by Antenna Wilde
I was hit in the face by a fish today. It’s true! I was swimming in the Gulf of Mexico, minding my own business, trying to catch the occasional bodysurf when a strange fluttering emerged from the sea. The first cluster was spread out like a mini-van, approaching from 10 yards away, then exploding in unison, arching themselves from the water in silvery glitters. A man behind me yelled, “Did you see those fish?”
“Yeah!” I said, turning in surprise. But when I turned back, another strange fluttering came, until the surface was breached and more silver, glistening dive bombers shot out in rapid succession, lobbing themselves at me,—I turned—but was hit! The slippery weight of a wet fish bounced off my cheek before careening back into the ocean.
It was a mullet. I checked with one of the life guards—who had been hit himself once, long ago—and he assured me that it was indeed a mullet. Then for a brief moment I wished I was a redneck who had a mullet haircut. Then I wished that, not only did I have a mullet, but that the mullet who hit me had hit the mullet instead of my cheek. And then I wished the mullet had been caught in my mullet, because I could have taken him home and had him for lunch.
That truly would have been my lucky day! But alas, I sit here eating tuna fish, wondering if I should go back out there with my fishing pole. I don’t think I will ever go swimming in the ocean again without thinking of those flittery glitters; those silvery shimmers, launching at me in defense of their playground. Or perhaps it was a game: maybe they were playing—like the dolphins—because after all, how do we know what a fish is really thinking? So if the fish was being friendly—giving me a kiss, perhaps—then I shall name him Flitter. Flitter the Mullet.
NEW UPDATE! Apparently flying fish are not uncommon, but I never thought they went THIS crazy!