Curds and Whey Box Set

by G M Eppers

  “That’s thoughtful of you,” she said. “That sounds like a good fit. And how bad can it be? You already have defensive and pursuit driving. What else do you need? A CDL? That shouldn’t take long.” She slipped toward the back of the plane again and stopped, standing just off center inside the table, where Backwash was making himself at home. He screeched briefly and jumped off the table, chasing Harelip in a wide circle. “Just a sec,” she said, making herself move forward to an open space. “I’m getting the hang of it. But I really wish I could change these clothes. That doesn’t seem to be an option, but this outfit is getting to be deadly dull. Deadly dull. Get it? See what I did there?”

  Sir Haughty cleared his throat. “Yes, quite.” He took a breath, then continued. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine. Great, actually. Really. There’s a lot to be said for the afterlife.” She slipped again, stopping inside the railing. “Whoa. If I’m not careful I’ll end up in the shower with that McGrone guy. Wouldn’t that be something?”

  “Mom, he could come out soon,” I said. “Is there something you need to tell us?”

  She overcompensated and starting floating a foot off the floor. I noticed that Badger had his phone out and appeared to be filming. I wondered if her image would show up. Nitro, likewise, was tapping away on his phone. The scientists of our bunch were having a field day. “Just checking in, I guess. Hey, be sure and tell Dinny. I don’t want her to have a heart attack if I drop in on her.”

  “Too late,” said Agnes.

  Behind Mom, Dinny had just entered pushing a food cart. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell backwards. The cart drifted forward right into Mom, who squealed with delight and revealed that under the stainless steel covers were burritos with avocado fries, butternut squash, and an eggplant torte. When she saw Nitro rush forward toward Dinny, she turned, extricating herself from the cart. Apparently, the effort to orient herself inside the airplane was becoming too much and she slipped backwards away from Dinny, through Roxy and out the back of the plane. “Mom!” I called softly, knowing it was fruitless.

  Dinny came to quickly. She sat up, holding her head, and spoke to Nitro. “What just happened? Did I see what I thought I saw?”

  With a hand on her shoulder, Nitro told her, “Yeah. It was Helena. Looks like she’s a ghost now.” He shrugged. “Go figure.”

  Dinny’s eyes went all white again and she fell back in another swoon against Nitro’s supporting arm.

  Sir Haughty had pushed the cart to the table and was off loading trays and plates, confident that Dinny would recover. “C’mon, gents. Let’s eat. This stuff smells wonderful!”

  He wasn’t wrong. The aroma of the hot food got us all to the table except for Nitro who continued supporting Dinny until she could stand. Everyone started telling her about our encounter with my mother.

  After we ate, Dinny packed up the cart, wheeled it out of sight, and went back to the cockpit, leaving orders to have someone come and get her if Mom showed up again. McGrone came out of the shower as we were finishing up, looking exactly the same as he had when he went in, carrying the messenger bag, which he tossed on his seat. Smelling the food, he came up the stairs. I was glad there was still plenty left and it was more or less at least warm. To be honest, I hadn’t even thought about saving him some. “Please inform your steward that it would be more courteous to announce mess call and wait for everyone to be available,” he said disagreeably. As he sat down to eat, the rest of us couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

  Downstairs, Roxy took up her crocheting, Sir Haughty reclined his seat and loosened his belt, Badger and Nitro were comparing their recordings, Sylvia had saved some bits of ground beef and was feeding Harelip by hand. The twins settled into the inner special double seat and put their white board on their laps. The gift list was only a small column on one side. Agnes drew a line separating it from the rest of the board. There was still plenty of room to add on. I went behind their seat and crouched down, my arms folded on the seatbacks and my head between theirs, to see. “Let’s try the seating chart,” said Avis. “We know that’s going to be complicated.” She printed the words “Guest Table 1” at the top and drew a line under it. “Okay, Mom and Dad, obviously,” she said, writing it down. Looking askance over her shoulder at me, she added, “I think your grandmother should sit there, too. Does that sound right? Anyone else?”

  “Well, in theory, there’s Mom’s friend Shirley. My side doesn’t really have many people.” In truth, that was about it. A few months ago I might have included my father, but not anymore. If he got wind of the ceremony and dared to show up, I’d have him arrested. Then I’d shoot him.

