A False Fish
In a diner of debatable standing, a guy says he caught a fish.
‘That ain’t real. Mine’s bigger,’ says the owner.
‘Yes, it is. Fucking is!’ Injustice!
‘Yeah, but everyone puts it close to the camera to look bigger. Oldest trick in-’
‘But it’s right next to my head. I’m not pushing it forward. You can see that.’ He wants to win badly even though they just bet a dollar.
‘Photoshop. You didn’t even use a ruler.’ The man plucks the guy’s phone from his hand, glares at it. ‘No, I’m not paying a slimy liar.’
‘Dirty thief.’
The bell chimes: new customer, an upstanding fellow, for his clothes lack stains. Can’t waste time, yet he pauses to tell the guy with the fish he knows him from high school, that his encouragement really helped him come out to his parents. Fish Guy nods, because he can’t quite place the fellow and he’s a little embarrassed. Customer orders a roast-beef sandwich and asks his old classmate: ‘You told your folks too?’
‘Pardon? Told them what? There’s nothing to tell.’
‘Oh, I ask since at the time you said we were in the same boat.’ Because he’s always talked shit. The owner’s off to the side, inspecting the screen and pretending he can’t hear; still, the corners of his mouth curve upwards, crinkling wallpaper skin.
Mortified, caught, Fish Guy cracks: ‘Yeah, it was rough. But all in the past. Told my family and that was all fine… Things are good. I’m a dad now. Two little ones, adorable. I’d show you a picture but my phone’s not on me.’ If he had a real kid he’d take him fishing on weekends.
The customer takes his sandwich, writes down his number, waves as the bell chimes again. And the guy wants to carry on arguing, but the moment was strangely lovely, full of things he can’t remember and one belated, good deed. It’s gotta last him a few years. A chuckle he can’t control bubbles up. He won’t fight, though he hadn’t fought at all. Not really. He turns to his buddy.
‘Nah, the fish is real. But Jim’s the one who caught it.’