#9 - Back to the Future

Rachel arrived at The Yellow Bowl ten minutes before noon. She was usually early, and Becky usually late. This is the way it had been since college. She sat at a table near the front window, watching the entrance and sipping from a glass of ice water the server had brought. The restaurant wasn’t busy yet, but after a few parties wandered in - all women, in groups of twos and threes - Rachel retrieved her phone from her purse and looked at the time. It was only two minutes past, and Becky would never consider herself late until at least a quarter of an hour after their agreed upon time.

Rachel picked up a menu and glanced at the selections. They had met at The Yellow Bowl once before, but she couldn’t remember what she’d eaten. The choices ranged from Asian-fusion to Italian-inspired, everything vegan and everything served in oversized yellow bowls. She was only half-conscious of the images and descriptions in the menu, distracted by the conversations taking place among the women at the tables nearby. It seemed as though they were all speaking unusually loud, but then Rachel realized that there was no ambient music playing, and the lack of background noise emphasized the volume of normal speech. The hostess at the front must have noticed the same. She disappeared into the kitchen and a moment later soft music began playing from hidden speakers.

Rachel set the menu back on the table. She wouldn’t be able to decide what she wanted to eat until she knew what Becky would order. If Becky was having a ‘diet day’, Rachel, too, would order a salad. If Becky was relaxed and ordered pasta, Rachel would have access to the entire menu.

At a booth only six feet to Rachel’s right, sat a group of three women. They had arrived together, and since sitting down had been speaking in hushed voices. They seemed disinterested in the menus the server had presented. Two asked for water, one for Diet Coke. The two water-drinkers sat somewhat crowded on one bench, while the Diet Coke-drinker sat across from them. She was the youngest of the group.

“I wouldn’t say that, you know, any line has been crossed. But he does make me uncomfortable. There’s just something not-exactly-right about him. Do you feel that?” The Diet Coke-drinker said.

Rachel pulled her phone out again and pretended to be deeply focused as she looked at the screen and listened to the women’s conversation. Movement at the entrance caused her to look up. Becky was standing near the door. She glanced around, found Rachel, and the two of them waved to one another.

“Sorry.” Becky said, slipping into the seat across from Rachel. “Have you been waiting a long time?”

“Only a few minutes.” Rachel said. “How’s your day going?”

The server, a tattooed, college-aged girl with cropped hair and an eyebrow piercing, dropped off another menu for Becky.

“Can I get a water with lemon? No ice please.” Becky said.

When the server had stepped away, Becky said, “Rachel - Oh - My - God. Today has been...one of those days.”

“What happened?” Rachel said.

Becky shook her head and rolled her eyes. “It’s work stuff. Boring, really. I work with some truly idiotic people, that’s all.”

Their conversations often gravitated towards Becky’s frustrations with her co-workers at the bank. Rachel knew the names of several of the worst offenders, though she’d never met them. Sometimes, when listening to a long bank-related story, Rachel would have to stop Becky to clarify who-had-said-this or who-had-said-that, trying to keep all the characters straight in her mind.

They turned their focus toward the menu. After a quiet moment of consideration, Rachel asked, “What sounds good to you?”

Becky didn’t look up. “The teriyaki tofu salad was good last time. I think I’m going back to that.”

So, salad it was. Rachel navigated back to the salad page of the menu. When the server returned, Becky ordered the teriyaki tofu salad and Rachel decided on a kale salad with rosemary shallot dressing.

While they waited, Becky launched into a complaint about her co-worker, David. As her direct supervisor, he had appeared in her stories before, and though Becky had never taken the time to describe his appearance, she had confided that he was ‘attractive’. In Rachel’s imagination, the role of David was played by one of her old college history professors, Dr. Kyle. His looks had faded, but there was something in his confidence that hinted at earlier glory. There was still a bit of the glow left, but less than he thought.

“It’s his whole demeanor.” Becky was saying. “It’s obvious he thinks I’m incapable by the way he talks to me. I think he really has something against women. He feels threatened by me or something.”

The salads came and Becky forgot about her story.

“You need to taste this. It’s so good.” She said.

Rachel reached over and used her fork to spear a bite of the lettuce and tofu. She chewed thoughtfully, nodding with appreciation. “That's good. Here, try mine.”

