Alanaka Episode V - A Bridge to Safety

                                                                  11/23/15
                                          "Alanaka Episode V - A Bridge to Safety"

     Blogger's Note:  Now where were we?  Oh, yeah...
     Sure, it's been a while.  Hell, it might be a while for the next installment.  I hope not.  But, I can promise that I haven't dropped this series.  Sanctuary

Chapter 14 - The Plan

                                                  12/12/14 - "Chapter 14 - The Plan"

     Blogger's Note:  Gosh, this took some work.  I've laid off the "How We Got Married" story for so long now that I had forgotten where I was.  I had to go back and read the story from the start in order to maintain the "feel".  I didn't realize that this story, from then to now, is a bit of a novella.  I also really saw my growth as a writer.  The early chapters were ok, but I'm a bit more proud of the more recent chapters.
     Can I be honest with you?  I haven't been real excited to write this installment.  Here's why:
     The last two chapters, when I was outlining this story, were initially supposed to be in one installment.  If you'll notice, they're both in the same setting, at about the same time.  But, as I was writing, I found a really good start/stop point and ended up separating the two chapters.  What does that mean?  Well, it means that, officially, this chapter is the start of the next and last stage.  The "How We Got Married" stage.
     You may have noticed how I whine a little when I have to shift gears.  I have to start setting up the dominoes again, so that I get to knock them down in the final chapter(s).  So, I'll ask you to bear with me; I'm going to roll up my sleeves and get some of the work out of the way.
     Now, if you're new to my blog, please don't start here.  Go back and read "Chapter 1 - The Tea Monster" and follow the links to get caught up on the story of how I met my Polish wife and how we fell in love and got engaged.  I think you'll find some of the early chapters a little slow-moving.  I'd ask you to be patient.  The story gets better.  In fact, as I was rereading it, I started remembering things.  I started feeling that excitement again.
     Listening to:  Ingrid Michaelson "You and I"

     "Do you want any more children?"
     We were driving down Old Cairo Road in my brother's old, Chevy pickup headed to our new apartment when Joanna had unveiled the question.  Just that morning, we had forked out money for a deposit and, as required, the first month's rent.  We had found a quaint, two-bedroom residence with a meager bathroom and a small kitchen.  An aged, cedar fence girded the backyard; and, as soon as I had seen it, I imagined myself grilling and drinking and playing in that early-Summer grass.
     "Yeah, I want one more," I confided.  After DJ, I'd never had reason to entertain the prospect of having another child; but, admittedly, I had, given the opportunity, always wanted another child that I could raise myself, not through phone calls and negotiated visitations.
     Joanna waited for me to turn onto the street that we'd be living on before she continued the discussion.  My brother's old truck, or Big Red as he called it, was a rickety, old artifact.  Where rust or repair putty hadn't claimed the body, its dented, red armor, despite its moniker, had faded into more of an orange than a red.  Our doors rattled like they might fall off at any moment, and the road beneath us was visible through rust-holes that had formed in the dilapidated floorboard.  "Well, I want three more," she revealed as I tried to grace the accelerator into that sweet spot that wasn't too much but wasn't too little.
     "Three??  Hell, no!  Maybe two...  maybe..." I countered as I glided Big Red to a halt in front of the apartment complex.  I shifted into reverse and navigated as close as I could to our front door.
     "Two?  Ok.  Maybe two..." Joanna considered.  I shifted into park and turned off the rumbling engine.  Nothing else was said as we climbed out of the truck; we silently agreed to revisit the subject later.  For now, we were about to advance a step on the "plan".
     After the bliss of our momentous engagement had been dispatched by the criminal motives of reality, we had agreed to stand our ground and fight off its rapacious machinations with a simple "plan".  We would live together for three months before we pulled the trigger and got hitched.  We had already been dating four months.  More time would have been lovely, but our "plan" wasn't as easy to execute as it sounded.  Time, simply, wasn't on our side.
     When Joanna had refused to go to Vegas, she had, effectively, quit her job.  Her work visa had been revoked; so, during our "trial" period, she wouldn't be able to work.  For upwards of a thousand dollars, we could have applied for a fiancé visa; but, such a visa is only good for three months.  While the time frame worked, its price didn't.  Its value barely equaled its cost, so we decided to forego applying for the short-term solution.  We opted, instead, to live solely on my income until we were married and could apply for a work permit.  Not possessing a single lazy bone in her body, Joanna wanted to work.  We had considered finding her an "under-the-table" job that payed cash and would keep her off the radar of deportation, but stories relayed by Marcin and Wiola of students that had been caught and deported while trying to circumvent the process scared us away from anything shady.  We would just have to stay the course.
     I had eight hundred dollars in savings; she had just over a thousand.  We pooled our finances and came up with a budget.  We split the cost of the apartment.  Joanna would pay the cable and electric deposits; I would take the water and phone.  With the money left over, we bought a cheap mattress and box springs.  My brother gave us a small kitchen table and chairs.  And that was all we had to begin with...

