Cole Dust Cole Page 27

  I am at the kitchen table and will sleep on the sofa tonight. I want to say it is good to be home but I do not feel that way.

  April 18, 1940

  I found work today. It seems my work at Eternal Hope has paid off. I got a job at the feed store. The lady who worked in the seed and garden department retired last week. Since I had read up on all the various plants I was attending in my spare time, I knew enough to get past the owner’s questions. It doesn’t pay much but it’s a start.

  April 29

  It has been two weeks since I came back. This afternoon Paula’s beau came for dinner, dressed in his Sunday best. His name is Anthony Olivetti, he is Italian and also quite a handsome lad. Paula warned me that he is Catholic and that her mother is very vocal in her disapproval of the fact.

  “We are Baptists and should not be courting outside the faith!” is what she had told Paula. This seems strange to me, seeing how the woman has not darkened the door of a church more than twice other than weddings and funerals since I’ve known her.

  Anthony’s, or maybe I should say Tony’s, family is in the sheep business, that is to say buying wool and meat from farmers. Their offices are in Chicago and Tony is out here learning the business from the ground up. He says he will move back to Chicago soon and work there. He wants Paula to return as his bride. I said go and God bless, but Alma has set her cap against it.

  May 2, 1940

  When I arrived home there was a letter on the table waiting for me. It was from Earl. He wrote to me at the sanitarium to see how I was doing. The Sisters forwarded it on to me here. Earl is working for Father O’Malley’s farmer friend. To save my soul I can’t remember going to Iowa, but from Earl’s letter we must have gone together.

  It seems we had a falling out. He said it was the Sterno I was drinking doing the talking and there’s no hard feelings. I will write him back tomorrow. He is a good friend and worthy of a reply.

  Suddenly the pickup swerved violently and Ernie spewed forth a long string of curses and vile threats at the car in front of us.

  “Damn fool almost sideswiped us!” he shouted. Again he cursed the driver and had a few choice suggestions as to the use and placement of the driver’s cell phone in connection with body orifices. Cole grimaced at the vehement eruption with which Ernie reacted.

  Suppressing his urge to ask what happened, Cole instead suggested a stop at the next rest area for a bathroom break.

  “I’ll just pull over,” Ernie responded.

  “No, I can wait. I need to stretch my legs anyway.”

  “I can pull over anytime. I water the weeds all the time.”

  The image of Ernie relieving himself along the side of the road came and went and Cole again volunteered to wait. A few miles later a welcoming sign pointed the way to the Howard K. Milton Rest Area.

  The air was still cool with a morning moisture that felt good in Cole’s lungs as he took in a deep breath. He squatted a couple of times and twisted at the waist before walking the fifty yards to the restroom.

  On his way back to the truck Cole stopped and admired the lush green lawn beneath the trees. Without giving it much thought he lay down and interlaced his fingers behind his head. It felt good to not move. His ears still rang with the highway hum. He watched the tops of the trees sway in the gentle breeze and took a deep breath of the cool air once again. He wished he could just stay here and have Ernie pick him up on his way back, but realized that was not to be.

  His rest was shattered when a small dog of undefined species began licking his face. Cole sat straight up, sending the dog into a fit of manic barking.

  “Coco!” screamed a wispy thin voice from behind him. “Coco, stop it.”

  Cole turned to see a woman making her way across the grass toward him. Her hair was a blue white and she walked with a cane. Cole closed his eyes and opened to refocus, thinking he wasn’t seeing the setting right. The woman was moving so slow he at first thought he was watching slow motion. As he stood to get a better look he realized that she indeed was moving at a pace that a snail could run laps around.

  The dog was nipping at Cole’s ankles. He felt foolish as he hopped and danced about, but the dog seemed determined to sink its bared teeth into his leg.

  “Coco, I said stop!”

  “Scram you little piece of shit!” Ernie yelled, stamping his boots and laughing as he trotted up to where Cole was prancing.