“That’s okay, I’m not big on kale.” Becky said. Her phone suddenly buzzed and she reached into her pocket to check on it. She read the text message and started tapping a response with her thumbs. “Sorry.”

Rachel laughed. “I’m just as bad.”

When Becky looked up she said, “So, what’s new? I feel like we haven’t talked in forever.”

Rachel had been waiting for this. She didn’t like talking about herself unless someone asked specifically. But today she had real news. Something was actually happening in her life, which was another way of saying...

“I think I’ve met someone.”

It came out so abruptly. She had wanted to sound more casual, to possibly lump this information in with other mundane comments about her busy schedule or news about her family back home. But there it was.

“You think you’ve met someone, or you have met someone?”

Rachel laughed. “I guess I have met someone.”

“Wow.” Becky said. “I didn’t know if this would ever happen. No, I’m only kidding. Just... wow. Congratulations.”

“Well, thanks. I was starting to think it might not happen, too.” Rachel said.

“What’s his name? How’d you meet?”

“His names Rob.” Rachel said, answering Becky’s first question. She had considered how to answer the second question for several days, but had come up empty on how to sugar-coat the truth.

“We met online, you could say. I joined one of those dating sites a couple months ago.”

“Oh. Okay. So, have you met him? Like, face-to-face? Or is it just online?” Becky asked.

“No, no. We’ve met. We had our first date about a week ago.” Rachel said. She was already feeling defensive. Maybe she should have waited to talk to Becky about this.

“But, you know? I don’t know. He seems nice. It’s nothing serious. Just getting to know one another.” She said.

“I don’t know much about this whole internet dating thing. What I hear is that you need to be really careful, Rachel. Definitely take this slow.” Becky said. “I’m happy for you. Just worried, you know, since you haven’t had many - or any relationships, really.”

Rachel had seen this coming. Becky liked to remind her how disparate their lives were. Of course Becky wouldn’t know anything about online dating. She’d never had to stoop to that level. The men had always lined up for her.

“It’s good for you to get some experience, right? I’m glad you’re not taking it too seriously.” Becky said.

Rachel focused on her salad, stuffing a few bites into her mouth quickly without looking up from her bowl.

“But anyway, what’s he like?” Becky said.

Rachel wanted to say: He was kind. He was nervous. Can you believe that? Nervous to be on a date with me? He listened to me, and seemed genuinely interested in what I said. He asked questions about my life and my opinions. A glob of spicy mustard fell on his shirt and he didn’t notice it for five minutes. He dressed pretty nice, though still had a bit of sloppiness about him. He looked me in the eye, except when he finally had the courage to say I looked pretty. He didn’t talk about himself the whole time, but when he did, he didn’t brag. He was kinda funny, or at least tried to be. He was pretty damn cool, actually.

Rachel said, “He’s a graphic designer, and, I guess, does some website development stuff. He’s twenty-five. We went to Flat’s Brewery.”

“Love that place.” Becky said. “The fish tacos? Amazing.”

* * * * *

To learn more about Back to the Future, read the original Wikipedia article HERE.

#10 - Year Without A Summer

The whole world ended.

But before that, an asteroid called graduation struck the earth, triggering the onset of an ice age that killed all the fun. Friends disappeared. Job openings froze up. I moved home. I watched The Price Is Right.

A month passed, and my dad suggested I look for something part-time.

“You can earn a little money, get a little experience under your belt. Might as well be productive while you look for your ideal job, right?”

The next day, he told me about Tina the Landscaper. For two years she’d been mowing the lawn at his dental practice.

“She said she’s looking for extra help over the summer. Decent hours. Outdoor work. She’s a nice lady.”

He had a business card, so I called the number. Tina said yes, she was looking for extra help during the summer. She said previous landscaping experience wasn’t necessary. She said she needed me on her lawn crew. She said she’d pay ten bucks an hour. She said I could start on Monday.

Before meeting her, I had imagined two Tinas. Tina number one (the more likely Tina, I believed) was six feet tall, wore camo overalls, and had a haircut like Chuck Norris. Tina number two (the Tina I was hoping for) looked like Jessica Alba. Of course, the real Tina looked like neither of my imagined Tinas. Instead, she turned out to look like a mom wearing knee-length shorts and a short sleeved work shirt. For some reason, the moment I first saw her, I thought of a Yellowstone Park Ranger. (I’ve never been to Yellowstone.)

