My first reaction when the poison ivy touched my skin was nothing. I didn’t even realize what had happened. It was a gorgeous spring day, the sun soaking our skin, with a cool breeze to keep it from feeling overwhelming so. I simply picked myself up as I had just fallen slightly while trying to get the best angle for catching that fish I wanted. My waders were sticking in the mud more than usual.
“You okay over there?” I heard off in the distance. It was my buddy, Simon. It was his idea to go fishing, he hadn’t done it in over a year. I could tell when he asked that he needed to go badly. So I agreed. So did our other friend, Felipe. He routinely fished. Felipe was a fisherman by nature. Both Simon and I said we fished and then went when were told to or had nothing else to do. But Felipe, he made time for it. We hadn’t caught anything more than a couple of brookies. I was a fly fisherman, well I said I was. Never really made time for it. Felipe was a casting fisherman, he liked to fish from the banks. But he was good at it.
“Yeah, I just uh, I’m just…” I was stammering as I attempted to move through the mud. I moved my right leg, skirting it along the mud, and attempted to push forward, my hand placed down in the mud I felt something soft, and loose. I grabbed it and pulled on it to move my way forward. I looked down to see what I was grabbing. It was a piece of a plaid shirt. It was deep in the mud. I pulled again, it was resisting my weight so I was able to pull myself forward out of the mud. I landed forward, out of the deepest part of the mud and onto a face stuck with a silent scream.