Johnny America

Big Mouth Bil­ly Bass

by

Illustration of a big mouthed bass chasing a loaf of sourdough.

Nathan stared at the half-eat­en cake on the kitchen ta­ble. He was down four pounds from last month. But should he eat the whole cake? De­spite his stom­ach hang­ing slight­ly over his shorts, Nathan thought he looked okay. That would change af­ter the cake. I’ll go to the gym lat­er. Burn it all off. Hav­ing set­tled on a plan, he ate more cake. 

Nathan’s dri­ve­way was made of tiny peb­bles. He heard a crunch­ing sound as tires rolled over the stones. He froze. There was still ic­ing left. He closed the cake box, stuck it in the fridge.

The front door flew open. In stepped his big sis­ter, Beth. She set a white buck­et filled with dirty wa­ter on the tile floor. By the tail, Beth pulled out a big­mouth bass. She said, “I’ve had it with this thing.” 

“Pleased to meet you,” the bass said. “My name is Billy.” 

Beth dropped the fish back in the wa­ter. “I’m cast­ing in the pond ear­li­er when Bil­ly here sur­faces, says we need to talk.”

Bil­ly hung over the rim of the buck­et. “A woman went in your sister’s house every night this week af­ter she left for work.” 

“That’s our lawyer. With what we’re pay­ing, she should be mak­ing house calls.”

“I’ve lived in your neigh­bor­hood pond five years now. The on­ly oth­er time I’ve seen this was the Carltons.” 

“Da­mon wouldn’t do that.” 

Nathan asked, “Who’s your lawyer?” 

Beth hes­i­tat­ed. “Gab­bie York.” 

Nathan said, “Come on.” 

“So what if they have a past? That was col­lege. An­cient his­to­ry. The fish is ly­ing. Da­mon said Gab­bie was on­ly over Mon­day night. I checked the cam­eras. Her car pulled in the dri­ve­way, and she was gone thir­ty min­utes later.” 

Bil­ly said, “The lawyer parked down the street the rest of the week. She en­tered through the back, through the pool’s screen door.” 

“Lies.” 

“Why would Bil­ly lie?” Nathan asked. “Be realistic.” 

Beth balled her fists. Look­ing around the kitchen, she saw a plate of cook­ies on the counter. “You’re eat­ing cook­ies for breakfast?”

Nathan felt his face turn red. “That’s not my nor­mal break­fast. I was hun­gry is all.” 

“Poor Nathan. Keep telling your­self that.” Then to Bil­ly, Beth said, “My hus­band isn’t a cheater. You’re a liar. I’m turn­ing you in­to a sandwich.” 

Bil­ly ig­nored the threat. He was con­cerned with Nathan. “I used to have an eat­ing prob­lem. There was this house, the John­sons, and they fed the fish piz­za. I was pow­er­less. If there was piz­za in the wa­ter, I was eating.” 

Nathan was em­bar­rassed by Billy’s con­cern. Prob­lem? There’s no prob­lem. Every­body eats. So what if I eat more than oth­ers? Food makes life bet­ter. He grabbed a cook­ie. Tak­ing a bite, he said, “Speak for your­self. I’m fine.” Nathan took an­oth­er bite, but this one tast­ed strange. He chewed slow­er, his mouth now dry.

Beth said, “I’ve heard enough. I’m fry­ing Bil­ly in peanut oil.” She picked up the buck­et and made for the door. 

Some­thing didn’t feel right to Nathan. He fol­lowed Beth out in­to the morn­ing light. “You can’t kill Bil­ly. He’s just a stu­pid bass. Move him to an­oth­er pond.” 

Beth paused. She lift­ed the buck­et in­to her truck bed. “Fine.”

“North Street pond is a good —” 

“I know how to move a fish!” 

“Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Beth looked ex­haust­ed. “What­ev­er.” 

Nathan went back in the house. He sat at the kitchen ta­ble, eat­ing cook­ies while go­ing over what hap­pened. He couldn’t get it out of his head. He went to the fridge and grabbed the cake box. His fork hov­ered over the ic­ing. He fin­ished the job. Look­ing in the mir­ror, Nathan felt shame. He drove to the gym. 

Nathan cast his line to the cen­ter of the pond. He reeled slow­ly, the wind whip­ping his gym shorts. The idea that Bil­ly wasn’t here filled him with dread. He need­ed to speak with the fish. It had been a month since he last ate a cook­ie or cake or any­thing with sug­ar. His body felt great, but men­tal­ly he was slip­ping. Be­tween the hol­i­days and his birth­day, Nathan’s crav­ings were es­ca­lat­ing. He hoped Bil­ly could help. 

