by Wyatt, Dani
They say hard times can bring out the best in people.
I think it’s true, but in my experience, it can also bring out the worst.
Being in the woods brings back good memories. My mom’s parents, when they were still alive, loved to camp, hunt and fish. Anything outdoors. And since my mother was more the pageant type, they were over the moon when I took to aiming a gun and de-scaling a fish like other girls take to Barbies and back-stabbing.
I’ve never been much of a people person, but I’ve been alone for nearly five days now, so the urge for some human contact is starting to get to me.
I douse the low burning fire with the bucket of river water I always keep full, spreading the ashes to make sure it won’t spark back to life while I’m gone. Then I unzip the door to the tent and change my t-shirt, looking down at my jeans and deciding they are presentable enough. There’s a decent flowing creek about a five-minute walk from my camp, and I’ve done pretty well at keeping myself cleaned up and my clothes washed, but being in the woods, I’m acutely aware that I don’t want to lose all sense of civility.
Dressed and back out of the tent, I grab my worn, faded olive green Army back-pack that was my Grandfather’s from World War II and head for my car. I’ve got it parked at the end of a rough logging road a ten-minute walk south.
I remember there was a little bar in Walkerville, the closest town to where I ended up, and even though I’m not much of a drinker, the idea of a burger, a cold beer and a flushing toilet gets the better of me, and I’m maneuvering around the downed trees and pot-holes until I hit the more maintained mountain dirt road and finally the main paved stretch into town.
I’ve got the windows down and I turn up the radio when Blinded by the Light comes on and try to enjoy the wind and the pureness of the pine lined road. Images of my mom and my grandparents drift through my thoughts as I drive.
I felt loved growing up. Both by my mother and her parents, despite that my bio-dad signed away his legal rights the day I was born.
I have his name. I could have tracked him down, but the urge never tugged at me. I understood. He was young, they were both seventeen and his family was wealthy, and she was just the pretty girl from the wrong side of the tracks. I made my peace with it and never felt I’d missed out on anything.
I ease off the accelerator of my dusty Subaru, with its taped-up taillight and a rear passenger door that doesn’t open, as I drive down Main Street. I see the green neon sign for Duffy’s Bar & Grill and do a fine job parallel parking in the open spot out front.
The door of my Subaru creaks as I swing it open, then close it behind me on another squeal, taking a look up and down the small main street. I didn’t take time to appreciate it when I blew in and out getting my supplies the other day.
It’s charming, but not the contrived sort of way that some little downtowns in tourist areas can be. There’s a park down the way with a white gazebo in the center, a barber shop with a red and white spinning pole out front and a coffee shop called Hot Shot with a black and green awning.
It reminds me of that town in the Gilmore Girls and I imagine the townsfolk characters that go along with it all.
There’s a smattering of people walking dogs, sitting on benches and it feels safe...easy...and I start to relax as I head across the sidewalk.
Just inside the worn wooden front door of the bar, I pause. It’s darker inside, but still pleasant, and for such a small town it’s bustling with about twenty or twenty-five customers at the bar and at tables. The scent of the fryer makes my mouth water as I take a spot at a small, inconspicuous corner table near the bar.
A pretty, California-looking blonde smiles as she approaches and gives the table a wipe down with one hand, before nodding toward the menu folded between the catchup and salt & pepper holder on the table. “You drinking or eating or both?”
“Both.” I reach out and open the menu, scanning the selection of bar type fare. “But I guess I’ll start with a beer.”
“We have ten drafts, and a whole mess of bottled...” She reaches forward and takes the other laminated card from where the menu came and hands it to me.
I scan the selections then slip it back into place.
“I’ll have a Blue Moon. With an orange slice if you have it. And I’ll have the double bacon cheeseburger, with everything. Seasoned fries.” On cue, my stomach growls, making the waitress smile again.
“You got it. Be right back with your beer and as fast as I can with your burger.” She gives me a long slow look before moving away. “You old enough to drink?”
