The Trouble Way (34 page)

She pulled him to a stop to look at the two white swans swimming near the shore. They stood quietly for a long time, and then they turned to each other.

“You know, swans mate for life. David told me that.” She glanced both ways down the path. She briefly squeezed his hand. “Oh Jake.” She reached up with both of her hands and put them behind his head and pulled him close and gave him a “not-cousin” kiss. Without a single word, dropped her hands from around his neck, grasped his hand, and they continued their stroll along the path.

Well slap my ass and call me Judy, she still loves me.

Priscilla said in her next letter, “In six weeks, David and I will be graduated. I am so in love with David. My parents are not happy about either my church or with David, but that’s been the case since I was in high school when I first started dating him.”

Jake kept his letters pretty general in nature. For example, he did not talk much about the girls he went out with or that he had slept with damn near every one of them. Of course, they also slept with him but religious people didn
’t seem to have the same take on that as he did.

Mormons are pretty strict about sex and, unlike himself, Priscilla had sat in the bleachers during the sexual revolution, never getting into the game. All he could remember from the couple of times he kissed her she sure could kiss good. It was hard for him to understand that someone who could kiss that good could join such a rigid church when it came to matters of sex. He
’d heard about those protective temple garments they were all required to wear, even the men. He thought briefly on how quickly Ann or Linda would have shed those protective garments after a few tokes on their invisible sex-weed.

Priscilla must
be one bottled-up, horny-ass girl.

“
I was completely taken in by the strong family values they have,” she said. “Mormons look out for each other. They’re always so loving to each other.”

Jake received regular letters from Priscilla. She kept him informed about her wonderful life and about the girls she had. Life for her was heaven with David.

That lasted fifteen years, then came “the not happy part.”

Jake began receiving a series of letters, one every several weeks.

“I received a call from the State Police. David was picked up in a stolen car,” she wrote. “They found a loaded gun under the seat. He was arrested. I had to go to the jail and bail him out. I was so embarrassed. He said he didn’t know about the gun and that the car belonged to a friend who let him borrow it.”

Another letter came.
“David was fired and I had to take a part-time job in a grocery store.”

“
We are seeing a marriage counselor. I am sure we can work it out. David is still looking for work.”

“
I found letters,” she wrote in yet another letter. “You were right Jake, he only seemed honest. Apparently, there was not just one woman, there have been several. Obviously, I am not the only one taken in by his smooth talking ways.”

Apparently not all Mormons missed out on the sexual revolution. David was aware of it and, apparently, was not a
“bleacher” sorta guy.

“
I kicked David out of the house. My girls are really giving me trouble. This is really hard. I keep fighting with the girls and David is no help at all. They are skipping school and I found out from her counselor that my baby was caught with a marijuana cigarette. And, that’s not the worst of it all, my oldest is pregnant and is dropping out of school.”

“
I left the church,” she said. “I tossed those horrid garments in the trash and, needless to say, we are no longer seeing the marriage counselor.”

Jake spotted Priscilla standing on the dock, next to the Light Ship turned museum. She was the tallest of the group of four people, Jake
’s three aunts, plus Priscilla. When he approached and she saw him, her face flashed a gorgeous smile. They came west for a vacation. It was her mom who suggested Oregon to visit her cousin. Her arms were stretched wide in her unmistakable welcoming gesture.

“
It is so nice to see you again, Jake,” Priscilla said. “Fifteen years is such a horribly long time.”

“
It has only made you more beautiful, Priscilla. You are as gorgeous as ever,” he said as he slipped into her inviting arms.

The family spent the day sightseeing and everyone went to a restaurant on the waterfront for seafood.

“How about we plan something for the evening? Jake asked.

“
I can’t wait,” Priscilla said.

I
’ll surprise you with something.”

They left the restaurant and Priscilla, her mom, and his aunts retired to their motel room and he went to his apartment for a change of clothes.

Priscilla was watching from the motel window and came out and got into Jake’s Toyota pick-up before he had a chance to get out. She reached over and gripped his arm. “What do you have planned?”

“
There is live music at the Thunderbird Lounge. How about we go dancing?”

“
That sounds wonderful. I never turn down a chance to dance.”

He pulled out of the motel parking lot and headed across town and in fifteen minutes they were walking across the wood
en planks of the pier at the waterfront and into the dimly lit Thunderbird Lounge. The Lounge normally booked rock and roll bands but on this weekend they had a country band, “Lance Vance and the Goddamned Liars.” They were into their first set. The dance floor was empty.

“
There’s a table,” Priscilla said and pulled on his arm and wound their way to a table where an elderly couple had just left. “This is perfect.” The table was close to the dance floor and away from the speakers. When the waitress came, he ordered a Bud and she a Chardonnay.