     I let the tailgate fall open with a loud bang as Joanna opened the door to our new home.  I hopped onto the bed of the truck and began handing her the only thing that I had kept over the years.  "So, your keyboard first?" she smiled.

     "Yeah, I might want to play you a song later, so I don't want to hurt it while we're unloading everything else," I teased.

     She stood it against the wall just inside the door and returned to receive a kitchen chair that I was handing to her.  No sooner than it was out of my hand, my cell phone rang.  It was Mom.
     "Hello?" I answered after the chair was secured in Joanna's hands.
     "Hello?"  Mom shouted back.
     "Mom?" I continued the volley.
     "Hello?  Duane??  Can you hear me??"
     "Yeah, Mom..  I can hear you.  Can you hear me?" I controlled my agitation.
     "There's something going on with my phone... I don't know what it is!"
     "Hello... Mom??"
     "I can hear you fine; I don't know what's going on!"
     "Ok, ok.  So you can hear me fine?" I asked her.  I managed to stay calm which was a somewhat remarkable feat.
     "Yes!!!  I told you that!!!  I can hear you fine!!  My phone's been acting up all day!!" she continued.
     "So you can hear me fine, and I can hear you fine?" I tried to simplify the situation.
     "Yes, Duane!!!  I don't know what's going on!!!" she was growing frustrated.
     "Mom, if you can hear me fine and I can hear you fine, doesn't that mean that our phones are working like they're supposed to?"  I reflected on how well I had just done that and waited patiently for her acquiescence.
     A long silence followed as she must have paused to consider my proposal.  After a handful of heartbeats, she finally said, "I was just calling to let you know that I've got some blankets that you can have if you need them.  I can run them by later."
     I inhaled a deep breath and told her thank you.   Then, I said goodbye and hung up while our phones were "still working".
     Joanna had finished unloading the last couple of chairs while I had been conversing with my mother.  I found her in what would be our bedroom tossing our newly-purchased mattress onto the box springs and sliding it into a corner.  She fell back onto it once she was finished.  I fell beside her pretending to test the bed when in actuality I just needed a moment to breathe.
     We lay staring at the ceiling, through the razor-light slicing through the blinds.  Lazy dust particles were slowly whirring from my collapse onto the mattress.  We studied the dance, the two of us, silently assessing the room, the apartment, our lives.  A doubt shivered my resolve, and I felt a similar apprehension chilling my fiancé.  This room, these walls, were just so damn empty.
     "Are you sure about this?"  The question reverberated against the empty walls and eerily transformed my voice.  The effect captured our emotion a little too well.
     Joanna sighed.  I could peripherally see her head turn toward me.  "I will go crazy here," she finally responded.  "I do not like to sit at home and do nothing."
     I believed her; I had seen her in action.
     Unspoken whispers bombed us from the silence.  When the test of a relationship begins, it comes in cold and fast, like a storm front.  It pelts you with doubts and obligations and boredom.  It lies in frazzled pieces, scattered about like the littered ground of yesterday's fair. Eventually, the music begins to fade and the waltz ends; we return to our seats and wonder if there will even be another dance.
     Joanna scooted next to me and lay her head on my shoulder.  I caressed my arm around her and pulled her closer.  "I love you," she said.
     I let her Polish accent finish reverberating around our bedroom.  The sound of her voice reminded me of every promise made, of every feat accomplished, of every smile we had shared.  With little more than each other, I resolved myself to our plan.  "I love you, too," I said.
     Sometimes, our terms of endearment are shouted.  They echo off the clock towers in London, from the palaces in India, and blaze through Rio de Janeiro and into the welcoming arms of Christ the Redeemer.  They swing through the vines of the Amazon and stir the sands of the Sahara.
     But, sometimes, our love is meek.  It is soft and quiet, like Christmas Eve footfalls, like the weightless spiral of a floating dandelion, like the hush of a sleeping infant.  Like the quiet of an empty apartment.  After the romantic interlude ends, only this kind of love remains.  It appears brittle and weak against yesterday's shouts and promises.  And, if it is true, if it is forged from the bonds of devotion and relentlessly hammered on passion's anvil, then it is ready to be tested.
     And our test had just begun...
                                                      (to be continued...)

