Lone Wolf

He is a strange man. Heavy set, quiet, and always with a smile on his face. Yet there is something not quite right here. His features are interesting. Dark eyes, dark hair, yet with a complexion more fair than mine. He tells me he is from California, San Diego specifically. He has purchased land in this area, and wants to retire early. He has come into the shop to find things that will enhance his new home, when he finally does move here.

He tells me he is interested in the Native life, but admits that it is not one that he could follow too closely. He enjoys the 'creature comforts too much'. He was born into a prominent family, which was originally from a part of Europe that I know well. My family was originally from the same place. That we could be related is not a part of this story, yet it may have been an important part of my understanding him. He goes on, telling me of his marriage, and subsequent divorce, speaking fondly of his grown children. He doesn't see them as often as he would like. Basically, he sees himself as a 'loner'. He prefers his own company to that of others. There is a sadness in his voice as he speaks.

His troubles, he tells me, started after he returned home from his military stint in Viet Nam. Although he has seen many doctors, none can pinpoint the source of his problems. They are not physical, he says. He had seen too many ugly things during his time in Viet Nam, and can't rid his mind of them. While he does not dwell on them during his waking hours, his dreams are filled with memories of what he has seen.

After a few of his visits to the shop, and many discussions between us, I asked if he would like to join me for dinner. I had been a regular at Yesterday's for some time now, and although I, too, suffer from many memories in that restaurant, I know it is a place where he can unwind and, possibly, have fun.

We met after I closed the shop, and I left my truck at a friend's house. He drove, and there was lively conversation between us on the ride north. Chloride is only 20 miles north of Kingman, so the trip was a short one, but I did show him spots along the road. Places that would be a part of his new home. There is Santa Claus, I told him. It's really nothing more than a wide spot on the highway, with some buildings that have been long closed. Originally, it was a rest stop for people traveling this road between Las Vegas and Phoenix. A little further on, we passed Grasshopper Junction, another wide spot, another rest stop. We turned on to the Chloride road, but almost immediately had to stop. A herd of range cattle was on the road, and the best way to treat them is with a lot of respect. Let them do their thing, in their own time. It took the herd about ten minutes to wander off the road, and we continued to town.

Bill was already singing when we got to the restaurant, and Terry and Betty were already there. We joined them at their table, introductions were made, and we settled in to have an enjoyable evening, I hoped. Soon after, more friends came in and another table was added to ours and, again, more introductions. He seemed to be enjoying himself. Conversation revolved around the gunfighting group, events that would soon be taking place in town, and our lives in general.

We were up to three tables now. That's how it is in Yesterday's. We are always rearranging the furniture, but being careful to allow the food servers a clear path. We ordered dinner, and Bill was singing "Always on my Mind". He asked if I would like to dance, and we were on the dance floor in no time. He told me that this song, for some reason, always reminded him of me. hmmmmmmmm. Dinner was on the table when we returned, and it was a thoroughly enjoyable meal. We danced that night, and he laughed and laughed. I had been right. Having dinner together had been a good idea.

He returned to the store again and again, and we had dinner a few more times. My birthday was coming up, and celebrations at Yesterday's can be quite a sight. Because she lived in Chloride, and he lives in Kingman, Betty had put him in charge of my party. He picked me up from the shop, and we started towards Yesterday's. Just before leaving Kingman, Red Tail Rising passed us in his truck. The look of utter disbelief on his face stays with me to this day. We arrived at the restaurant, and I noted that four tables had already been placed together, and a few of our friends were already seated. He told me that he had to run back to his truck for his wallet, and I used the opportunity to go to another table to speak with its occupants.

By the time we returned to our table, my drink was already in place. The good thing about going to a place regularly is that they know what you want. Mine is chardonnay on the rocks, in a 'big girl glass'. It's actually two drinks in one 20 ounce glass, but it does save on money. Although our table was not yet full, he proposed a toast. I picked up my glass, and immediately saw that something was wrong. There was a dark spot in my drink. Further inspection showed it to be a fly. Even further inspection showed it to be a fly in an ice cube. I asked that the drink be replaced, and it was taken away. I was brought what I thought was a replacement and there it was again. I finally decided to ask for another glass, poured the chardonnay into it, and scooped out the 'rocks' one at a time with my spoon, and placed them into the new glass. When I got to the offending 'rock', I pulled it out of the glass and placed it on my napkin. Funny, I thought. The napkin wasn't getting wet! That's when I realized two important things: 1) The ice cube with the fly in it was plastic; 2) I had met my match as a prankster. I was in for a very long night.

When everyone had arrived, we ordered dinner. There is almost always a salad served with every meal, and this one was no exception. Salads were brought out, and I turned to mine with great anticipation. I LOVE salad. I took up my fork, and tried to spear a cucumber slice. Thinking perhaps that it was too thick, I tried cutting it into halves. That didn't work either. Are you thinking rubber vomit yet? I wasn't. But there it was on my plate. I had been wrong. This was going to be a night longer than I had ever lived.

The main course arrived, prime rib with mashed potatoes and beets. By this time, everyone at the table was watching me. They laughed as I carefully examined each and every forkful of food before I even thought about putting it in my mouth. What, I wondered, would be happening next.

With dinner done, we were all full and thoroughly relaxed. But knowing this group of people as I did, I knew that there would be more. It didn't take too long. There were several conversations going on around the table, when all of a sudden a small wad of paper was thrown at me. Not thinking, I reached down to the floor to pick it up. He was seated to my immediate left, and my head landed in his lap. He jumped up, and shouted "woman!!!!!!" at the top of his lungs. I popped back to a seated position. They tell me that my face was maroon. He excused himself, and left the table. Betty did also, but it is not unexpected. We will often leave the table, and wander around table to table, chatting with other people.

About five minutes later, I saw Betty, and heard the beginning strains of 'Happy Birthday'. And there he was, coming across the room. I have to point out here that while cozy, Yesterday's can, by no means, be considered a small restaurant. Bill was standing directly behind me, singing the song meant for me. He was walking across the room, carrying my birthday cake. He was wearing a way-too-small cow costume, and had balloons tied around his head. He walked ever so slowly, and placed the cake in front of me. He then took Bill's mike, squeezed one of the udders on the costume, and speaking directly into the mike, asked me if I would like some milk with my cake. Is there a shade of red darker than maroon, I wondered. You bet there is. Great pains had been taken with this cake, though. The frosting was chocolate and there on top, in white frosting, was a white buffalo. But it was the second cake that was my downfall. With great creative genius, someone had taken two "snowball" cakes, and one "twinkie" cake, placed them just so on the platter, frosted them pink, and added some strategically placed chocolate sprinkles. To finish it off, a small dab of whipped cream had been placed on the end of the 'twinkie' furthest from the 'snowballs'. It didn't take too much imagination on my part to know that whoever made the cake felt that there was something lacking in my sex life. Finally on our way back to town, he told me that he had never had so much fun in his life. I'm glad.

He came into the shop a few more times, and always brought up the party during our conversation. He blessed me for showing him that one should not always be alone. While he has reverted to living his solitary life, he has this memory to hold on to. He can always dig into this memory to enjoy a good laugh. He needs all the laughter he can get.