“
Oh, Jake, this is just wonderful. The band is really good.” She latched onto his hand and led him to the empty dance floor, ignoring the unwritten rule of waiting till everyone was soused before stumbling onto the dance floor.

“
It’s really nice to dance with someone my own height,” Priscilla said and held him close, resting her head on his shoulder while they slow-danced to a Waylon song.

“
Would you like to walk on the pier and look at the ships on the river?” Jake asked when the set ended. “We can cool off a bit.”

Priscilla was on her feet before he finished the question.
“I’d love to.”

They put napkins over their drinks and wove their way to the exit and into the rare warm night on the riverfront boardwalk along the Columbia River.

They held hands in a very “un-cousin” way as they walked down the gangways to the floating walkways. Fishing boats were moored on side floats on each side of the main walkway. The port holes of many of the boats were glowing from the dim, battery operated lights and the sound of boisterous people talking, drinking, and listening to music floated across the water.

“
This is almost too romantic,” Priscilla said. “What a wonderful surprise, Jake. Thank you for being so nice to me.”

“
Well, it’s the kind of guy I am,” Jake said, giving her a squeeze.

“
Yes, it is the kind of guy you are,” she said and put her arm around his waist and hugged him as they strolled along the bobbing walkway.

When they got to the end of the walkway, they stopped and looked out over the Columbia River and watched as the ships coming in from the Pacific Ocean, making their way up-river to ports such as Longview and Portland. Pilot boats motored out to the ships where they made the exchange of bar pilots to river pilots who then guided the freighter up the narrow channel the fifty miles to Longview and the hundred to Portland.

“This is so romantic,” Priscilla said. “The river is so beautiful, so much different than the Midwest. Everywhere you look is like a postcard. The Midwest is pretty in its way but this is so dramatically different with the rivers and the mountains and all the trees.”

“
And don’t forget the ocean,” Jake said. “And you have corn fields.”

“
Yes, we have cornfields. And soybean fields. And, oh yes, pigs. Don’t forget the pigs. Lots of them.”

Jake turned to look at Priscilla. She was looking at him. He put his hand on her cheek and kissed her.

“I didn’t think you would ever do that,” Priscilla said when they drew apart. “Thank you.”

They stood at the end of the pier and kissed each other and held on to each other as if they had been lovers forever.

“Jake, I love you. Ever since you took me on that horseback ride and on the picnic by the creek, I have been in love with you.”

“
I love you too, Priscilla. I have loved you since I was nine. Now what?”

“
I don’t have clue,” Priscilla said. “We’ll just have to play it by ear.”

“
What about all of the Lutherans?” Jake asked. “Not that I care, but they are relatives. I don’t want to make enemies of the entire family. We’re in unmapped cornfields here. Are you up for it?”

“
I am tired of other people telling me how to live my life. First it was the Lutherans then it was the Mormons. From now on, I am doing exactly what my heart tells me. And my heart says that I love you, Jake.”

“
Ditto,” Jake said.

“
You are so funny, Jake.” She leaned in close and gave him another un-cousin kiss.

“
It sounds like the music started back up. Want to go back inside?”

“
I’d love to dance some more. You will never have to worry about me wanting to dance.”

Hand in hand they turned back toward the Thunderbird and strolled along the floating docks. When they got back to their table, they sat, ordered a couple drinks.

When the last song was over, “Lance Vance and the Goddamned Liars,” held true to their name and invited everyone in the crowded lounge for breakfast, on them.

When the lights came up, they rose from the table and began their life together, cousins in love.

Present

Except for Bella, most of the people I’ve known, those deceptively normal people around us, those who work in stores, like Big Richards, or are friends or relatives, are a bunch of blithering idiots. I don’t mean to be judgmental, but I can’t help notice that their nuts are scattered from hell to breakfast, as my Mom used to say.

I think the nuttiest people are the ones who have had some sort of trauma in their past, especially in their childhood years. Maybe it could be abuse, either physical or mental. When they get older, they base their decisions as a result of the trauma they lived through in their past.

Janis, my ex, was abused. She was very aggressive and abusive to me in the ten months I was with her.

Janis was horrified of being alone; she kept a steak knife in the robe she wore around the house when she was alone
. That little habit proved disastrous; she bent over and stabbed herself in the thigh.

She didn
’t trust me to go anywhere without her. Her abuse transferred into her decisions that related to me and thoroughly soured our relationship. Had she not been abused, maybe our marriage would have lasted more than the ten months, maybe eleven … twelve. Abuse was not her only problem. If hadn’t been that, it surely would have been something else. She was naturally unstable so I don’t blame her old man for all her problems.

