by W.H. Harrod
The return trip from Topeka the following Wednesday did not resemble the previous broken air conditioner, hot air blasting in my face, torture session that I had experienced on my previous trip. This time I traveled in style. Junior Junior completely surprised all of us by going over to Salina two days earlier and buying a brand new Chevy pickup loaded with all the bells and whistles. Upon returning to Jonesboro, he tossed me the keys and told me to take a couple of days off to go play golf with my buddy, Carlton. He felt sure that the way everything was so well organized at the diner, he and the two ladies could take care of the business. If anything came up, he would contact me via the new pickup’s speakerphone.
Now don’t get me wrong, I like the idea of getting away to play golf with Carlton, especially, considering that a certain lady gave me the cold shoulder following my much commented on performance at the Great Debate. But, like so many times before in my life where I’d been brought into troubleshoot and reorganize a failing business venture or manufacturing process, I harbored misgivings at being told that, in essence, my services were no longer needed. I realized that was part of the deal, but again, down deep, it kind of pissed me off. Junior Junior was effusive in his display of gratitude and later refused to take back the new pickup truck keys, inferring that it was mine to use as I pleased or maybe mine period. In a very, very nice way I was being told again, “Thanks for doing such a great job, but we can handle it from here.” I became irritated at myself for caring. I’d had this discussion with myself many times before. I chose to be a nomad. I’d told myself that I didn’t want to be tied down or depended upon. I wanted to be free to move around unencumbered. This begged the question, what the hell is the problem?
Eventually putting that issue aside, I did appreciate creating at least temporary distance between the investigation currently going on in Jonesboro and myself. To say the community was in an uproar amounted to a gross understatement. Accusations and rumors came from all directions. Fortunately for me, only a few people knew or suspected I had anything to do with it. All but one, I believed, would keep their mouths shut. That one person, though, made me more than a bit nervous because that person was Big Bob Buford. By all accounts, he was nowhere to be seen since the moment the investigators from the State Attorney General’s Office, along with members of the Kansas Bureau of Investigation, arrived in town the previous Monday morning. Other than the geezers disagreeing with me vehemently regarding, to their way of thinking, my ridiculous assertion that the current and soon to arrive Boomer contingent of senior retirees was beginning to take more of the, already spent for other purposes, Social Security Trust Fund, they carried on as normal. Even with the shocking revelation of the local City Hall investigation, they soldiered on displaying their usual harmless and nonsensical partisan right wing ignorance without directing anything other than their customary easily discredited religious, political, social, and environmental viewpoints in my direction.
My presence at the diner would not be needed for much longer, if at all, because the cavalry had arrived to, hopefully, cleanse the community of its crooks. The workers and the plant owner were possibly finalizing the paper work to make investors out of the plant employees thereby saving their jobs. Big Bob may have done the town a favor and fled to South America along with the rest of his clan. Mary June and Mr. Brazzi were enjoying one another’s companionship, taking me out the running for a relationship I’d started to get nervous about anyway. Still, I harbored some disconcerting level of concern regarding not having further cause to be a temporary resident of Jonesboro.
While I pondered this conundrum, I took notice of the plush appointments offered by my new ride. My personal comfort while on the road during the hottest part of the Kansas summer was now assured through the vehicle’s automatically controlled heating and air conditioning system. The system self-adjusted automatically in relation to the surrounding temperature and humidity changes. Of course, the cruise control, tinted windows, the plush interior, stereo system, smooth ride, and complete absence of road noise rendered the driver redundant except for the single issue of keeping the truck on the hard surfaces. Other than that, it was easy chair and elevator music time. For a moment, I allowed myself to grouse over the designers not having come up with a system relieving the driver from the single responsibility of actually having to keep a finger on the steering wheel to guide the vehicle. I emerged from my mental wanderings barely in time to take note of a prominent highway sign announcing my planned exit point from the interstate was only a few miles ahead.
