The U-Haul Diary

by K. B. Draper

  I went back inside. Two beers, an hour, and just a small bit of guilt later, we decided we better head home. As I reached the car I saw Stacy sitting up and in a feverish fight with her shirt. I sprinted the last twenty yards to the car and unlocked it just in time to catch Stacy’s shirt as she threw it out the door.

  “What are you doing? You’re in the middle of the parking lot. Put your shirt back on!”

  “Fuck you. I’m hot.”

  Okay, so we’re not out of the “I hate you” phase yet. “Come on, let’s get your shirt on and then I’ll turn on the air conditioner.”

  “I don’t feel good,” she said as she hunched over, then turned onto her side.

  I registered the pre-puke signs a second too late. I reached out to catch her head in an effort to keep it from hitting the side of the car and to strategically guide it out of my car to avoid her vomiting on my floorboard. But instead of catching her head, my hands arrived at the perfect time to catch her puke. I retracted them as quickly as I had offered them only to watch as hotdog chunks slid through my fingertips to the pavement and the tops of my shoes. Well, that just crushed my childhood wish of wanting to be an Oscar Mayer wiener and I was so never going to be able to sing that song again.

  Lying in bed later, Stacy leaned over. “You forgive me for puking in your car and your hands?”

  “You forgive me for letting Sheila almost drown you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, yeah, I forgive you.”

  “You want to have makeup sex?” she asked with a smile.

  I kissed her, then pulled back quickly.

  “Wait. Did you brush your teeth and gargle?”

  She hit me in playful response. “Yes, stupid.” Then kissed me hard, only to pull back herself a few seconds later. “Did you wash your hands?”

  “Like fifty times.”

  After a year of duty at the sheriff’s department, I’d worked hard and proven myself. And as there were no other female deputies, they began training me in investigations. Two years into adulthood, I had a girlfriend, a job, and a roommate-servant who ordered the pizza, answered the door, and actually liked to mow the lawn … So I decided to buy a house. Also in that time frame, in an effort to even out the testosterone with some estrogen—and because Stacy, Sheila, and Alexis asked me to—I got all three of them jobs at the sheriff’s department. Stacy and Sheila started in dispatch, and Alexis started in the jail.

  Things were good until the demands of the detective job began to intrude on the fun we were having. I was on call a lot, limiting my lake and fun time. I was being called out in the middle of the night to respond to rapes, suicides, homicides, and tractor thefts. I loved every minute of it. I was young, I was a detective, and I was breaking down doors of drug dealers, solving crimes, and arresting the bad guys. I was living out my childhood dream of being the Lone Ranger, except for the small detail of not having a horse, a mask, or a Native American sidekick. But I was fighting crime and I would every once in a while yell out “Hi-Yo, Silver!" as I jumped in my piece-of-crap unmarked 1980 silver Crown Vic.

  Stacy, however, did not love it. She wanted me to stay in bed with her when the 2:00 a.m. phone calls came. She didn’t like it when I was on a case working twelve-plus hours for days at a time, and she didn’t like me putting myself in danger. But despite her protests, I’d jump out of bed, kiss her on the forehead, and say “I gotta go” as I grabbed my pants, a shirt, my badge, my gun, my jacket that had “Detective” written across the back in big reflective letters, and run out the door to go save the world. Or a four-wheeler.

  “What do we have?” I asked as I walked up to the deputies who were standing around the bed of a beat-up old Ford truck with a four-wheeler that was halfway in or halfway out, depending on whether you’re an optimist or a pessimist.

  “Well, we haven’t really taken a statement from the victim yet,” Deputy Hines said.

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Well, he was sort of naked when we arrived. It took us a minute to get him calmed down and to get some clothes on him,” Deputy Hines said, smirking and pointing in the direction of the house. “Deputy Thomas is talking to him now.”

