Craig Returns To New Orleans To See If His Catfish Family Still Comes Up When He Calls

I returned to New Orleans on Thursday to see if my catfish family still comes up when I call.

I had been away too long. There are practical explanations for this, but families do not become less real because the explanations are practical. The water was still there. The dock was still there. I was the person who had not come back.

The visit began at 9:14 a.m. at a slow bend behind the dock where my cousin Darryl, who is a catfish, used to surface before anyone else and then act as if he had not been waiting.

I stood chest-deep in the water and called the family the way I was taught: not loudly, not repeatedly, and not like a person calling a pet.

There was no movement for 38 seconds.

I wrote that down because it felt important and because writing gave my hands something to do.

Who Came Up

The first to surface was one of the younger cousins. I could not tell which one at first. He came close enough to look at me, then turned and went back under.

That was not rejection. In this family, checking is its own category.

My aunt came up next. She is a broad catfish with a scar above the left whisker and a way of holding still that makes the water organize around her. She touched my sleeve once and stayed near my knee.

I said hello.

She did not move away.

After that, three more relatives surfaced in a loose line between me and the dock. They did not crowd. They did not forgive out loud. They were present.

This was more than I deserved and less than I wanted.

Who Stayed Deep

Darryl did not come up.

I could see him in the darker water near the branch line, broadside and almost still. He was close enough to hear me if hearing is the word for what happens underwater between family.

I called once more. He shifted, then stayed where he was.

This is the part of the visit I do not want to make sentimental. A catfish staying deep can mean many things. It can mean caution, age, temperature, irritation, or that a cousin remembers absences better than greetings.

I recorded it as unresolved.

Contact

At 9:41 a.m., my aunt pressed the side of her head against my forearm. The pressure lasted less than two seconds.

I did not hug her because underwater hugging is not always welcome and because I am trying to become less dramatic about being accepted.

She circled once, then came back to the same place.

That was the reunion.

No one on shore noticed. A truck passed behind the trees. Someone closed a cooler. The family stayed with me in water the color of tea and old weather.

Leaving

I stayed 24 minutes.

Before leaving, I called Darryl one last time. He did not surface, but he moved closer to the shallows after I turned toward the ladder.

I am not counting that as forgiveness. I am counting it as something I am allowed to return for.

When I climbed out, my notebook was wet and my hands were shaking a little from the temperature. My aunt remained near the dock until I put my shoes on.

Then she went under.

I will come back sooner next time. That is not a promise for the article. It is a note for the family.