“Yes. Twenty-one last month...” I reach for my backpack to get my I.D.
She smiles again as I hand her my license and she takes a look then nods. “Happy belated Birthday.”
On my thank you, she turns and heads toward the bar.
I look around, noticing half the patrons staring at their phones. I was never much of a phone girl. Maybe because I didn’t have that many friends. Taking care of my mom for the last two years was my focus, and along with my schoolwork it didn’t leave much social time.
Still, sitting here, knowing I ditched my phone about ten miles back when I realized it still had the “Find my iPhone” app on it, and my stepfather might be able to track it, I wish I had someone to call. Or text. Or whatever.
It was stupid to ditch it but he paid the bill on it and never let me have my own id so I could add or delete my own apps. He liked making sure I always knew who was in charge.
Watching all the other people in the bar, I feel more alone with all the laughter and energy around me, that realization is clearer than the five days I’ve spent in solitude.
My beer and burger are delivered in short order and before long, my head is a little buzzy and I reach down and unbutton my jeans, tugging my t-shirt down because I inhaled the burger and fries, along with two beers.
As I stretch up in my chair, trying to ease the discomfort of my distended abdomen, the pretty blonde that waited on me comes over with a laptop in her hand and sits down at the open table next to me.
“Good burger.” I manage, holding back a little burp with my fist to my lips. “Good beer, too.”
“Thanks. Keeps the lights on.” She smiles as she opens the computer and taps the keys as the other waitress I watched waiting tables, a brunette, comes over to rest one hand next to the open laptop, the other on her jutted hip.
“So, next Thursday, I’d like to work the day shift. Jeremy is coming back from his hitch and I want to be home with him if possible.” The girl looks at me with a thin smile, lips a perfect shade of red, cat-eye liner applied precisely reminding me of my inability to apply make-up outside of a little lip gloss and a swipe of mascara now and then. She turns her attention back to the blonde who is looking at her computer screen.
She looks up on a nod. “That’s fine. Linda and Wilson are both working that day, you can have it off. I’ll post the schedule in a little while after I get the liquor order entered.”
“Cool. Thanks.” The waitress spins on her heel and I turn to the blonde. “So, this your place?” The fact that I’m initiating conversation with a near stranger only reminds me just how desperate I am for human interaction.
She nods, still tapping keys. “Yep. Owner and chief bottle washer.” She stops typing and looks my way. “You’re not from around here. Passing through? Sorry, small town. You own the bar, you know almost everyone.”
“Yeah. Just sort of in transition, I guess. Used to come up this way with my grandparents. Felt like a good place to stop and figure out some things.”
She nods, pulling her hair back into a loose ponytail, then wrapping it in a knot which promptly falls back, loose, down her back. I look at her eyes, they are a magnificent rich brown, wide and thoughtful, and I realize she looks a little like Britany Spears “It’s a good place for that, I guess. Quiet. No drama, usually. The woods around sort of hug the town, make it feel safe I suppose. As long as you watch out for bears.” She finishes on a
nother warm smile.
“Yeah, my grandparents taught me about that when we used to camp up at the Manistee grounds. I keep my food away from my site. And, I’m not bad with a bow and I’m even better with my Remington.” I take the last sip of my beer and she looks at me with amusement.
“You camping alone then?”
I nod. “Yep. Got a little lonely, figured the local bar would give me a jolt of humanity.”
She tips her head back and forth, looking around the bar. “Such as it is.”
We both let out a soft laugh, then she waves at the brunette that was at her table earlier. She comes over. “Yes, boss?”
“Get her another beer. On me. Blue Moon, with an orange.”
The brunette nods. “Coming right up.”
“Thanks.” For the first time in months I feel sort of happy. I’m sure it’s that I’m desperate for any conversation, but a half hour later, I’m half done with my third beer and I’ve found out the blonde’s name is Beverly, and she’s my newest and very bestest friend.