It went without saying that I harbored fond hopes of finding no surprises upon my return to Jonesboro. I’d experienced a very enjoyable day with Carlton golfing at his club and wanted to avoid any unpleasantness if at all possible. I still couldn’t figure out why I hit the golf ball so well. I hadn’t picked up a club since I couldn’t remember when. Yet I broke ninety, which bested Carlton’s score by three strokes. He swore up and down I must have been practicing or how else could I have gotten off the tee box with such regularity? I swore I had not, though I also could not give a good reason why I made so many putts from over eight feet away. I ended up assuaging his angst by suggesting we delay the actual exchange of funds until the dust settled over a few more planned outings. Carlton also enjoyed hearing my responsibilities in Jonesboro were most likely to diminish, expecting me to be available for golf more often. Carlton even broached the subject of me taking over various responsibilities relating to his rather wide-ranging business ventures. I told him I would take it under consideration, just to shut him up.
I still wondered what surprises might be awaiting my return to Jonesboro. Who else might be lying in wait for me? Preacher Roy? I doubted it, as he was somewhat standoffish as a result of my brazen announcement that politics came before God. He had come up to me afterwards at Mary June’s and begrudgingly given me a mild thumbs up. The Sheriff had agreed with everything I’d said. Mary June’s apparent new beaux, Dom, also waxed eloquently on my performance. Chief Barley informed me I’d done a real good job. The plant employees had even waved to me on the way out. I guessed I could take their gestures as a mild affirmative. I’d caught a glimpse of the plant owner and the plant superintendent heading for the door. They didn’t look my way, but they didn’t give the appearance of being put off either, so I decided I’d take that as a good sign. Poor Cecil, though, never recovered. He eventually returned to the speaker’s stand in an obviously perplexed state and absent control of his wits. Several times he’d tried to begin a sentence, only to shake his head and stop. Finally, after babbling something about hell, fire, and damnation, the principal went over and put an arm around his shoulders and gently led him back to his chair. By that time, I suspected the man wasn’t even aware of anyone else’s presence. Right after that the principal thanked everyone for coming and officially ended the obviously not so Great Debate. I waited for him to come over to where Cecil and I sat and give us both the customary “Good job and thanks for coming.” But instead, he simply rolled his eyes and walked off the stage, leaving a still babbling Cecil and me sitting alone. When I left the building, Cecil still sat alone on the stage, talking to himself and shaking his head.
Basically, the only other individuals whose opinions may have mattered were Junior Junior who I knew stood in my corner; Flo, who could give a big hoot since she had her eyes on a new man who fit all of her stringent qualifications of romantic companionship, meaning he had a pulse; the Mayor, who everyone knew by now was barricaded in his barn/bunker for the duration, though reportedly willing to transact new business if the person came out to his barn and risk getting mugged by his hounds while he frisked them for weapons; and lastly, Mary June. Basically, she acted the perfect hostess at the after party to everyone but me. She did offer me coffee and pie, but after that, not even a glance. I spent most of my time politely responding to the other guests’ supportive comments while my brain tried to fathom what I’d said that was so terribly wrong.
Fortunately, the after pa
rty did not last long, and I was glad. Being a closet egomaniac with an inferiority complex, I secretly craved attention, especially, from my peers. Because one of my most valued peers, Mary June, had not given me any strokes that night, I decided to investigate the obvious cold shoulder matter at a later date. I’d wait until we were together on more favorable terrain, although, that idea made no sense because as an outsider in Jonesboro, no favorable terrain existed.
The after party did not end up a total bust as every person present made good use of the rare opportunity to have an actual conversation with Junior Junior. I intentionally listened in on practically every conversation that Junior Junior participated. I found out my employer was not a dim wit after all. He held is own in polite conversation much to the obvious delight of every person he chatted with. The fact that Junior Junior actually possessed a functioning brain and could speak coherent sentences amazed the entire group.
I figured that by the time I got back to town I’d gone over in my mind just about everything I’d gotten involved with recently, but one small matter still piqued my curiosity. It involved my quick encounter with the fellow Viet Nam vet following the previous Thursday night debate. He, like most everyone else who bothered to come up and talk with me, told me I’d done a great job and totally agreed with me. Then, right as I expected him to turn and walk away, he leaned forward and whispered in my ear that he had something important to talk with me about and would appreciate getting together for that cup of coffee we had spoken about earlier.