-- If you enjoyed this segment of our "How We Met" story, then check out other features, like "First Love".
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A Decade of Memories

                                                        

                                                                        10/5/15
                                                            "A Decade of Memories"
 
     Blogger's Note:  Hello?  Hello?  Mic check.  Test one.  Test two.  Hello?
     Sorry.  The stage is so dusty that... *cough*.  Just a sec.  Let me sweep some of this mess, set the props back up, sure sounds empty in here right now.  Hollow almost.  Show's about to start and people will be filing in soon.  I don't know if it'll be a sold-out show, but I expect to recognize a few faces in the crowd.  No, don't open the doors yet.  Let me arrange things a bit.
     Hear that buzz?  Neon lights are warming up.  I love that sound.  Guess the sun is going down; time to get serious, time to focus.
     Sorry it took so long.  Almost a year, right?  I just seemed to have lost touch with writing for a bit.  I think maybe I'm feeling the tickle again.  I hope you'll be patient with me while I work it out.  I'd like to say that I just didn't have anything to write about.  But that's not necessarily true.  A lot has happened over the past year.  A lot has happened over the past month.  The problem, I believe, was that it was time to turn a page in my book; and, I just didn't realize it.
     Today is the ten year anniversary of the day that I started working at a buffet on a riverboat casino.  Since then, the riverboat has left; and, the casino has moved to land.  The barge upon which the buffet is situated was left slightly tilted, partially sitting on dry land and unsupported by the boat to which it was once anchored.  I'm forty-one now, and my knees aren't taking the declines and inclines as well as I once did.
     I loved that job for the longest time.  I actually enjoyed clocking in and going to work.  But somewhere around the eight-year mark, I just seemed to go on autopilot.  I didn't notice it at first, but one day I did.  I was just going through the motions.  Oh, it's still a great job with great people; but, the time was past due for me to do something else, something new.  And so I did.
     I have just completed dealer school.  Barring something crazy, I'll be dealing blackjack for the first time on Friday.  I'll be starting a new job with a whole new cast of characters.  I'm so very nervous.  And excited.
     I thought that leaving the buffet was going to be painless.  It would be fulfilling.  And, maybe, to an effect, it is.  But then, I thought back to the first day I started that job.  The day that I walked in and saw the line at the door, the commotion of business, the crazy people that worked there.  Let me not put the cart before the horse.  I'm getting a little excited now; it was all so very different then.  It was all so very new.  Nobody had heard the words Duane and Edwards used in tandem.  And I, much like I'll be on Friday, was a nervous wreck.
     Listening to:  "We Are Going To Be Friends" by The White Stripes

