BackwaterBlog

Just about a year ago, as Ally and I contemplated a move across the state line and were in fact making moves to do so, I wandered into the Watering Hole on an ordinary Thursday afternoon.

“Hey big guy!”, came the greet from the little man at the bar, and it was Walter.  Balding and wizened and dentured Walter.  And if you can picture the very embodiedment of lechary, skeevishness and corner-of-bar ownership with a Coors Lite hood ornament and a Yankee turn of phrase?  That’d be the lad.  He happened to be by himself that day which was not unusual.  Walter worked well with a crowd but it was seldom the case that you’d seek out his company on an ordinary Thursday, bar or otherwise.

But the bar was desolate, and he was in the mood.

“Just got back from a run to Ohio . . . Kathy get this man a beer wouldja hon’?  So what’s been going on there, chief?”

“Just about the same old . . .”

“Oh, I tell you what, I had one helluva time going through West Virginia this trip.  Truck got halfway up one mountain up there in, where the hell was it?”  (A five second pause that felt like five minutes)  “Aww, doesn’t matter, anyway the brake pressure started going on me and this idiot tried to cut me off and . . . wait!  Bald Mountain, yeah, that was it.  Anyway, I cut gears down to nothing and . . .”

I took a long pull at the longneck.  This could take some time.

Walter had a habit of telling tales in a conversational way that precluded any conversation.  You basically waited until he ran out of steam before trying to inject any word of your own, and then it was like lighting a fuse.  And the dialouge was circular, because it always came back to a starting point.

“So what’s been going on?”  Again, after big trucks has been run up and down a mountain for the better part of an entire beer.

“Well, Ally and I just made a deposit on some property.  Getting ready to move out of the rental house and . . .”

“What?”  He leaned closer.

“I said Ally and I are buying a place out in the country . . .”

“HUH?”

I took a deep breath.  “I said, Ally and me are GETTING A NEW HOUSE OUT IN THE COUNTRY IN A COUPLE OF . . .”

“Oh.  That a fact?”  He calmly sipped at his beer.  “Where abouts?  Cost you much?  How big?”

“It’s just across the state line, Walt.  Save us a bundle on taxes.”

He got that look on his face, a look I know all too well from dealing with native born Yankees before.  Save money, it’s a hot button.  Thrift, and rock wall fences and not getting a new snow shovel because Great Grandpa’s still had plenty of life it it, and all that.

He leaned in again and got positively conspiritorial with me.  “You know, I’ve been thinking about doing the same thing myself.  Got this big house up here in town, too many people around for me.  Traffic’s a pain in the ass, too.  Need to get out away from all that while I can, before I retire in a few years.”

I nodded, it was a common theme with those I had talked with about moving south.  Get away from all this congestion, country life.  Funny thing, a couple had even made the drive down to the backwater for a look-see but came back wanting to talk about anything else.  It isn’t for everybody.  It’s a longish drive, it’s in the middle of nowhere.  Wives in particular had a problem with lack of stores and that comfortable suburban buzz.

So I shrugged and said, “Well look, there’s a lot next to the one I’m getting and the same guy has it up for sale, house and lot deal.  I can give you the address if you . . .”

“Yeah, yeah!”

“. . . want to go take a look.”

“What?”

“I said I’ll write down the address and the realtors name if . . .”

“HUH?”

“Here, I’ll draw A MAP TO THE PLACE SO YOU CAN FIND IT!“

“Oh.  Okay, that’s just what I was thinking.”

He watched intently as I sketched a map on a handy bar napkin and fished a realtors business card from the wallet.  I tossed in one of my own cards so that he’d have a number to call if he got lost.

“Just give me a call if you want, Walter.”

“Oh yeah.  Don’t worry.  I never bother much with those cell phones.  Hate the things, really.  Wouldn’t even have one if my dispatcher didn’t need to get hold of me.  Look here, this is my phone.”  He proceeded to pull forth a rather expensive looking unit.  “Service nationwide!”, he exclaimed.  “Got it a couple years ago from, uh wait now . . . (A five second pause that felt like five minutes, and I was getting ready to start screaming “Verizon?  Cingular?  WHAT?”) . . . Aww it doesn’t really matter.  Anyway, can’t stand the thing.  People buggin’ me all the time with it.”

I had to agree with him there, and told him as much.

Walter finished his beer and slowly slid off the stool.  “Well, guess I’ll be seeing you.  Got to get home and rest up, big trip in a couple of days.  See you kids later.  Bye Kathy!”, and he gave the bartender a particularly lecherous leer.  “Don’t forget now!”

He shuffled through the big pine door somewhat painfully, favoring one leg, and was down the sidewalk and gone.