  The dog turned on Ernie, barking and snapping to charge toward the big man’s leg. Ernie slapped his thighs and jumped flatfooted toward the ball of fur. Coco changed course a fraction of an inch from the tips of Ernie’s steel toed boots and charged back towards Cole.

  “Oh my! Oh my goodness! Stop!’ the old lady cried.

  “Oh come on,” Cole said in exasperation.

  “Coco Rene Potter! You come here!” The old lady’s frail pleading changed to a stern command.

  “You look like the village idiot tryin’ to do a rain dance.” Ernie laughed.

  Coco’s head snapped towards her master. Like a switch being thrown the dog suddenly retreated back to where the old lady stood, both hands on the head of her cane, and lay at her feet.

  Ernie did a clumsy jig and flapped his arms in mock exaggeration of Cole’s attempt to keep from the dog. “Attack is over! All Clear!” he cried out in a strained falsetto.

  Cole turned and watched as the old woman bent down and clipped a leash to Coco’s collar. Without giving them a thought or a glance, the woman turned and headed back toward the sidewalk in the direction of a small yellow cab-over motor home.

  Still chuckling at the strange encounter, Ernie said, “This place is dangerous. We better get back on the road.”

  Cole headed back to the truck. Ernie followed, making a series of yips and yaps in imitation of Coco.

  As they pulled out of the rest stop and back onto the highway Cole looked back at the old yellow motor home. “Why in the world would you name a white dog Coco?”

  “Or better yet, give the damn thing three names. Coco Rene my ass.” Ernie was still amused by the encounter with the animal.

  Cole picked up the notebook and scanned the page where he stopped reading.

  Ernie glanced across at him and asked, “So what have you learned?”

  “Well...” Cole thought for a moment what exactly to tell him. Was he really interested or just making conversation? Cole pursed his lips and then went full speed ahead into the truthful explanation. “My grandfather was an alcoholic and a very sad and lonely man.”

  “The hell you say. How do you know that?”

  “These notebooks are his journals, diaries or maybe better yet, call it the story of his life. He had a wife he didn’t love, a heart that longed to be a writer, and worst of all a dependence on alcohol to blur out the parts of his life that caused him pain. After a while it took control. Throw in the Great Depression and the Dust Bowl and you have the makings of a pretty depressing story.”

  “Think you’d be better off not knowing?” Ernie’s question showed genuine interest in Cole’s reading.

  “At first I was like a kid in a candy store, you know, everything I ever wanted to know was laid out for me, all I had to do was take it. Now I feel like I’ve been peeking through somebody’s window. I’m still fascinated but I feel like there are things here I shouldn’t see.”

  “Would you ever write a bunch of little books like that? I mean, tell people your thoughts and feelings?” Ernie looked straight at the road ahead.

  “No.” Cole said, without hesitating, “No, I don’t think I would.”

  “I have.”

  Cole was shocked by Ernie’s admission. He wasn’t sure how to respond. He sat hardly breathing, knowing that this was an important thing to his friend.

  Finally, the silence was too much and Cole said, “Really.” It was more as a statement than a question.

  “Started in high school. I won a diary at the 4H white elephant gift exchange. Everybody laughed when I got stuck with it. Sat o
n my dresser a long time before I wrote in it.”

  “What made you start?” Cole thought the question innocent enough.

  “Sarah Philbin.”

  Cole waited, knowing Ernie wanted to say more.

  Ernie cleared his throat, “She was a new girl at the school. Her dad was a highway planner. He designed the new overpass and off ramp that leads into town. She was the prettiest little thing you ever saw. No beautiful mind you, pretty. There’s a difference. She had blue eyes, and skin the color of milk. She was so white I thought it was powder makeup or makeup of some kind, but no, she was white as a lily blossom. The thing is she was shy.” Ernie cleared his throat again. “She had the most beautiful hair I ever saw. It was so brown it was almost black. And it was shiny. It was like she had rings of light around her head. You ever seen hair shiny like that? It was straight and kind of curled under at her shoulders.”

  “She sounds very pretty,” Cole offered.