Up until Bella was five, she had not had any real trauma as far as I am aware. She has her nuts all lined up like maids, in a row. I worry about her, though, because her mother, Polly, was abused by both her mother and her father and again by her stepfather. Surely Polly
’s decisions concerning Bella are going to be influenced greatly by her abuse. I see evidence of it with the impatience Polly shows toward Bella and her anger sometimes manifests itself in a physical way.

Polly
’s relationships with men have been a mess. So far, none of her relationships has lasted more than a few months, some no longer than a week -- she is thirty.

I hope her mom
’s trauma has a minimal effect on Bella. If I weren’t an Atheist, I’d hope and pray for that. I guess I am left with just hoping. But, on the up side, I am a devout hoper. But I’m scared Polly has developed a rip in her bag and the nuts are dribbling out, scattering across hells half acres.

Sometimes I see the results of that tear, just a hint now and again that gives me a glimpse of her changing personality. I got one such gander one afternoon when I had been watching Bella for nearly half a day. We were having such a nice time together; Bella did not want to leave when her mom arrived to pick her up.

“Leave,” Bella said as she looked squarely into Polly’s eyes.

“
What did you say, young lady?” Polly said. Polly averted her eyes from me.

“
Leave ............ please,” Bella said knowing she had corrected her poor manners. Regardless of Bella’s obvious slips, Polly snatched Bella by the arm and hustled her out the door without so much as a kiss my ass. Bella obviously thought she was doing good when she said “please,” and couldn’t hold back her tears as she looked back at me as I threw her a kiss and waved from the window in my office.

Bella describes her position in life by the
“year-old” room that she is in at pre-school. She has a unique way of describing age. One time -- I think she was still three, maybe four -- she said, “You are two, then three, then four, then five, then all the other numbers and then you are grown up.

On one of Bella
’s visits, we were listening to a children’s book on a CD, and the character in the story, Joanie, didn’t get invited to a party. Well, when she finally did get invited, she tried to manipulate her Mom into letting her keep a birthday present her mom bought for the girl who didn’t invite Joanie. Bella caught it right off the get-go.

She said,
“Papa, you know what?”

I waited for her to tell me
“what.” but she didn’t. After a moment of silence, she said, “When I say ‘You know what,’ you say ‘what’.”

“
What.”

“
That Joanie … she lied ... she just lied,” Bella said.

That
’s what I mean, Bella is honest, and she knows when other people are not. And she is just shy over four. It surprised the bejesus out of me that she got the concept of dishonesty.

I hate to think about what
’s inevitable. I know she’ll pick up some of that adult stuff later, after she’s been exposed to some of those people, older people, scattered nut people. Even now, I can detect that influence in a few things Bella says.

Once she told me:
“Papa, I don’t want you to say no.” She would pinch my cheeks in both of her hands and get nose to nose and talk softly to me when I told her she couldn’t do something. That comes from experience, of being around other, older, slightly controlling people. She is learning a touch of that manipulation.

I think that women learn very early that they can manipulate men. I didn
’t realize just how early it was when they caught on to such things.

I was trying my best to get Bella to take a nap one day. When she gets tired, she starts to get hyper just before going to sleep. I try to get her sleepy and rock her and she starts flailing her arms around and I end up getting bopped in the face. I know it is nap-time, but, her idea of nap-time is a bit different from mine. She started to cry when I took her to the bathroom to go potty before her nap. I did pretty darn good ignoring that little trick until she put both hands on my cheeks and turned my face to her to get my full attention and said,
“Papa, look at my face.” She point to a single tear on her cheek. Well, I can tell you straight, that got me, but for the exception of a single tear of my own, I refused to reveal my hand. But, Christ, who can deal with a crying three-year-old who forces you to look at her tear? She was as serious as Meryl Streep, and refused to break character for a second. I am no pushover when it comes to women and tears, I’ve been around the shed a few times, and I told her so. So, we compromised and did what she wanted, but only until she fell asleep.

I think most people start out honest but they are driven from it by the others around them. Those employees at Big Richards wouldn
’t have wreaked so much havoc on the place if they had been treated fairly. But they weren’t so they took matters into their own hands and stole the place blind.

I
’ve read in the news recently that the retail industry loses billions of dollars to shoplifting. The vast majority of that loss is internal, employee theft. They haven’t learned that the problem of waste control is not more cameras and security officers, it’s treating employees with respect. From the robber barons on, management never got the concept. People will get what they consider a fair wage, one way or another, be assured.

I have to admit, I was a bit dishonest until I met Bella. I don
’t think it was intentional, at least most of the time. For example, I overlooked one or two incidences where a few of the girls I’d slept with were stiffing
The Man
out of a few coins left on to of a register, nothing much more serious than that. I think it happens because of the greed of other people force it upon you. They steal the goodness from people around them, like those upper-management fellows at Big Richards. At first I didn’t think they did it on purpose. But toward the end of my nearly thirty years there, I became convinced it had been in their business plan all along.