That first day I spent most of my shift running a weedeater. A guy named Henry trained me on the self-propelled mowers in the afternoon. I earned seventy bucks and a sunburn. That night I told my dad that my ideal job was any job other than working for Tina.

But of course, I needed money. I needed the exercise. And I needed to stop watching daytime television. I had all the commercials memorized; lawyers, technical schools, insurance for old people. I could quote them.

So, I mowed. I slashed weeds. I spread fertilizer and insecticide. I drove a white pickup. I got a tan (sort of). Most importantly, I got paid.

On the tenth of June, Tina told me she needed me to help with a landscaping project on the west side of town. The break from lawn care sounded nice, so I was happy to oblige. We loaded her truck with all the heavy tools we needed, filled up a cooler with ice and bottled water, and headed to the site just after seven in the morning, with Jon and Grant following us in a second truck.

Tina liked listening to country music, so that’s what was playing on the radio when the guy (I know his name, but I don’t like repeating it) swerved and hit us. He was responding to a text from his wife. I’m sure he was a decent guy. He didn’t want to kill Tina, but he did.

I was out cold, I guess. I’ve heard the stories of what happened in the days and weeks and months after the accident, but it all feels like fiction to me. Tina died. The guy died. Funerals were held for both of them. My parents’ church held a prayer vigil for me. And of course, lots of important stuff happened regardless of whether I was aware of it or not.

I was in a coma for a hundred and twenty six days. Two memories remain from that time period. The first is of a crowded room. My family and friends were there and I could smell cinnamon. I recognized the voices, but couldn’t understand what was being said. It felt like Christmas. Later, when I described this memory to my mom, she said there was never more than three people in the room with me, and that as far as she knew there’d never been any cinnamon.

The second memory is very vague. There was one person in the room with me. I didn’t recognize his voice. I could feel him close to my face, though I couldn’t see him. He said many things, but I only remember one sentence: “Why do you look for the living among the dead?”

After I woke up, my mom told me that’s a line from the Bible. Some angels said it when women came to look for the body of Jesus. He wasn’t there.

Of course, in my case my body was there, but I wasn’t.

Two weeks after leaving the hospital, I met Tina’s family. Her husband, her two daughters. We sat in my parents’ living room. The girls didn’t say anything, but when their father cried, they cried. I told them I was sorry. Her husband said he was sorry. Sorry for everything that had happened to everybody. He said it was nice to see me, and to know that I was with Tina when she passed.

I said, “I don’t remember anything.”

He said, “That’s okay. You were there.”

I didn’t really know Tina, but I guess the fact that she died next to me connected us somehow. Her husband gave me a hug before he left. It was awkward because I was in the wheelchair and my arms just kind of hung there.

A few weeks later, Tina’s older daughter added me as a friend on Facebook. Weird. Yeah.

That was just about the time we got our first snow of the year. The green world I’d said goodbye to in June had suddenly turned all white. And I was still watching The Price Is Right.

* * * * *

To learn more about the Year Without A Summer, read the original Wikipedia article HERE.

#11 - The K Foundation Burn A Million Quid

Though it was her policy not to use her cell phone while driving, Maggie saw black smoke billowing up on the horizon near County Road 60 and decided this time was different. She called home.

Jim was using the toilet at the time, his blue jeans bunched in a pile at his ankles. When the phone rang, he hunched over to dig it out of a front pocket.

“Did you see the smoke coming up at the Cauty’s?” Maggie said.

“I’m not outside.” He said.

“It’s black. I mean black-black.” She said.

“Did you see what it was? Maybe they’re just burning a brush pile.” Jim said.

On Maggie’s end, his voice sounded a bit echoey. “Where’re you?” She asked.

“I’m in the house.” He said.

“Oh. Just sounds funny.” She said. “Do you think we should call Bill and see if everything’s OK?”

“If it’d make you feel better.”

After hanging up, Jim finished in the bathroom and stepped out onto the back porch. From there he could see the Cauty’s place in the distance across the east beanfield. A broad column of smoke was rising high into the otherwise clear sky. Maggie was right; it was very black. It didn’t look like smoke from a brush pile.