  She gave me a sad look. “There’s got to be someone else. Don’t you have any friends from the Academy or someone that you’d like to invite?”

  I gave the top of her head a kiss. “I’ll let you know, but I can’t think of any. Do yours.”

  “Okay.” She turned her head back and the two of them shot ideas back and forth.

  “Table 2,” directed Agnes, letting Avis keep command of the pen. “Elizabeth. And maybe Uncle Orville? They’re both single. Wouldn’t it be awesome if they got together?”

  Avis wrote down Elizabeth, but nixed Uncle Orville. “That won’t work. Elizabeth is allergic to cats.”

  “Uncle Orville is a cat?” I asked.

  “Almost. We call him the Crazy Cat Man. He runs a rescue. Even if he showers five times, though, he’s going to make Elizabeth sneeze,” Avis explained.

  “Well, then, how about the Cormer brothers?”

  “I’m not sure we should even invite them. Remember what happened at Irma’s bat mitzvah?”

  Avis conceded, but they didn’t elaborate and I got curious. “What happened at Irma’s bat mitzvah?”

  “Epic food fight,” Agnes started. “We were pulling gefilte fish out of our hair for a week.”

  “But that was years ago. They’re in their forties now.”

  “Okay, but put them at separate tables. It’s all fun and games until someone needs a kosher dill surgically extracted from their nostril.”

  Avis started a list for Table 3 and put Matthew Cormer under it, then went back up and wrote Jack Cormer under Table 2. I was starting to look forward to the ceremony, and decided not to mention my elopement plan unless I really had to. I wanted this to succeed not only for their sake but because I really wanted to meet this family.

  “Okay, now Matthew is all alone. Who can we seat next to him?” asked Avis. They literally put their heads together. I barely got my head out of the way first.

  “I forget, was Matthew the picklee or the pickler?” asked Agnes.

  “I think he was the picklee,” said Avis, lifting her head finally. “Cousin Dewey.” She wrote it down, explaining, “He’s a nurse.”

  My calves were starting to ache from the crouch. “Um, I want to participate, but do you need me for this? I don’t really know your family that well.”

  Avis looked up and back, pursing her lips for a kiss, and I obliged. “I guess not. Unless you can think of someone else you want to invite.”

  I couldn’t think of anyone. I stood up, wiggled my ankles one at a time, then took a seat behind McGrone, surreptitiously watching him read the rest of the Dispatch. After a bit that got boring and I took out my Kindle, noticing as I did that I still had the folded page from the Course Catalog in my shirt pocket. I took it out and unfolded it, intending to read the full description. It wouldn’t change my mind, but I just wanted to be clear. Unfortunately, I only now realized that the Transportation Specialist listing was the last one at the bottom of the page. The only description I had was, “This specialty will provide students with,” and then it ended. I shrugged it off. The title seemed pretty self-explanatory to me.

  Aside from the occasional feline interruption, the rest of the flight was uneventful, and some time later the tinny bell rang to prepare for landing. The cats herded themselves over to the alcove where Dinny was waiting wit
h the gate open. Harelip wanted to run some more, but T.B. played the adult and gave her a swipe with one paw to keep her in line. McGrone, for his part, watched the departure of the felines with apparent disgust and gratitude as he began stuffing things back into his messenger bag. I had expected him to call a meeting to discuss the Dispatch, but he hadn’t. Was it possible there really was nothing in the document the rest of us needed to know? I suspected his leadership method tended to be rather opaque, which could be a problem.

  We landed at Pulliam Airport shortly after 7 a.m, with the temperature at 48 degrees Fahrenheit and the skies partly cloudy. The airport is relatively small compared to most of the International airports we normally used and only has one runway. We did have to circle for a few minutes before landing, and there was no available gate, so we deplaned on the tarmac out of the way and walked into the terminal from the rear, then to the front where the baggage claim was, not because we had baggage but because the exits were there. Most of our stuff was left on the plane, but Nitro had his field kit. The team had taken just their CURDS issue Glock 33s, which were fully concealed on their HEP belts. I was wearing my armpit bag, which made my left arm bounce up. I wanted to find a good place to distribute some of Mom. Something better than a vacuum cleaner bag and a garbage dump. The idea of spreading her around the world was growing on me. It seemed a fitting resolution and I wanted to challenge her to figure out the locations from whatever weird new sense she had.

