The memory
My dad used to wake me up before sunrise every Saturday to go fishing. I hated getting up then. I'd give anything to do it once more now.
The writing
On Saturdays, Dad woke me before the sun. I complained from the cold floor and climbed into his old truck anyway. At the lake, the line went quiet and the sky slowly found its color. I would take that morning now—the cold, his hand on the wheel, one more time.