I could tell she wished she had silly uncles to sing and dance around the cabin on a gloomy day such as this.

It was then I remembered him, placing his beer on the windowsill while I was practicing “Heart and Soul” so my mom wouldn’t be upset with me wasting her money on lessons.

“I didn’t know you played piano, Daddy.”

“I played a few things when I was a kid. I played ‘Heart and Soul’ like you do,” I said. “Uncle Ernie cheered me on as I practiced because he wanted me to keep working at it. He was really good at the piano. They were both very encouraging, like how I am with you at gymnastics.”

Her sweet side provided a hug of comfort. I had a sudden realization and felt moved to say it aloud. “One time, I was upset with myself that I wasn’t quite getting it because it was really hard for me. Then, as I finally figured it out, he sat down and played the other part.”