  On the outskirts of the baggage carousels stood a man who looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties. He was blond, wearing his hair in a colonial-looking ponytail tied low to the base of his neck. He had a soul patch that almost hid the cleft in his chin. About two inches shorter than me, he probably stood around five foot, eleven inches. He was holding a wide piece of sturdy cardboard between his hands with the word “Montana” handwritten on it.

  I spotted him early, but didn’t let on that I was the Montana he was looking for. As we approached, I saw a woman speak to him briefly. He shook his head and she walked away.

  Avis and Agnes were walking next to me. “Looks like this is where we part company,” I said quietly.

  They had seen him, too. “Darn. I forgot you weren’t going with us,” Avis pouted.

  Ahead of us, an elderly man toddled up to the blond guy, who again shook his head. The old man shrugged and left.

  Sylvia came up from behind and patted Avis on the back. “Don’t worry. He’s just on loan. And when he comes back, he’ll know how to drive a car.” She winked.

  “Thanks, Sylvia,” I said. “I’m going to remember this when you need a ride home.”

  A young couple in cut-off jeans and his and her tank tops, holding hands as if they had melted together, also went up to the blond man. The blond man was starting to look irritated, but shook his head and pointedly sent them away.

  Meanwhile, McGrone had ignored all this and had walked ahead out to the taxi lane and raised his arm. He had two cabs waiting at the curb and was standing there with his arms crossed. Roxy noticed and I saw her shoulders slouch. “Oh, I wish you were coming with us. We could really use the buffer. I already hate that man.”

  “Now, now, Roxy. Give him a chance.” But secretly, I was suddenly delighted that I was going somewhere else. I didn’t want to deal with McGrone anymore, either. One more salute and I’d have a bruise on my forehead. “You guys better get out there. Call me later.” I gave Avis a kiss on the lips and a palm to her butt cheek, gave Agnes a kiss on her regular cheek, and waved good bye to the others. “Ta ta!”

  I watched them exit the terminal and get into the taxis before I went up to the blond man. “Hi! I’m Billings Montana. I think you’re waiting for me?”

  He let go of one end of the sign, letting it fall to his side. “Thank God.” We shook hands. “I’m Eliot. Transportation Specialist Eliot. I’ll take you to the campus.”

  I smiled. He was already cemented in my memory as T.S. Eliot. I tend to use literary mnemonics whenever I can. It makes it easier for me to remember things like a new name. I felt we were going to get along just fine. As we walked together out to his waiting car, a Jeep Wrangler, I asked, “What was up with those people you were talking to?”

  “You saw that? Oh, that was so annoying.” He slipped behind the wheel and I got in the passenger side. “They thought I was trying to hitch a ride. You know, even if I’d used your full name, it wouldn’t have made a difference. What’s up with that?” He put the car in gear and pulled into the slow moving traffic of taxi departures.

  “Family tradition,” I said casually. “Not likely to continue.” Although, thinking about it, if Avis and I ever had a baby girl, I would push to name her Helena.

  “Speaking of family, I heard you lost your mother recently. I’m sorry to hear it.”

  “Thank you.” She’s not really lost. She’s right here in my armpit, I thought.

  The Arizona CURDS Campus was about a fifteen minute ride from the airport. Covering two hundred acres of the Hualapai Indian Reservation, it was fenced off and designated a U.S. CURDS compound in a treaty six years ago. It held a five story administrative building and four of the largest airplane hangars available. Near the building was a tiered parking lot for the motor pool which held a large variety of vehicles ranging from a Smart Car to a double decker bus and large flatbed tractor trailer, all painted in rather boring neutral tones of brown and grey. The four hangars were arranged in a semi-circle around a large open lot with painted guidelines. Stacks of traffic cones and obstacles like cardboard people and fake trees were stored along the outside walls. The air was cool and dry. February in Arizona averaged temperatures in the 40’s. Another couple of months and it would soar into the mid- to upper-80’s. I was comfortable enough in my CURDS jacket.