     My feet were shuffling nervously as I stood next to the hostess station awaiting instructions.  I hired in as a busser; and, while cleaning tables didn't exactly require a three-day seminar of duty-explanation, I wasn't sure where to report.  The dining room floor was rather large, so I wasn't sure if I would have a section designation or not.
     "Hey!"  Behind me, a polite-looking, elderly lady motioned for me to come closer.  She was obviously wanting to offer some words of encouragement, and the bustling crowd was too vociferous for me to hear her unless at close proximity.  So, I moved in closer.
     "Put some eggs in your shoe and beat it!" she threw up a thumb, gesturing me away from the station.  I checked to see if she was going to crack a smile in jest.  It never came.  I laughed nervously and meandered away.
     "Jump in where you fit in!"  A server, her name tag read 'Lisa', shouted above the commotion.  I suppose I must have looked pitiful, because her face lightened a touch after she caught sight of me.  She handed me a tray and a towel.  "Just start clearing the empty tables," she advised as she pointed to one nearby.
     Anxious to get to work, I set about cleaning tables, carrying dishes to the bus cart in the station, filling ice, stocking cups, expediting the dirty dishes to the dish room, and trying to stay out of the servers' way.  Back then, finding an empty seat in the dining room was quite a task.  Business was booming.
     In the dish room, a man, apparently named 'Ralph' by his name tag, was talking about how great the Cubs were going to be next year.  "162-0!  They're gonna be 162-0, just you wait.  You'll see!"
     "I heard they're guaranteed to be in next year's World Series!" I offered my own brand of 'support'.
     "See?  I told you!"  Ralph paused from his work briefly to assess me.
     "Yeah, I heard they already bought tickets."  I smiled as I delivered the punchline.  Some of the workers around me cheered; others booed.
     "Man... get your ass outta here!"  he pointed back toward the dining area.  He laughed, but I knew that a Cubs'/Cardinals' war had just begun; who knew how long it might last?
     Back in the servers' station, some girl named Amber had beer mugs she was holding over her eyes like glasses.  She turned to assess the new employee; her eyes wobbling in the warped glass.  "Hi, I'm Amber," she said.  Without removing her 'glasses', she turned back to whatever it was that she was doing.
     "Mmmm... like I said, this is an Autobot.  You can see here on Hot Rod's left arm, clearly, the, umm, err, Autobot insignia is holographic so that..."
     "Calvin!  We're too busy for that shit!"  Lisa scolded the one apparently named Calvin.  By his uniform, I could see that he, too, must be a busser.  "Get out there and get to work!"
     I stepped out to clean some tables at that point.  These people were crazy; I could see that right away.  Two weeks.  Two weeks, I kept telling myself.  I had been driving a truck over-the-road for the last two years and had decided the time had come to find a job where I could have a life at home.  My friend Jeremy had been working at the casino for quite some time; he had told me about getting a job here.  He said to take whatever I was offered, get my foot in the door, and, then, after three months, I could transfer to another department if I didn't like what I was doing.
     Well, I was pretty sure I wasn't going to like what I was doing.  Within two weeks, I was pretty sure that I could get a job somewhere else; I just needed to get some paychecks flowing.  In fact, one of my old bosses had told me that he would hire me back.  I just had to bide my time.  Three months!?!  No way was I going to last three months with these crazy people!
     "Hey!"  Tending the bar behind me, a friendly-looking woman was motioning me closer.  "Hi, I'm Kristin," she said.  I smiled back. "Hi, I'm Duane."  I sighed from exhaustion.
     "Tired?" Kristin asked.  I sure was!  My slack body language must have been answer enough, because she continued.  "Don't worry!  I have a plan!"  She looked around deviously before continuing.  "First, I'm gonna take over the buffet; and, then, I'm gonna take over the world!  You can join me if you want..."  She was obviously trying to cheer me up, and it was working.  I think we've been friends ever since.
     As Kristin got pulled away by a customer arriving at the end of the bar, a distressed-looking guest approached me.  "Serioura?" she asked me.
     Serioura?  I felt a tinge of panic.  It was my first day!  Serioura?  What was that?
     "Cereal?" I guessed.  Maybe she wanted some cereal.
     "Serioura!" she repeated, beginning to sound distressed.
     "Your server?"  A girl's voice behind me offered help.  It was Amber.  I was relieved to have both an experienced accomplice and to have someone helping me understand the indecipherable request.
