I stood at the end of the dock, holding my string. My father bent down next to me, tying a lump of chicken we didn’t eat onto the end.
“What do I do?” I asked.
He pointed to the ocean below us.
“Let it down gently,” he said.
I peered over the dock into the water. The ocean was a soft green, and the soft green hid the sea life. I wanted so badly to catch a crab. I loved melted butter and I wanted the melted butter.
“Do I drop it?” I asked.
My father had his hands on his knees.
“You can toss it in,” he said, thinking I would like that better.
I tossed it, and the chicken went into the soft green.
“Let down more string,” he said.
I gave the ocean more string.
I want to say it was instantaneous. I want to say I waited not three seconds. But three seconds later, the string was bouncing in my hand, and the ocean was pulling it.
I looked up at my father and he lifted the string out of the green.
My father’s face had the look of a miracle.
“You got a double-header!” he said.
His hands lifted the two crabs out of the ocean, and I knew I was special.