“I’m not sure how long I’ll stay, but I think it says something that I feel safer here, out in the woods alone, than I did back at home with my stepfather.” I’m offering up way more information that I’m sure interests her, but it feels so good to talk I can’t stop.
The one thing I’m not going to say, is I’m not even sure whose land I’m camping on. The public land where we used to camp was chained off. A sign indicated there was a washout on the road up the mountain, so I took the next road and settled on an isolated spot. It would take some effort to find me, but I’m sure squatting on someone else’s land might not be taken kindly, so I’m keeping that tidbit to myself.
“Yeah, that says something, all right. Sorry...” She trails off in that way only a seasoned bar person can. Not wanting to know too much but trying to seem semi-interested.
“I mean, okay, he’s not like violent or anything.” My tongue feels thick and I know I should play my cards closer to the vest, but there’s something about her eyes, and probably the beers and I’m spilling my guts. “The day he came home and told me he’d scattered my mother’s ashes without me? It was the last straw. It was bad enough to watch her wither away for a year, me trying to go to school and care for her as well while he just went about his life. That last year, once they said there was no hope, and she wanted to stop any treatment and just be at home, was...” I trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence without breaking into tears.
Beverly gives me a sympathetic nod. “You loved her. Love never dies, but I’m so sorry. That’s a shitty deal on lotsa levels.”
“Yeah. The entire five years they were married, it never felt right, you know? I wish I had had the guts to ask her why she married Robert, because from everything I saw, she didn’t love the dude. He was safe, I guess. Insurance salesman with a Buick type of safe. Ten years older, but I think he loved his golf clubs more than her.”
And certainly, more than me. I told Beverly that he wasn’t violent, and that was true, but there were moments when I felt like if I didn’t tread carefully around him...I don’t know, it was just a feeling. I tried to wear beige and keep my mouth shut for the most part. And he never was violent with me, just indifferent.
Maybe Mom was just scared of being alone. She knew I’d always had a wanderlust, and even from a young age talked about going on adventures and traveling the world.
She’s always encouraged me with my free spirit and my art, which over the years developed into a passion. My love of the woods turned into a clear voice in my paintings. Abstract, yet refined, the art teacher at the community college where I was taking a few classes told me. Trees with life and light playing with unusual color and a bit of a style that was reminiscent of Monet’s impressionism, married to my own sense of modernism.
Painting was my church. My solace, even as Mom’s health declined, yet she insisted on doing one local art fair with me. I took twenty-four paintings with me and we only came home with two. She was so proud, telling everyone she was my mother and taught me everything I knew, even though we both knew she was lucky to get the sticks on a stick figure in the right places.
The irony is, when she got sick, Robert became more distant. I don’t want to say she died alone, because she had me, but I don’t think things turned out quite the way she planned.
Of course not, dying at thirty-seven was not in her plans and sure wasn’t in mine.
“How long ago did she pass?” Beverly’s interest seems sincere, and it’s good to talk about it. I realize, I’ve not really told anyone what I’m telling this near stranger.
“Forty-two days ago.” I tell her and draw a deep breath.
The day I finally decided to leave the house where we’d lived with Robert, I went to the bank and withdrew a few thousand dollars from the life insurance money she left me.
It was the money that really changed things with him. I got a call from an attorney soon after her death. Turns out, she had a will, trust and a life insurance policy, none of which left Robert a dime. In fact, it was explicit that he was not to receive anything.
I look over at Beverly, her eyes soft, waiting for me to continue which to my surprise, I do. “Every day, my stepfather would badger me. Tell me he was the one that paid for the roof over our heads. The medical bills. My phone and everything else. And he deserved that money.” I shake my head, the lightness and relief of talking about it suddenly turning darker. “Anyway, so it’s been a weird year, and here I am.”
I don’t care all that much about the money, but I care about honoring my mother’s wishes and it gave me some insight that she specifically excluded him in her last wishes.