     "Serioura!"  She sounded quite agitated by now.  Serioura, serioura.  What in the hell was serioura?
     "Silverware!" Amber offered triumphantly.
     "Yes!  Serioura!"  Amber turned to me with a victorious smile; and, without premeditation, we high-fived.  We, too, have been friends ever since.
     I worked with a bit more air in my tires after those encounters.  At least these two weren't so bad.  Maybe these two liked to joke.  Hell, if there was anything I could do, it was joke.
     I walked back into the station carrying a tray of dirty dishes.  A middle-aged woman wearing 'Susan' on her name tag was about to walk out.  I addressed her.  "The man with the seeing-eye monkey wants to know if he can get some more Splenda," I told her.
     She gave me a strange look before grabbing a handful of Splenda and leaving the station.  Lisa, who was busy making drinks, looked over her shoulder wearing an incredulous expression that spoke volumes.  'Did you just say seeing-eye monkey?'  'Did Susan just fall for that?'  and, maybe even, 'oh, God, that's hilarious!'
     "Tell Emma I said, 'Happy Birthday!' when she gets here later.  I'm off today but wanted to bring her some cake for when she comes in later."  A girl just walked into the station carrying a birthday cake that read 'Happy Birthday Emma' on it.  It looked delicious.
     "Awww, that looks amazing!  Can we eat it now?" Lisa asked as she offered the one named Benita a hug.  Benita playfully scolded, "You'd better not!  Not until Emma gets here!"
     As Lisa turned to leave the station, Benita turned to me.  "Hi, I'm Benita.  I'll be working with you tomorrow."  And that was the first time I met her.  Over the years, she would make countless upon countless birthday cakes.  I'm pretty sure we've been friends ever since.
     Strange velociraptor clicks and screeches were coming from somewhere outside the station.  They sounded eerily real, so I reflexively looked up to see who was there.  One of the servers from the other side of the dining room was carrying a box of lemons into the small work area.  "Hey, Matt," Benita said to him.  "I brought some cake that everyone can have after Emma gets here."
      As he sat down the box of lemons, somebody hissed.  "Hey!  Hey!"
     We all turned to see Crystal, the other server, peeking her head into the station.  She spoke in a loud and excited whisper.  "Ya'all ain't gonna believe this!  Susan's out there lookin' for a fuckin' monkey!"
     Lisa just lost it.  She had to sit her drinks down because she was laughing so hard.  Everyone chimed in even though they weren't clear on what exactly was happening.  One of the hostesses named 'Karen' walked in just as Lisa began the explanation of how I had told Susan that there was a man with a seeing-eye monkey in the buffet.  Karen and Matt were laughing even more heartily now.
     And that was basically my first day of work.  We all joked around, and Susan forgave me with a smile.  At the end of the night, we were finishing the last of the closing duties.  Almost everyone had left except for Matt and Lisa.  They helped me finish up before the three of us walked out together.
     "So you're a prankster?" Lisa asked rhetorically.  "We could use a few more laughs around here.  Where'd you work before here?"
     I told her that I had been driving a truck over-the-road for the past two years.  Before that, I had worked at Auto Zone.
     "Oh, yeah?  Did you pull many pranks there?" she jested.  I don't think she was expecting a response, but I told her my favorite story from there anyway.
     "Yeah... I was a Night Supervisor there.  One night, we were dead as hell.  Wasn't a single customer in the store, when an old man walked in..."
     I proceeded to tell her the story.  The only other person in the store was Bull.  His name was actually Chris, but he was a big, tall, eighteen-year-old brute with a shaved head that looked like that fella off the '80's sitcom Night Court (remember that one?).  So we called him Bull.  He was a naive kid, a tad cocky.  He usually wore a scowl.
     I watched the elderly customer, in his John Deere cap and bib overalls, casually stroll over to the back end cap where we had a modest display of lawn mower parts.  I dismissed myself from the counter where we were standing and went back to the office.  There, I grabbed the phone and called the parts line which would be the phone next to Bull.
     He picked it up after just a couple of rings.  "Auto Zone, this is Chris," he answered gruffly.
     Using a weak, "elderly" voice that could've won an Oscar, I spoke.  "Hi, Chris.  A fella wearing bib overalls is coming there to pick up some parts for his lawn mower.  If you see him..."
     "Yeah, he's here," Bull interrupted.  Interrupting people was one of his trademarks.
