The Fish Story by June Wolfman

The Fish Story by June Wolfman

The summer of 1987 was steamy hot in Queens, New York, where I rented a room while attending college. I volunteered that summer at a youth center, teaching kids to swim. My parents visited the youth center on several occasions. One Friday, my parents, who lived on Long Island, invited three kids from the youth center and me to a weekend beach rental. Saturday at five a.m., we were all crammed in the car—my parents, and Melvin, Manuel, and Ngyuen, all aged twelve, and me.

After arriving at the shore, we discovered the availability of rental boats and rental fishing gear. My parents agreed to the boys and me going out to fish, and my father rented and bestowed on me a sort of bludgeon, which he said you use to hit the fish on the head when you catch it—to put it out of its misery. I had never been fishing before, and neither had the boys. In fact, they had never seen any part of the United States except the inner-city part of Queens.

The three boys took turns rowing us out into the water. The ocean sloshed around but did not froth up that day. The sun sparkled off the water like silver sequins in a spotlight. They rowed and rowed. The boys laughed and joked as the shore receded. Though they wore life jackets, they only learned to swim that summer, so they began making nervous drowning jokes. The more drowning jokes, the more I realized what an idiotic idea it was to take beginner swimmers out into the ocean on a tiny, wooden row boat. I couldn’t imagine what I was thinking. But, the boys were effervescent and full of fraternity! After all they had on life jackets. I decided to calm down and enjoy.

After we got out far enough where the shore was just a brown line, we threw our worm-hooked lines into the sea. We agreed not to talk so as not to scare the fish.

“I got one!” yelled Manuel thirty minutes later.

His rod bent almost double. We nearly tipped the row boat over, all of us reflexively standing up to help Manuel.

“Everyone, sit down!” I yelled.

Ngyuen held Manuel by the back of the life jacket so that Manuel would not get pulled into the water by the fish. Slowly, Manuel reeled the fish in. The beautiful black fish breached the top of the water! We all yelled in delight. Finally, Manuel, anchored by Ngyuen, reeled the fish into the boat. It flopped and flopped at the bottom of the wooden skiff.

Was it suffering? I didn’t know. I had the bludgeon. I thought that the thing to do was to bop it on the head and put it out of its misery.

“We have to hit it on the head, boys,” I said.

I picked up the bludgeon, which was heavy in my hand, and slammed the fish on the head.

Only the fish did not die. It did not even seem any worse for the blow! However, it grew! Its black scaly body was twice the size that it was when we reeled it in. The look in its eye suddenly was sentient. I looked at the boys, but somehow their faces did not register alarm.

“Let a man do it,” said Melvin. He picked up the bludgeon before I could object and whacked that fish three viciously hard knocks on the head. It didn’t die!

I began to cry. I knew I was supposed to be the adult here, the one keeping everyone calm, so I was ashamed of my tears, but I thought hitting the fish on the head was a mercy killing! Not a beating! I wept, and the boys stared at me in shock.

“Miss,” said Melvin, “please don’t cry.”

“No more hitting the poor fish,” I announced.

Instant agreement from the boys – anything to stop me from weeping.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s reel in our lines.”

Obedience.

Suddenly, the fish grew double again. It stretched out on the bottom of the boat, flopping, now the size of a two-year-old. Yet the boys did not make room for it. They seemed oblivious!

I directed the boys where to sit and move to accommodate the oddly large fish – or should I say the larger fish. Their expressions registered alarm, and they exchanged knowing glances as they stared from me to each other.

Then, and I could not be sure, it seemed like one of the seams of the boat began to leak. I didn’t tell the boys so as not to alarm them. Besides, the water pooling at the bottom of the boat could have come from reeling in “Oscar.” Oscar is who I decided the fish was.

“Let’s row in,” I said, my voice shaking.

“Noooooo,” the boys said in unison.

“Let’s row out a bit more,” said Manuel. “I’ve never been boating.”

“I lived on a boat in Vietnam,” said Ngyuen, “but this is not that.”

“Well, I never have been boating,” said Melvin.

I was busy staring at Oscar, and the boys took my silence for consent. Melvin took the oars and rowed us further out to sea.

Oscar rolled on his back and fixed his eye on me. I stared back. The boys laughed and took turns rowing and, when not rowing, splashing one another with seawater. I had Oscar to worry about.

I also was becoming sure that the rowboat was leaking. I was becoming very sure.

I decided we must row back immediately, but then I heard a churning noise. I looked up.

Suddenly, a large motored boat with US flags barrelled toward us.

“Melissa?” they called to me with bull horns.

“Yes!” I yelled at the top of my voice.

“U.S. Coast Guard, Melissa. Your mother thinks you all are too far out. You’re floating out to sea is the truth of it. Please come aboard. We’ll tow your boat.”

My mother? How embarrassing! Then again, Oscar was breaking the boat.

“What about our fish?” yelled Manuel.

“What fish…oh I see it…that fish can come with you.”

The Coast Guard helped us up onto their boat, and Manuel carried Oscar with one hand. Suddenly, Oscar was his original size. Suddenly, the wooden boat did not look like it was coming apart at the seams.

“Miss,” said Melvin. “Are you okay, now?”

“Okay?”

“Um, I just mean…the fish isn’t scaring you now, Miss?”

“I’m okay!”

Later that day, my father took possession of Oscar. He took a long kitchen knife and decapitated the poor fish. I thought I heard a scream. My parents cooked Oscar for the boys and me, but I wouldn’t eat any. In fact, I made the decision to become a vegetarian and have stuck to that.

I never went fishing again.

I also never went anywhere with boys from the Y without another adult along. My panicked imagination could not sustain another wild ride.

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright June Wolfman 2025