A cir­cle of hous­es sur­round­ed the pond, and be­hind the pink one was a small dock. Nathan cast his line by the dock, jig­ging the bait slight­ly. He felt a large thump. His pole bent. He reeled. The fish jumped from the wa­ter — a gi­ant big­mouth bass — and splashed back in­to the pond. He was amazed, first at the fish, then at his line. The tug­ging dis­ap­peared. Nathan reeled with no re­sis­tance, but as he reeled, a small wake made its way to shore. 

“Bud­dy,” Bil­ly said. “Get this hook out of my mouth.”

Nathan held Bil­ly by the tail, the fish’s new weight strain­ing his wrist. “Bil­ly, is every­thing okay?” he asked, toss­ing the bass back in the pond. 

Bil­ly poked his head out of the wa­ter. “Things are bet­ter than okay. The peo­ple in the pink house, they throw out sour­dough bread every af­ter­noon. Have you tried sour­dough? It’s mak­ing me blow up like a whale, but I don’t care.” 

“Re­al­ly?” 

“Yeah, I’ve got it made. Be­sides hav­ing the best bread, this pond is stocked with the coolest fish. Have you ever met a trout? They’re hi­lar­i­ous. Why do you look up­set? Did some­thing happen?” 

Nathan re­gret­ted vis­it­ing the pond. He worked so hard to cre­ate this new healthy lifestyle for him­self, all to re­al­ize it was a house of cards. “I just came to check on you. I was worried.” 

“Like I told your sis­ter, I’m do­ing amazing.” 

“You saw Beth?”

“She vis­it­ed ear­li­er this week to tell me about the di­vorce. Good for her. She al­so told me about your di­et. You look great.”

“Thanks.”

“It seems like we’re all do­ing well.” 

“Are we? Bil­ly — do you know what hap­pens to fish your size? They stuff them and hang them on walls.” 

“What! Why?” 

“As tro­phies.”  

“Bar­bar­ic. Well, as scary as that sounds, don’t wor­ry. My days in this pond are num­bered. I met a la­dy fish. I know, I know. A play­er like me set­tling down. But it’s time. She’s from the pond across the high­way, so we’re mov­ing soon. I’ll lose all this weight once my sour­dough sup­ply is cut off.” 

“The pond across the high­way is be­hind a bak­ery. That’s where sour­dough comes from.” 

“Oh, re­al­ly? I had no idea.” 

“That pond is al­so a no­to­ri­ous fish­ing spot.” 

Bil­ly didn’t hear Nathan. An­oth­er fish popped its head out of the wa­ter. Bil­ly said, “This sexy scaly thing is my girl­friend, Talia.” 

Talia said, “It’s al­most time, Big Dad­dy. We bet­ter not miss the sourdough.”

“We won’t. I’ll be by the dock in a minute. Get that sweet tail over there and hold our place next to the red buoy.” 

Af­ter Talia swam away, Nathan said, “She seems… fun.”

“She’s the best. Don’t wor­ry about me, al­right? So I’m en­joy­ing the most de­li­cious bread of all time a lit­tle too much. It’s fine. I have every­thing un­der control.” 

“If you say so.” 

“Will you bring sour­dough to our pond-warm­ing par­ty next week?” 

“But you just said you were done af­ter the move?” 

“I meant af­ter the par­ty. Af­ter the par­ty, no more big Billy.” 

“Sure.” Nathan nod­ded. “I’ll see you then. Take care of your­self, Billy.” 

Nathan grabbed his pole and tack­le­box. Mov­ing through the tall grass on the way back to his truck, he tried to shake an odd feel­ing. He knew Beth’s biggest catch was mount­ed on her of­fice wall, and Bil­ly was a lit­tle big­ger than that. 

He sat in his truck. He didn’t start the en­gine. He picked at dirt un­der his fin­ger­nails, think­ing about his big sister’s di­vorce. She mar­ried a stranger. That was Beth’s re­al­i­ty. What was Nathan’s reality? 

It was a bright day. Nathan looked through the wind­shield of his truck. There was a donut shop across the street. He thought about Beth. About Bil­ly and the sour­dough. Nathan want­ed to feel good. He threw the truck in gear. He sped past the donut shop on his way to the gym. 

Filed under Fiction on July 31st, 2026

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