“
I don’t yike your jacket, Papa.” (She had a little trouble with pronouncing her L’s) Bella told me that when she was two and a half years old. It is my favorite, most comfortable jacket. It is a plaid, wool, green and black with a bit of rust color, Levi jacket. Very warm for the weather in Iowa. Doesn’t matter to Bella one tiny bit. She didn’t even tell me what it was about the jacket that she didn’t like. It doesn’t really matter, I guess. She didn’t like it. After all, she was two and a half. What does she know about warmth and comfort in men’s jackets?

“
Well,” I said, “Do you have another jacket you like better that you would like me to wear?” I led her to my closet and opened the folding doors.

I have to tell you, I think until I was sixty, I only had one jacket for winter and one for summer. It always bothered me that I didn
’t have more jackets. Something about poverty, I imagine, dating back to when I was twelve. I never owned more than two pair of shoes either, one pair of athletic shoes, and one pair of good shoes. That changed when I was about sixty also. There is probably four pair under my bed now. I have a butt-load of jackets now too. I kind of went wonky over jackets for a while, but I’m over that.

Anyway, Bella inspected at my jackets and pointed to the exact one she
liked better. It took her a total of about three seconds to select one more to her taste, a khaki, corduroy, Levi jacket. I took the plaid one off and put on the khaki one. How the hell can a sixty-five year old man argue with a gorgeous, curly hair, little two and a half year old girl? Exactly. At sixty-five, a man can survive a little less warmth from a jacket to please a two and a half year old. Besides, she kept me warm because she insisted I carry her and she put her arms under my jacket and we both stayed toasty.

Bella she tells you precisely what
’s on her mind. If a fifty-five year old woman had said exactly the same thing, I would have to say, the outcome would not have been the same and I don’t think anybody would disagree. I think there would have been a bit less happiness all around and I believe that I’d have still been wearing the green wool Levi and there would have been less conversation for a time after that, as warm and comfy as it is. We think we want honesty in others, but to be truthful, that’s a bunch of bullshit. We only want honesty in cute little two and a half year old girls. I don’t know, because I have never been as close to a little boy, but I doubt the same outcome would have occurred if it had been a little boy. Maybe not. Probably not.

Bella is different with Priscilla. She probably wouldn
’t tell her that she didn’t like her jacket. When Priscilla bought new curtains for the living room, Bella waited until Priscilla had left for an errand. She was sitting in my lap and looked up at the curtains and said, “Papa, I don’t yike the curtains.” I guess maybe that women can’t be entirely honest with other women, even if they are three years old. That says something about women if they catch on that early in life.

You
would think that after a bunch of years that people would know something. But, just go ask someone in a store for assistance. Nobody knows a damn thing and I’m not just saying that.

I went into a hardware store a few years ago. It was seven. That just goes to show you what an impression the ignorance of the jerk made on me. This wasn
’t any hardware store, it’s the one that advertises how informed and helpful their clerks are, that they are professional plumbers and carpenters and such. You can probably guess the national chain it is.

I asked one of the clerks if they carried pulleys. How in the hell does a person get past the fifth grade, maybe even the third grade, without knowing what a pulley is
, you might ask.

“
What’s a pulley?” the guy says. “Is it something for a closet?”

I say,
“It is in that same category of tools like a wheel and a lever. You know, a pulley, like on a ship or in a barn or in a tree house … a pulley. You put rope through it and pull something up in the air, like the sails on a ship. If you run a rope through a couple of them, it makes things lighter.”

“
I’m pretty sure we don’t carry them,” he said.

If he didn
’t know what they are, how in the hell does he know they don’t carry them.

“
I’m certain we don’t carry pulleys,” he said. He had convinced himself.

I knew that was what he was going to say. It
’s the standard response of idiots over their heads in hardware stores. I think it is in their informal training. He probably heard another lazy, unmotivated clerk tell a customer that. It’s the easy out. I caught clerks saying it to customers when I worked at Big Richards; all of which were written up and eventually let go. People like that don’t change but you have to go through the process to get rid of them

The other one is,
“Let me check the stockroom.” (The clerk disappears for a reasonable amount of time. He stands behind the stockroom door for a few minutes before returning with a frown.) “I’m sorry, Sir, we’re out of stock. It’s on back-order.” Not bloody likely, I’m a retail expert. Maybe those big-box hardware stores should hire a few farm boys.

I guarantee that Bella will know what
’s what by the time she gets as old as that jerk who has the IQ of a pulley. I don’t like to say that someone is stupid but the guy didn’t have sense enough to ask somebody for help in the matter. Just said they didn’t carry it. Actually, I don’t mind calling Pulley-boy stupid.