     "...well... could you tell him to pick up some Chinese food for Elmer?"
     "Yeah, sure."  Bull hung up the phone and strolled confidently over to the unsuspecting guest.
     I was peeking around the corner expectantly.  I could hardly contain my mirth as he stopped just short of Mr. John Deere.  Towering over him, he spoke brusquely.  "Sir, you're supposed to pick up some Chinese food for Elmer."
     The elderly gentleman paused to look up at the tall boy.  Bewilderment filled his eyes.  "Do what?" he asked.
     "I said, you're supposed to pick up some Chinese food for Elmer."  Bull repeated.  He bellowed the instructions, almost angrily, emphasizing some of the words in an attempt to relay instructions to a man that he must have perceived was hard-of-hearing.
     I had lost it.  From the office doorway, I was on my knees, laughing that breathless, hysterical laugh that doesn't go away easily.  Tears were running down my cheeks, as I tried, fruitlessly, to remain quiet.
     "Boy, what. in. the. hell. are. you. talking. about?" Mr. John Deere found his voice.  Bull flinched at each word.  He looked around, as the realization seemed to collapse in on him.  He heard me laughing at this point; and, in lieu of explaining how angry he was at me for the rest of the night, I'll explain to you something quite important.
     If, on my deathbed, you hear the clicks and rattles of the machinery straining to help me breathe, if my labored expression lightens considerably and my wheezing suddenly stops, and if my lips curl into a contorted, ridiculous smile, then you will know that I died thinking of this prank.  With a shit-eatin' grin on my face, I will almost certainly cough one last laugh as the electrocardiograph monitor flatlines.  I have told this story countless times, and I always laugh harder than anyone else.  So, I suspect that I must end that way.  Isn't that horribly terrific?
     Lisa and Matt laughed with me, too, as I finished the story.  I, of course, laughed the most.  "Well, see you tomorrow," Lisa dismissed herself.  "It's a warm night, so I'm just gonna walk home."
     "I can give you a ride if you want," I offered.  But she declined.  She said she liked walking.  So, Matt and I continued conversing under a starry, autumn sky that was unseasonably warm.
     "So you gonna stick around?" he asked.
     "I'm not sure," I confessed.  "I've got my eyes on a couple of other positions that I might shoot for."
     "I hear you.  You gotta do whatever's best for you.  But, there's some pro's to working in the buffet.  For one, you rarely work after nine at night; the money's not bad; and, everyone that works here is pretty tight-knit."
     I considered his words; and, feeling high from cresting that 'first-day' hill, I thought that I might, indeed, last those first three months.  Matt was pretty good with his words of advice; he's always been more mature than his age.  I'm pretty sure we've been friends ever since.
     But, somehow, three months turned into three years and three years turned into a decade.
     I became a server fairly quickly.  I've met some really fantastic people, some of whom are pretty much family to me now.  Some have come; some have gone.  I once read that we are around our co-workers more than we are our own families, when you factor out the amount of time you sleep and all that.  I believe that.  Because, I think of them like family.  We've loved, we've laughed, we've bickered, and we've made up.  We have seen each other through the best and through the worst.
     I'll, after a decade, be leaving my department this week.  I didn't realize, at first, that it was going to be so difficult, so emotional.  I once read that if you're friends with someone for ten years, then you will be friends forever.  I suppose I believe that, too.
     I once met a Polish girl in that buffet.  I fell in love and married her.  We had two kids together.  My co-workers have helped cover for me while I nursed them through sickness or threw them birthday parties.  And, when I was at work, we would pull pranks and tell jokes and confess fears.
     When I got married to my wife, the whole stinkin' crew came together to... well, wait.  Maybe I should save that story for another day.  It sounds like a story I should've finished by now...
     Maybe I should get to work on that.
     For now, I have to go.  The curtains are closing as I speak.  The spotlight is dimming.  Goodbye everyone; I've got to get to the dressing room and get changed for the next act.  I'm about to meet a whole new cast of characters that don't have a clue who I am.  What are they going to think of my crazy ass?  Will they like me?
     Stay tuned...
   
     -- If you enjoyed that, check out feature like "Brookport".
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