George Goes Fishing

What we remember, what we lose, and the ache of things that slip away. A short story.

My grandfather was big. That’s how I remembered him. But I was small then, and size is relative.

Back in those heady days he was the big fisherman, taking me out on the lake and showing me how to fish for bass, patient with me even though I quickly got bored, me being not even 10 years old yet.

But now he was skin and bones, so much of him wasted away, ev…