  I turned in the direction Deputy Hines was indicating and under the porch light I could see the side view of Deputy Thomas talking to the victim. I assumed this was the victim because other than the baggy overalls and pair of work boots, the guy might as well have still been naked. Every time he raised his arms in animated gestures I could see the side of his man boobs, the side of his bare belly, and the side of his ass. Someone should really sue the overalls company for false advertisement because they definitely weren’t over all of his “alls.” I looked at Deputy Hines, then walked toward Deputy Thomas and “Farmer Free-for-all-to-see.” I strategically positioned myself directly in front of him to limit the visual assault of seeing his grey hair sticking out the sides, the back, and the top of his overalls.

  Apparently, he whose name I came to know as Ed was sleeping when he heard his four-wheeler start up outside his window. He’d grabbed his shotgun and run outside to find a guy trying to steal the four-wheeler out of the back of his truck. He said he’d fired a “warning” shot and the guy ran off. I looked back over toward the four-wheeler where I’d spotted blood when I first walked up. A very close warning shot.

  “Okay, guys. Let’s spread out and look for a bleeding guy,” I instructed.

  “He ran toward my barn,” Ed added.

  “Okay. Let’s start with the barn.”

  “I think he might have had a gun,” Ed continued.

  “Okay. So let’s CAREFULLY start with the barn.”

  “Yeah. Let’s get this sons-a-bitch,” Ed yelled from behind me.

  I stopped quickly and turned to inform him that HE would be returning to his house while WE searched for the “sons-a-bitch” but halted as I got another and more all-inclusive view of Exhibitionist Ed, who was leaning over to lace up his boots. In matching fashion to his chest, shoulders, armpits, and back, Ed was gray everywhere and ughhh, Holy Pop Goes the Weasel, he was gray there too. I turned back quickly and considered gouging my eyes out but refrained, figuring they would come in handy while searching for the possibly wounded, possibly armed, middle-of-the-night four-wheeler thief in the very dark, spooky, and probably creaky old barn.

  “You’re staying here! And PUT ON SOME UNDERWEAR FOR GOD’S SAKE!” I ordered Ed from over my shoulder. By this time, I was wondering if the wannabe thief actually ran because of the warning shot or because he got the whole unobstructed view of Ed.

  “The hell I am!” he said as he racked a shell into the chamber of his gun.

  I halted again, curious as to whether he was protesting staying behind or putting on underwear. It didn’t really matter since both protests could be equally detrimental. If I let him go, I risked a civilian getting shot in the middle of a police matter and if I let him go without underwear, I risked shooting myself in the middle of a police matter. I quickly glimpsed the completely dark, horror-film-like barn.

  However, I was thinking, I’m the only girl here and in the horror movies it’s always the chick that gets killed first. So maybe I could let Ed go underwear-less into the horror-film barn with some deputies for protection. He’d scare out the bad guy while I wait outside. I’ll grab the perp when he runs out, effectively avoiding the horror-film barn and Ed’s side show. Plus, it is his barn and he does have the much bigger … gun.

  “Lead the way, Ed,” I said.

  Three hours later, I walked into the sheriff’s department empty-handed, coated in fingerprint powder and cow shit. Ed and two of my deputies had gone through the barn’s maze of stalls, loft, and hay-baling equipment while I stayed outside the barn. The only flaw to my grand plan was that the area surrounding the barn’s exit was the exact location where Ed fed his cows and apparently where said cows immediately processed and disposed of said food. Which of course I subsequently stepped in, knelt in, and ultimately slipped in, causing
me to fall on my ass in.

  Alexis caught me outside my office, got a good whiff of me, stepped back two steps, and then asked if she could ask me for a favor.

  “Clean the cow shit off my shoes and you can have anything you want,” I replied.

  She glanced down at my shit-caked shoes.

  “Huh, yeah, never mind,” she said, taking another step back.

  “Okay, fine. What’s up?” I asked.

  “You think I can stay at your house for a few days? It’s getting pretty bad between Claire and me. We broke up last night.”

  Claire was the girl Alexis began dating after she and Whitney broke up. Claire was another tall, attractive blonde, but with an artistic flare. I liked her a lot and was sorry that things weren’t working out between them. Several times Alexis had said they were having problems, but I didn’t know it had gotten to a breaking point. After the proper “what happened, are you okay?” questions and concerns, Alexis and I made arrangements to meet at my house after work to talk more and to let her stay if she needed to. We let her stay in “Stacy’s room;” the room which Stacy occupies only when parents or grandparents are in town or after I eat Indian food.