As I thought about that incident, I was hard put to imagine what it might be he wanted to talk about that required him to whisper in my ear. To top it off, he brought the matter up again the following Monday at the diner as he was leaving. He mentioned getting together, but this time, he actually proposed to set a time when we could meet without being interrupted. I told him the earliest I could imagine would be the coming Thursday, late in the afternoon, right after closing the diner. He agreed with the proposed meeting time, then paid his bill and promptly left the diner. To my knowledge, he hadn’t been back to the diner since. I realized I had likely read much more into the matter than it deserved, but given my recent penchant for getting myself so deeply involved with anybody’s and everybody’s troubles, I wondered. The last thing I needed or wanted was to get involved with another local problem. My dance card was filled.
My thoughts returned to the present when the Jonesboro city limit sign came into view. I looked forward to a hot shower and a quiet evening in the recliner in my loft apartment. I did not know what was in store for me at the diner the next day as related to diner work specifically, but I knew something or somebody would show up with an issue needing to be urgently dealt with apart from my scheduled meeting with my vet friend. Speaking of problems, I determined the matter with Mary June must go to the top of my list. Not for one more day did I intend to put up with the cold shoulder I’d been getting since the debate. I would make her tell me what I did that was so wrong.
No sooner did this thought cross my mind than the side street leading to Mary June’s mother’s house came into view. Without hesitation, I hit the turn signal and headed for Mary June’s for a showdown. My watch told me the time neared 6 p.m. That meant Mary June would most likely be home preparing supper for herself and her mother. Probably not the best time to barge in unexpectedly, but I did not want or plan to go through another day putting up with her negative attitude. I guided my shiny new ride to a stop in front of Mary June’s residence. Her old VW sat in the drive confirming my prognostication regarding her whereabouts. I rang her doorbell and stood back determined to force Mary June to tell me what had happened. I wasn’t kept waiting long as I detected footsteps from inside. The front door swung open revealing a surprised Mary June.
Being a man on a mission, I wasted no time. “I think we need to talk. May I come in?”
At first she seemed surprised, but then she stepped back, opening the front door wider to allow me entrance. I went inside waiting for her to close the front door and point me to a place where we could talk. Point was all she did without uttering a word. I obeyed and quickly walked into the living room and sat down in one of the armchairs. Mary June followed me into the room and sat directly across from me in an exact replica of the chair I sat in – assuming the living embodiment of the Sphinx.
I’d had enough, “Okay, what’s going on? Why am I getting the cold shoulder? All I did was get up there and tell them what I believed the problem was. What else did you expect me to do? You yourself told me to tell the truth. You said they needed to hear the truth.”
Mary June did not respond immediately, and when she did it was not with her customary confident tone.
“Will, do you really believe that we’re all just a bunch of simple-minded consumers who are, in actuality, being led around by the nose by big business? That for the most part, the members of the two main parties consist of nothing more than a bunch of distracted twits? That each party is equally guilty of blatant political partisanship?” asked Mary June.
She had put the ball back in my court. I did make several strong and incriminating statements during my little rant and was now being called out. Did I mean what I said in the heat of the moment?
“Not necessarily as individuals,” I responded, “but collectively, yes, I do believe that. And I believe the record backs up my statements. There is only one effective party in this country and that is corporate America. The rest of it is merely a charade. If things go on as usual, in the end, changing administrations at the first of the year will not alter much of anything. Ultimately, the distribution of wealth in this country will continue to flow to the ruling elite. The majority of the people will go on arguing among themselves about the hot button social issues, while the material wealth is carried out the back door and loaded into a limo.”
Gone was the self-assured and confident look I came to expect from Mary June. Her face was now void of the sense of purpose I’d always seen before. Now, all I detected was doubt and maybe even confusion. This was not the same self-assured Mary June I had gotten to know. All of a sudden a frightening thought occurred to me, Once more my big mouth has ruined a relationship.
“I’d like for you to go now, Will,” she said.
Chapter Thirty-One