Jim found Bill Cauty’s number on his cell phone and gave it a call. No one picked up. He stood and watched the smoke for a bit longer and then went into the house and rummaged through the hall closet searching for a pair of binoculars he knew he had somewhere. He finally found them stashed behind a sticky, half-empty bottle of old sunscreen. When he went back outside, Maggie had pulled up and was standing next to her truck, shielding her eyes from the sun, squinting into the distance toward the smoke.

When she saw the binoculars in his hand, she said, “Good idea.”

“I tried to give Bill a call but he didn’t pick up.” Jim said. He held the binoculars to his eyes. It took a moment to adjust them correctly.

“See anything?” Maggie said.

Jim didn’t respond immediately. Then he said, “Oh, my. Geez.”

“What?” Maggie reached for the binoculars.

“Everything over there’s on fire. Looks like, at least.” Jim said. He handed her the binoculars and asked for her keys.

“I’m driving over there to see what’s what. It might be a good idea for you to call 911.” He said.

“I’m going with you.” She said.

While Jim drove, Maggie made the call. She didn’t know the Cauty’s exact address, but gave the fire department her best guess. “It’s on County Road 60, past where it splits off from Grover. They’ll see the smoke, trust me.” She said to the dispatcher.

The Cauty’s farm was only a mile down the road from Jim and Maggie’s place. Jim drove fast. As they neared, Maggie could only shake her head, not believing what she was seeing. Every structure on the property was ablaze, with smoke and flames spilling out of doors and windows; the house, the barn, the chicken coop, the big outbuilding where Bill parked his combines, all alight. The barn was the worst off, completely swallowed in flames and black smoke.

Jim pulled the truck into a shallow ditch near the entrance to the Cauty’s drive, out of the way of any emergency vehicles that might be arriving soon. He hopped out of the truck and said, “Maggie, stay here. Keep an eye out for the fire truck.”

“Be careful.” She said.

Jim ran toward the house first. The front door was wide open. A good sign, hopefully. As he approached the steps leading up to the porch, the heat coming from the house caused him to halt. Nothing could be alive in there, he knew that.

He ran around the side of the house, watching the windows for movement. The glass had broken on many of them and smoke poured out. He shouted for Bill and Carol, but it was difficult to hear his own voice over the noise of the fires surrounding him.

He returned to the front of the house and stood. There was nothing to do. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Bill’s number again. Just as the voicemail message began playing, Jim heard a car horn honking. He turned toward the road. Maggie was still in the truck, trying to signal him by pounding on the horn.  

Jim quickly saw why she was so excited. Thirty yards from the road stood Bill Cauty. He waved and shouted something Jim couldn’t hear. Bill was holding a camera, filming the burning structures around him.

Jim ran to him. “Bill, what happened?” He said, taking a deep breath. “Is Carol safe?”

Bill continued filming.

“She’s fine. She and our oldest went to Des Moines this morning. She won’t be back till tonight. It’s just me.”  He said.

“Maggie called 911 on our way over. How’d this start?” Jim said.

“Oh,” Bill said, “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you. I guess you could say it was intentional.”

“It was what?” Jim said.

“I used some gasoline on the barn and the garage. Used barbecue lighter fluid in the house and on the coop.” He said. “I let the chickens out first.”

Jim said, “Well.”

Suddenly Maggie was with them, standing beside Jim.

“Bill, everyone okay?” She said.

“Everyone’s safe.” He said.

“I called 911. They’re on their way.” She said.

“I think it’ll all be gone by the time they get here.” Bill said.

“Bill,” Jim said. “What are you gonna say when they ask how this happened?”

Bill kept filming. He nodded his head and said, “I wish I knew. I needed to say something about my life, but I don’t know if it can be said. I thought maybe it needs to be shown in some way.”

He panned the camera across the burning farm. “Well, here it is.” He said.

The sound of sirens was growing in the distance.

*     *     *     *     *

To learn more about Why the K Foundation Burned a Million Quid, read the original Wikipedia article HERE. 

#12 - Sokal Affair

Honey comes in with her face red, breathing heavy. Her shirt’s wet around the neck. She looks like she got splashed with water, but it’s sweat. I don’t say anything. Just look at her like whoa. She doesn’t look back, just walks past me to the kitchen. I follow her and find her standing over the sink gulping water from a coffee mug.