  “We had English class together. She sat in front of me. That’s how I got to study her hair. One time the teacher had us pair up with another kid in the class to work on a handout sheet because she didn’t have enough to go around, and I got to be partners with Sarah. We were both so shy we couldn’t speak. I decided I would be a leader and started asking her the questions. Before I knew what I was doing I told her she had the most beautiful hair I ever saw. I didn’t mean to, it just came out. I could have died. But she smiled and said, ‘Thank you.’ Real soft with her head down.

  The next day before class she asked me if I wanted her cookie left over from lunch. I said yes, of course. After that, every day she gave me a cookie. I finally got the guts up to ask her to the roller rink.” Ernie gave an embarrassed chuckle.

  “Those were the days, huh?” Cole smiled.

  “She was my first love, I guess. Maybe the only one really. We used to sit and talk and talk. I can still hear her voice. It was soft and kind of low but so beautiful.”

  “So you wrote about her in the diary?”

  “Sort of, that April her dad got sent to work on another road project down in Love County. How’s that for, what do you call it? Irony? I never saw her again.” Ernie blew out his breath. “I started writing about how sad I was. I just got in the habit of writing every night. Been doin’ it ever since. Silly huh?”

  “Not at all. You know, I’ve always wished I had kept a journal of my travels and people I have met, things I’ve done. Too late now.” Cole flipped the edge of the pages of the notebook in his lap. “It’s funny to think that these notebooks are all that remain from a man’s life.”

  “You’re here.”

  “Sorry?”

  “You’re here. You’re something he left behind. You have a daughter and a grandbaby; they’re part of what he left behind. My father and mother die with me.”

  Cole felt ashamed of his remark. He ran his hand across the cover of the notebook. He moved his lips silently and said “sorry”. Ernie softly hummed a tune as he reached across and turned on the radio. He punched the buttons then turned the knob running up and down the dial until he heard an announcer say, “Here’s something new by Trisha Yearwood.”

  “That ought to do it.”

  Cole opened the notebook and skimmed several pages until he saw a phrase that caught his eye.

  June 29, 1940

  Here comes the bride! Paula is married. The ceremony was very nice. Couple hundred people showed up. I didn’t know we knew that many people. Probably don’t. Paula made a real pretty bride and was so very sweet to me. I was so proud to be able to give her away. To keep peace with Alma, Mr. and Mrs. Olivetti agreed to have the wedding in the gardens outside the Eagle’s Hall. A Catholic priest and a Baptist minister shared the duties. Since the Olivetti’s were picking up the tab I thought it was pretty gracious of them to compromise to Alma’s requests.

  Josie and Connie were bridesmaids and looked real pretty in their violet satin dresses. Always the diplomat, Paula asked Tony’s sister Nina to act as Maid of Honor. Georgie was the ring bearer and Tony’s two brothers were the groomsmen. A friend of Tony’s from college was best man. I believe his name was Herman.

  After the wedding we all went into the Eagle’s Hall for a feast of Italian food the likes of which I had never seen. Spaghetti and raviolis and some kind of tomatoey chicken, it was all delicious. The thing I liked best was the bread. There were gallon jugs of homemade wine on the table but I didn’t have any.

  The happy couple drove off in a new Chrysler that was a gift from Tony’s family. I hope Paula will be very happy. They leave for Chicago next week.

  July 6, 1940

  Alma bawled her head off all day. Paula left on the train this morning for Chicago. I have a strange feeling we will never see her again. There was a look in her eyes that was saying more than goodbye.

  Before she left she took me aside and thanked me for all I did for her. I cried and told her I was ashamed I hadn’t done more. I don’t know what came over me.

  I asked her to forgive me for pulling the disappearing act. She laughed and kissed my cheek. She told me if she were married to her mother she would leave too. Then to my shock she told me she knew I wasn’t her real father. She laid her hand on my chest and said it didn’t matter, as far as she was concerned I would always be her dad. We hugged and she cried a little and that was it.

  Paula always plays the peacekeeper. I’m going to miss her.