  The next day, my mom called to advise me that my grandmother had injured her arm and was having trouble doing things around the house. I immediately offered to go and stay for a while to help. I came home later that night and told Stacy. She understood my grandma needed me but was upset that I’d be three states away. I asked if she wanted to come with me but she couldn’t get the time off work on such short notice. The following day Stacy drove me to the airport. For the entire ride, while we waited for my flight to be called, and up until the time I had to board she held on to me, tearfully begging me not to go, but knowing I needed to. I smiled and pulled her close. I felt loved, needed, and wanted. I kissed her.

  “I’ll be back before you know it. It’s only five days.”

  “I don’t want you to go,” she sniffled as more tears slid down her cheeks.

  “I have to.”

  “I know, but what if your plane crashes … I wouldn’t know what to do if your plane crashed.”

  I laughed. “My plane is not going to crash.”

  “You don’t know that for sure. It happens all the time.”

  I pulled her close. “It doesn’t happen all the time. And I promise I’ll keep my tray up and my seat back in an upright position the whole time, just in case. I’ll call you when I get there. I’ll call you every day.”

  “Three times a day.”

  “Okay, three times a day. I love you. I have to go. I’ll see you right here in this same spot Friday morning.”

  “I love you too. Call me the second you land so I know you didn’t crash.”

  “Okay.” I kissed her one more time and then went toward the gate. I turned before walking down the jetway and caught one last glance of her waving good-bye with tears still streaming down both cheeks. My heart hurt. How did I get so lucky? I smiled as I turned to board the plane.

  As promised, I found a phone after I landed and called Stacy. I assured her I hadn’t crashed and that I loved and missed her. With tears still prevalent in her voice, she told me the same.

  “Call me back before you go to bed,” she threw in before I hung up.

  “I will, promise. I love you,” I replied.

  “I love you too.”

  The second day came and went and I made my required call-ins. My heart ached as I listened to her sniff into the phone after telling me she missed me for the hundredth time. I did my best to reassure her that I’d be back in a very short three days.

  On the third day, I got up, helped grandma and grandpa around the kitchen, and then snuck off to make my girlfriend call. No answer. Interesting. Maybe she was called into work early. That evening, I made another call.

  Stacy answered after the fifth ring. “Oh, hey. How’s it going?”

  “It’s good. Grandma is doing a lot better. I miss you,” I said, knowing I needed to give my sensitive girl some attention.

  “I miss you too. I’m kind of in the middle of something. Can you call back a little later? Or, I can just talk to you in the morning.”

  “Sure. What are you doing?”

  “Umm, nothing. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Okay. I love you.”

  “Yeah … Love you too.” And she was gone.

  I stared at the phone. Okay. Apparently, she’s adjusting to me being gone. Maybe she’s busy … planning me a welcome home party. That’s silly, I’ve only been gone for three days. She’s probably just cleaning the house or mowing the lawn or painting the bedroom like we’ve been wanting to do, just to surprise me when I get home. She’s so sweet.

  I called the next morning, now just a little eager myself to talk to my girlfriend. No answer. Okay, no big deal. She probably started a morning aerobics class or maybe she decided to take the breakfast shift for Meals on Wheels; she does like the elderly. I waited an hour and called again. No answer. I called every hour on the hour. No answer, no answer, no answer. What was I thinking? She probably got called into the sheriff’s department. Since I had gotten her the dispatcher job only a couple of months ago, she was the low man on the totem pole, which meant someone probably called off and they called her in. I called the sheriff’s department and got Christen.

  “Stacy working with you today?” I asked her.

  “No. I haven’t seen her all day. I don’t think she works until the day after next.”

  I waited another few hours and called the house again. Sheila picked up. “Sheila, what’s going on? Where’s Stacy?” I asked, equally concerned and irritated.

  “Umm. I don’t know.”