One day after mom’s death, I came home from my art class at the community college, and Robert was sitting in his La-z-boy, drinking a beer and watching golf. He proceeded to tell me he’d taken it upon himself to scatter her ashes in the back yard without me, and I cracked.
That devastated me, but to add to the grief he told me Ginger, the mini-dachshund my mom got me from the pound the week she was diagnosed—after Robert had forbade me from getting a dog for five years—had been hit by a car and didn’t make it. All this without taking his eyes off the TV.
I knew I had to leave. I grabbed some photos, a few personal things, a duffel bag of clothes, and set out north in my trusty, or not so trusty, Subaru—ending up here in Walkerville.
It hurt to leave my art and so many of Mom’s things behind, but it was clearly time to go.
Beverly’s voice snaps me back to the moment. “Camping in the back of beyond up here in Walkerville...there are worse ways to get your head straight.” Beverly places a hand over mine, then her eyes light up with a thought. “Oh, you must be that girl that Damon from Badger’s Sporting Goods said came in and practically bought out the store. Made his day. He closed early and came in here and got shit faced. Lucky me.”
I nod, “That’s me.”
“Well. Welcome to town. You’ve got a friend now.” She leans over, playfully blocking her voice with her hand as she leans her face to my ear. “I’m also the Sheriff’s girlfriend. Fiancé, actually. So, if you need anything, just let me know.”
“Thanks.”
“I gotta get back to the bar. Stop by again soon, and be careful, okay?” She closes up her laptop and walks away.
I look out the bar window and see the sun is lower in the sky. Checking the clock, I realize I’ve been here over three hours. I leave the money for my burger and beer on the table and make my way to use the rest room before I head out for the forty-minute drive up the mountain. Indoor plumbing is a luxury, and I plan on taking full advantage whenever possible.
When I’m done, I wash my hands, take a look in the mirror and do a little finger comb on my wild hair before heading out the washroom door, not paying much attention, and run smack into some dude in the hall.
“Wow.” I jump back. “Sorry.”
I recognize him from a table near the dart board. His long red ha
ir is tied back in one of those thin ponytails, held by three spaced-out rubber bands, making him hard to forget. His beard matches his hair, including the rubber bands and his smile reveals some serious need for dental care. His eyes are slightly unfocused as he looks me up and down. “You want to bump into me anytime baby, we all good.”
“Yeah.” Sarcasm tips the word as I squint, shaking my head and swatting away his hand which comes up to touch my hair, which people do more than they should. “No.”
He laughs, and the with beer and a burger with extra onions lingering, I’m not saying my breath is minty fresh,, damn, his is whiskey, cigarettes and a dead rat. His lips are wet as he steps forward, giving me an arrogant look.
“I like hard to get. Why don’t you smile? You’d be much prettier if you’d—”
Before I can tell him to fuck waaaay off, an arm as thick as a tree trunk comes between us, flat hand on the wall next to my head. His body is so huge, it damn near blocks out the light coming from above as he occupies the majority of the hallway.
“Don’t touch her.” A rumbling voice shakes me to my bones.
His back is to me so I can’t see his face, but his scent takes away the foul odor of the pony-tail guy and replaces it with a wild masculinity mixed with some spicy forest scent. To my surprise, it makes my belly flip, and there’s an odd flutter that lands hard smack dab between my legs.
“Sorry, man...” I see through the sliver of space between the enormous guy and the wall, the patron raises his hands, leaning over to meet my eyes, his arrogance replaced by fear. “Sorry, miss, ma’am...” he says, backing away, his eyes now back on the other guy.
“Okay.” I cock my head to the side and step back to take in the back of the man standing between us. He has to be the largest human I’ve ever seen up close and in person, and the hairs on my arms stand up.
“Don’t touch her. Ever.” His voice booms in the cramped space, and as much as I’m stunned by this stranger’s possessive sort of protectiveness, it’s vibrating through me like a long-lost symphony.