  July 9, 1940

  Alma’s brother Howard showed up at suppertime. We hadn’t seen him in years, so many I can’t remember, but here he is. Said he needed somewhere to stay for a couple days until he found a place. For once Alma’s nasty disposition was a benefit. She told him, in no uncertain terms, that “a couple” means two. He had two days, then he was out! Place to stay or not! Good for her.

  I have been having some pains in my legs I don’t quite understand. My feet and ankles start to feel like they are on fire, then my legs start tingling all the way up to my knees. Forty years old and I’m falling apart.

  We got a postcard from Niagara Falls. It seems Tony surprised Paula with a honeymoon before going home to Chicago. He’s a nice kid, she did well.

  July 11, 1940

  I got a phone call today at the feed store from Josie. She was downtown at the dry goods where she works. She had gone to lunch and on the way back she had seen a very strange thing.

  “Uncle Howard was standing on the corner across from the picture show and he was wearing one of my dresses! Daddy, you gotta do something! I can see him! He’s still there waving to the cars as they’re passing by!” Josie was more excited than I had heard her in a long time.

  We weren’t busy so the boss let me use the truck to go downtown. Sure as hell there he stood, waving like he was in a beauty pageant, wearing a blue and white polka dot dress. I parked the truck and got out.

  “Howard! What the hell are you doing?” I shouted.

  “Hey George!” he answered, and waved like it was any old day of the week.

  When I got closer I could see he was wearing several layers of clothing. He must have had on three or four dresses and two or three skirts.

  “What’s the big idea?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The clothes, Howard. You’re wearing Josie’s dress.”

  “Alma’s too! One of Connie’s too, I think. Aren’t they pretty?”

  It was then I noticed that he had several shopping bags at his feet full of clothes.

  “What you got here?” I asked, tapping a bag with my toe.

  “All the ladies dresses! I want to look nice.” Howard gave me a big smile.

  “So, Howard, can I give you a lift home?”

  “Can’t. Alma threw me out,” he said, with a pained expression.

  “Well let’s give it a try anyway.”

  I picked up two of the bags and motioned for Howard to get the one remaining. He complied without complaint and followed me to the truck.

  I drove him back to
the house. Alma had just arrived home from the hotel and was tired and in no mood for funny business. We carried the bags into the house. There stood Howard, smiling like the first day of summer. Alma took one look and started screaming at us both.

  I tried to tell her Josie called me and I rescued their clothes but, mad as she was, it was no use.

  “You watch him a minute,” she demanded and left the room.

  When she returned a couple of minutes later she said, “OK, you can go back to work.” She followed me to the door and whispered, “I called the state hospital and they are sending somebody to come get him.”

  Poor old Howard is crazy as a bed bug.

  When I got home all the clothes were back in the closet, and after a tongue lashing from Alma, Josie swore to never mention the incident again.

  Cole finished the entry and set down the notebook. He looked up to see a sign that read Central Tulsa next two exits. Ernie pulled off the piece of paper Scotch-taped to the dashboard and read it.

  “We’re lookin’ for 3968 East 40th Street. Keep an eye out, would you please?”

  Cole began watching the street signs as they left the freeway and headed into town. Within minutes they turned onto East 40th and, just like the directions said, found G&L Equipment sitting on the corner of 40th Street and 79th Avenue. They entered the nondescript stucco building and Cole was amazed by the ocean of stainless steel that loomed in front of him. If it were true that rust never sleeps, this place would certainly make it drowsy.

  A tall man in his mid-thirties wearing a green apron came out of a side aisle and greeted them. His nametag was hanging at an odd angle and announced that his name was Jeff. He was wearing brown wingtips in need of a shine, grey polyester slacks that were at least two inches above his ankles allowing for a clear view of his white athletic socks, and a pale yellow golf shirt. Jeff was one of those rare people who truly loved his job. He was excited to be there, excited to assist his customers, and excited to tell them so. Ernie explained what he thought he needed and Jeff’s eyes lit up like the man who knew the direction to King Solomon’s Mine.