  “Sheila, what’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. I’m staying out of it.”

  “Staying out of what?”

  “Nothing, nothing, or something. I don’t know. Please don’t drag me into the middle of this.”

  “I’m not dragging anyone into the middle of anything. I just want to know why four days ago my girlfriend was crying and didn’t want me to get on a plane, but now she doesn’t care if she talks to me or not.”

  “I’m sorry. You need to talk to her. She and Alexis should be home soon.”

  She and Alexis. Instantly, my world slid out from beneath me.

  “You okay?” I heard Sheila say from what sounded like a million miles away. I stared at the phone.

  “No,” I replied dully. She and Alexis. I hung up. I spent a sleepless night wondering how I could’ve been so stupid to leave my Stacy and Alexis in the same house together. Everyone knows you can’t leave two lesbians alone in the same room, or the same car, let alone in the same house.

  I flew home the next morning. When I got off the plane I looked around the same waiting area, which only five days before had been the big dramatic scene of kisses, hugs, a long good-bye, and lots of tears. There was no one.

  Apparently, sleeping with my friend cures one’s fears of planes crashing.

  How do you mend a broken heart?

  Date a gymnast.

  Maggie August 1994–October 1994

  It had been five weeks since Stacy and I had broken up and five weeks since my former friend, Alexis (who I now not-so-affectionately refer to as my “lesbian nemesis”) and I had ended our friendship. After the betrayal, I tried to stay out of the sheriff’s department as much as possible because, inevitably, every time I came into the department, I was witness to my lesbian nemesis in the dispatch center with her butt sitting on the console talking to Stacy, and Stacy looking all giggly-stupid back at her.

  And that was exactly what I walked into that morning. I would have gone straight into the bathroom and thrown up, but the previous week I’d decided to take the department’s new UV light, which I had ordered to help detect body fluids at crime scenes, into the bathroom across from my office for a field test. The toilet, the sink, and the wall all lit up in neon blue, like a bad ’60s acid trip. Not only ha
d there been spots and trails of neon blue streaks covering the toilet and sink, but there were neon peaks and arches sprayed six feet up on the wall behind the toilet and the adjacent walls. Being a detective and using my investigative knowledge of crime scene forensics and spray patterns, the only viable explanation I could come up with for those particular patterns was that we had a deputy who, while going to the bathroom, pretended that his penis was a can of Silly String. Needless to say, from that point forward I vowed I’d never set foot in that restroom again.

  So in lieu of vomiting, I headed for my office to rummage through outstanding warrants in an effort to locate the fattest, hairiest, sweatiest, smelliest female who was in need of arresting. My plan was to go out, locate, and arrest said suspect, which would then require my lesbian nemesis, the only female jailer, to pat down the suspect and, if I requested, conduct a strip search. With that pleasant thought playing out in my mind, I walked into my office with a smile on my face.

  “Huhhh, hello …” I said to the back of a woman who was thumbing through my file cabinet.

  She turned quickly. “Oh, hi. I’m Maggie. Louise hired me to help around the office.”

  The sheriff’s department’s receptionist and resident complainer, Louise, had been whining for months that she was overworked. I thought if she didn’t take a smoke break every fifteen minutes for fifteen minutes and if she’d limit herself to just one hour per day of telling everyone else how they should do their job, she would have more time available to complete all of her daily office tasks. But now I was thinking I liked this option even more.

  “She told me to come in here and try to organize your office.”

  Maggie was attractive with dark black hair, dark olive-toned skin, and an incredibly big bright smile. “Okay. Make yourself at home.” On my desk, I wanted to suggest. “Let me know if you need anything.” Like my lips on yours. I attempted, as inconspicuously as possible, to run my eyes up her starting at her tennis shoes to her nicely fitting jeans to her simply fitted navy blue shirt, to her … big fat diamond ring on her left hand. Damn. “You think you could do me a favor?” … Like get a divorce real quick. The courthouse is right across the street … “Could you look through the warrants and find a 300-plus-pound female whose additional identifiers list body odor and excessive hair?” I asked.