|Image: Morocco Carp 50.6 lbs - 23kg - Save a 50, a Creative Commons Attribution (2.0) image from radcarper's Photostream|
It's another part of the Experiment for Day 3. If you're lost with this one, make sure you read Part 1 and Part 2 for it to make sense. As always, suggestions and picture prompts help guide this story along.
Dana walked into the living room. Russell’s client sat there, watching some golf match play out with commentary bathed in a false sense of eloquence. She seemed rather calm, not what struck Dana as frightening by any means.
Was Russell freaked out over her height, being as tall as Dana was? While he was not easily intimidated, the sight of a lanky unfamiliar could put him for a loop. Dana pondered this thought. It was the only detail that stood out and the only one that made sense. Everything else about his customer seemed normal.
“If it weren’t for these heads,” She said. “Golf could be a form of art.”
Dana sat down with her on the couch, “Mowing grass? There’s nothing artsy about it!”
“But when viewed from the satellite pictures, oh my gosh! It’s just riveting! Like fishing, but top-down.”
She went on rambling about her love of fishing. Sitting on a bench, overlooking a quiet lake, mediating with pole, string, and hook was a tangent reminding Dana of those General Hospital reruns.
“There’s someone I know who’s like that,” She said. “Some culture activist.”
The patron chuckled, “I’m not trying to make sport art. I just like fishing.”
She took out a small photo album from her purse. She flipped through the pages of family and friends to get to a great achievement. She stood in the picture carrying what Dana thought was a large bass. Underneath the picture read, “Melissa Jo: 1st Place”.
“That was just recently,” She explained. “I don’t go into these things to win, but here I am. The catch of the day was a challenge though.”
Dana was intrigued by Melissa’s fishing story, a journey all the way down to the lake in the back roads. Then, “Bam! I found this pothole. Creepy finding that in the dark!”
The golf game was on its eighteenth hole, the fluency of the commentators went from pompous to motivational. Melissa sighed.
“There they go,” She said, putting away the album. “Ruining my fun…”
“Jeez,” Dana grabbed the remote, flipping through the DVR guide. “Activist and not active!”
Melissa let out a lengthy sigh, “I’m not advocating anything. It’s just-”
The television was now on some auto program. One of Russell’s favorite shows about cars and computers. The bearded presenter went on about how to program Unix into the satnav. Melissa leaned forward, listening to every word and admiring the diagrams.
Dana was baffled by all this. Russell would have a field day with a fellow auto head, talking about car anatomy for hours on end. Melissa was a different story, speaking the art of the fairway or the imagery of fishhooks.
“Russell should be more like this,” She said. “Gruff and formal. He’d be the clean businessman in a pit of oil. That is true art!”