“Nice jog?” I say.

I know nobody says jog anymore. Back a few years ago everybody was a jogger. Now everybody’s a runner. Running shorts, running shoes, running here, running there. Jogging is out, for sure.

Honey gives me a slight nod and wipes sweat from her face with a forearm. She fills the mug again and drinks so fast the water drips down her chin and onto her shirt. She chokes, coughs, and spits some of the water into the sink.

“Pretty hot out there?” I say.

She gathers herself, brushes her hands over the wet spots on her shirt. She says, “It’s getting there.”

Honey’s been on this I-wanna-be-skinny kick since I’ve known her. But she isn’t a skinny-girl. I tell her she needs to accept it. Embrace it, I say. I like her whatever way she is, that’s the truth.

“You feel OK?” I say. “No pain in the joints, right?”

I read something somewhere about how running (jogging) is particularly hard on women’s joints. Something about less cartilage or weak cartilage or dissolving cartilage.

“Why?” She says, walking back toward the bedroom.

I follow her. “Running causes your cartilage to dissolve. For women, I mean.”

She gives me that look like you’re full of shit.

“No, serious.” I say. “I read it the other day. There was a study and the scientist said women’s bodies just aren’t made for that kinda wear and tear. I mean, it makes sense if you think about it. Women aren’t utilitarian, you know? Not what the Good Lord intended.”

She ignores me. She grabs clean underwear from her drawer and walks into the bathroom and closes the door.

“I’m gonna google that article so you can read it.” I say through the door. The water in the shower kicks on and I go back to the kitchen.

I open my laptop and start googling words like dissolving joints, women weak cartilage, women running pain. I can’t find the article, but there’s a lot of other stuff that comes up.

She walks into the kitchen looking fresh. Her hair’s wet. I love her after a shower. I love her shampoo smell.

“I can’t find the one I was talking about, but there’s stuff online about how running is bad for women.” I say.

“It’s not like I’m running marathons.” She says. “You should see me. I’m slow. It took me twenty minutes to get around the block.” She starts running in place in slow motion.

“Just sayin’, I don’t wanna see you crippled by fifty.” I say.

“Just sayin’, you should come with me.” Honey says.

There it is. I knew it.

“You’ve got superior, manly cartilage in your knees. Running with me should be no problem for you, right?” She says.

“First of all,” I say, “I’m old school. I don’t run. If anything, I jog.”

“If anything? That’s a big if.” She says.

Funny.

“I knew this was gonna happen-” I say. “You’re tryin’ to suck me into your I-gotta-be-skinny mentality. But I don’t wanna go down that road. That’s a scary road, Honey. I like me, and I like you.” I try to reach out to grab her but she swats my hand away.

She says, “I like us, too. But face it, Sir, we’re fat. We’re fat people.”

“What?” I say, using my that-really-hurts tone. “I guess I know what you think of me, now. But I think you look great.”

“Come on, you know what I’m saying’.” She says.

I know what she’s saying. That doesn’t mean I wanna run with her.

“I read another article recently that said sex burns more calories than exercise.” I say.

“You’ve been reading lots lately, huh?” She says.

“I like keeping up with the news of the day.” I say.

“Well, did you see the study that said that women are more likely to reach their personal health goals when they feel like the man in their life is supportive?” She says.

“I missed that one.” I say. “But did you see the study that showed that most doctors are now very skeptical of whether they really know what the hell they’re talking about?”

“Must’ve overlooked it. But I did see an article about how men are far more likely to die early because they don’t listen to their wives and they’re too lazy to move their ass once-in-awhile.” She says.

“Oh?” I say, “Oh really? I didn’t see that. But that’s interesting because I saw one that said that women are sorta crazy. Actually, very crazy is what they said, I believe.”

“Hmm. That sounds like interesting research they’ve got going on. Government funded, I suppose?” She says, shaking her head.

She’s standing at the counter eating yogurt out of a little plastic cup. Fruit on the bottom.

“You got any more of those?” I say.

“Bottom shelf.”

I open the fridge and find the yogurt. Peach. I grab a spoon and pull off the aluminum top and eat a bite.

“But serious.” I say. “That thing about women’s cartilage is real.”

* * * * *

To learn more about the real Sokal Affair, read the original Wikipedia article HERE.