Wet Dreams Fly Shop
by Trevor Walker
I ducked into the shelter of a storefront to escape the torrential downpour. “This storm came from nowhere”, I thought. As I turned around to look, I was stunned to see a fly shop there. Why had I never noticed this shop before? I stepped back and squinted up into the driving rain, “The Wet Dreams Fly Shop”. I chuckled to myself and shook my head. “It works on so many levels” I mused.
The window display was an array of unbelievable treasures. Beautiful bamboo rods, fly boxes, reels, vices, and the flies, strategically scattered about, were like jewels. The cleanest, most pristine flies I had ever seen. The door opened with an uneasy creak and I stepped in. “Hi sweetheart” came the surprisingly familiar voice from within the depths of the shop. “What the…that’s my wife! That’s Julie!” I thought. “What on earth is she doing here?” “Welcome to Wet Dreams” she said sweetly “You were bound to find out sometime” “Really? I sniped. “Find out what? That my wife works in a fly shop?” She looked at me with a quizzical gaze, “Work here?” she laughed; “I own it sweetheart.” I was bewildered with the whole idea. As intoxicating as it was, however, it just didn’t fit. I glanced around the store, from one shelf to the next, unable to fix my gaze. This fly shop had everything. Everything I had ever secretly wished for, the likes of which I could only dream of, yes… this was my dream shop. I was in awe as I snaked through the narrow aisles, turning this way and that, trying to take it all in. Julie was busy tying flies, and had an array of muddler minnows and hoppers lined up in neat rows. I wanted to go over and watch, but something twinkled, and I turned. It was that rod. The rod rack only had a few rods on it, but there was one with obvious history. The worn grips, scuffed windings and the obvious wear of time gave it away as a working rod. I reached for it and, just as I picked it up, heard Julie announce, “That one's not for you!”
Suddenly I was in Patagonia, up to my waist in the ocean, fly casting southward into the teeth of a cold gale. I was trying desperately to turn over a large weighted streamer in the relentless wind. Julie was there, shouting instructions over the din. “Double haul! Double haul! You need 10 more feet!” I turned slightly and backed through the next wave. It mattered not, I was soaked already. I knew I had it now; just one more false cast and I could make it! I turned to face the teeth of the gale, double hauled, shot my line and a wave struck me with all its force just as I released.
Suddenly, I woke with a start. My wife
was standing in the living room, looking down at me on the sofa. She had a look
of complete confusion on her face, mouth agape, she was speechless. “What are
you doing?!” she screeched. I was still numb from my sudden descent back to
reality, but as I became more aware of my surroundings I also became aware that
I was soaking wet. I was still holding the bottle of water I had fallen asleep
with in my hand. Julie was in the process of breaking into hysterics. “You
were waving that bottle of water all over the place!” she howled. “You were
just waving it, and yelling…and…and….” With that, she broke into a
full-blown fit of hysterics and fell into a heap of screeching, snorting, gut
clutching laughter. I pulled my wet self off the couch, hung my head and started
up the stairs, muttering to myself, “Wet dreams fly shop…indeed”.
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