  Eliot parked on the second tier and we walked toward the building. “I’ll show you where your quarters will be. You can settle in, then report to the Dean’s office. Class Orientation is tonight at six o’clock sharp.”

  “Got it,” I said as we approached the security door. Eliot pulled out a magnetic ID card and held it up to a small black box. The red light on top turned green. Plastered on the heavy steel door were signs warning about Authorized Personnel, and “Push to Operate” because people just wouldn’t know what pushing was supposed to do unless they were told. When Eliot badged in, the door unlocked and opened slightly. Eliot pushed it open the rest of the way and we entered a lobby. A reception desk was located to one side and another security door barred any further entry. The woman behind the desk smiled as we came in. “New student, Eliot?”

  “Yep. Billings Montana.”

  She turned around and grabbed an envelope that had my name on it. She handed it to me and I took out a lanyard with a Student Pass on it and slipped it over my head. “It’s keyed for the main door,” explained Eliot, pointing back the way we had come, “and to your room, 512. Elevators are over here.” He led me to an alcove opposite the reception desk with a dual bank of elevators.

  “What’s behind the other door?” I asked.

  “Classrooms. Second floor is simulators, third floor is administration offices like the Dean’s office and HR, and student support is on the fourth floor. That’s a cafeteria and gym and a common room. Quarters on the fifth floor. You’ll find a map and your course schedule already in your room. You packed pretty light, I see.” The doors opened and we stepped on to the lift car. It started to rise.

  “I’ve been on a team for over a year. We learn to pack efficiently.”

  “Cool. Some students come in here like it’s their new home. Dean Bligh will be glad to see you’ve already got the basics.” The bell dinged as we passed each floor. I said nothing about Dean Bligh, but naturally the name gave me concern. There were literary connections to that, too, of course, so I wouldn’t forget the name, but I was hoping the parallel wouldn’t be very close.

  “I don’t imagine this will take long. What, I need a CDL? How bad can that be? I’ll probab
ly be done in a week.” Maybe even less. How hard was it to drive a big rig? Millions of people did it.

  Eliot stared at me. “You didn’t read the course description?”

  “I was kind of in a hurry.” I’d left the course catalog back at home, too. I just had the page I had ripped out and it showed the course title and a single paragraph that was cut off in the middle of a sentence.

  Eliot looked at the floor. I think he was hiding a sadistic smile.

  We reached the fifth floor and he showed me to 512, watching as I used the passkey to open the door. “Remember, see the Dean as soon as you’re settled.”

  “Thanks, Eliot.”

  Then I was alone in my room. It held a Queen-size bed made up in chocolate brown sheets and a quilted tan comforter. A nightstand was next to it holding a simple alarm clock and lamp, and a four drawer dresser stood on the far wall under a window with coordinating curtains in a sandy print that meIded both shades of brown. The carpet was a plush sky blue. A sizeable sitting room with a couch and a desk stood on the other side, and beyond that another doorway, left ajar, clearly led to a private bathroom. I tossed my bag and my CURDS jacket on the foot of the bed, then sat on the edge and slipped off the shoulder harness, holding it in my hands. The roughly four pounds felt uncomfortably insubstantial. After a moment, I put that on the end of the bed, too, slipping it under the jacket where it couldn’t be seen. Propped on the pillow was a #10 envelope. I picked it up and slipped out a carefully folded letter.

  The letterhead showed the CURDS logo and the address of the campus. “Dear Student: Welcome to the CURDS Academy Arizona Training Center. This facility provides instruction for several specialties. Enclosed is a map of the main building. Dean Bligh will provide you with specific instructions for your chosen course of study. While here you are free to sign out a service vehicle at any time, but you will be held to the utmost standard of decorum. Learn the rules. Follow the rules.” There followed a bulleted list of rules. There was no curfew, but no tardiness would be tolerated. We were free to socialize here or off campus. Any fighting or disruptive behavior could be met with disciplinary action or termination from CURDS at the Dean’s discretion. Blah blah blah. The usual act like an adult stuff. I didn’t have a problem with any of it, though after meeting McGrone I wondered how strict this Dean Bligh would be. The rules were worded so they could be interpreted a number of ways, though always coming back to Bligh as the high authority.