Kathy and I were old pals, and I imitated the cocked eyebrow and Snidely Whiplash look.  ”Don’t forget, Kathy!, heheh.”

She rolled her eyes.  “Good Lord, he’s been in here a good two hours.  I heard that truck story every time somebody else came in for a beer.”  She ran a rag over the spot occupied by Walters beer and snatched up a soggy bill.  “Gee, left me a whole dollar this time.”

I snickered.  “Guess that’s what he meant when he said don’t forget.”

“What?”

“I said, I guess that’s what he wanted you to remember him by.”

“HUH?”

Deep breath.  “He said DON’T FORGET KATHY, AND LEFT YOU . . .“

She couldn’t hold it any longer and burst into a braying laughter, clutching the dollar bill in one hand and holding onto the bar rail with the other.  I saw the light and heehawed right along with her.  Kathy staggered to the till and dropped the dollar into the plastic tip mug, shoulders twitching madly.  “Ohmigod that was priceless.  Poor Walter!”

“Poor Walter, whattabout poor me?  I’m the one hollering at him!”

She giggled, but spoke seriously.  “I worry about him, you know?  Living all by himself, driving that big truck for days at a time.  It’s like he’s starved for companionship.”

“And conversational skills,” I added, downing the last of the longneck..

“That was nice of you to tell him about that lot next to yours,” and she expertly wrung the cap from a fresh one and tossed it over her shoulder to the trash.  Her signature move.  “What are you gonna do if he decides to take you up on it?”

“Who, Walter?  Not a chance.  He likes his routine too much.  I don’t think living out in the swamp would ring his bell at all.”

She smiled coyly.  “I dunno, maybe you’ll get a new neighbor.  I imagine you’d be a blast to have next door, you and Ally.”

I grimaced.  “Hell now you’re just fishin’ for a tip, Kath.”

“Bet you’re right on that, sport.”  And she snapped the bar rag at me and we smiled and talked of cheap tippers and why they should be drug off and shot.

Come the very next day, as I slogged through the mornings run of making cabinets stick to their designated wall, my cell phone rang.  It wasn’t Ally’s number on the screen, nor any of the kids or the erstwhile boss-of-mine.  In most cases I’ll just let those calls go to voice mail but there was this nagging thought – Gee, might be Walter, lost in the wilderness – so I picked up.

“Hey, that you Chief?”

“Yeah Walter, it’s me.”

“Well, what’re you doing?”

“I’m working, Walt.”

“Oh yeah, doing what?”

Now, as I said, I’m not much for cell phones, or any other kind of phone for that matter.  You’re calling me, spill your guts and let me get back to the work day you already know I have in front of me.  I make this pretty clear to folks.  Just as Walter had intimated to me.

“Just working, Walt.  What’s up?”

“You at that school job or what?”

In my best what’s this got to do with anything? voice I said, “Nope.  On the Navy base.”

“Well what’re you doin’ up there?”

I fidgeted.  “Walt, are you lost or something?”

“What?”

“I said are you lost, did you find that lot from the map I gave . . .”

“EH?“

I drew a lungful.  “I said, ARE YOU OUT ON THE ROAD AND CAN’T FIND THE LOT OR THE ROAD OR THE . . .“

“Oh.  No, matter of fact I’m standing here with the realtor right now, taking a look at the place.”  I got an instant mental picture of my realtor, a reserved country man who was as soft spoken as could be, standing next to the Cranky Yankee and answering a machine gun barrage of “HUHS?” and was instantly flooded with guilt.  This was all my doing.

I sighed.  “So what you think of the place, Walt?”

“Oh we’re just talking about it right now, Ron and I.”  Ron being the realtor, and I wasn’t quite sure about the way Walter said ‘Ron’, as if they were life-long buddies.  “This might have possibilities, chief.”

“Well good, glad to hear it.  Listen I got to get back to it here, let me know if you have any questions . . .”

So whatcha doin’ later anyway, goin’ up to the joint?”

“I don’t know Walter, that’s along way out of my way today, and . . .”

“‘Cause I was thinkin’ about running up there, myself.”

“Right.”

“Seeing Kathy for a bit.”

“Yep.”

(insert five second pause, running to months, then years)

“Hello, Walt?”

“What?”

“Can you find your way back to town, or was there something else, or . . .”

“WHA?“

I mentally flicked a .308 round into a very long battle rifle, snicked the bolt closed and took very careful aim, perched atop a custom laminate countertop on a Navy base job far, far away.

“Watler,” I said very slowly, and with great firmness, ”I need to get back to work this very instant and . . .”

“Look, ol’ Ron and me got to discuss this thing a little more so I got to let you go.  Maybe I’ll see you later, then.”

“Erk . . . “

“Alright!  Bye!”  Click

There’s times I wished my parents hadn’t raised me right, you know?