The dump truck suddenly fires up and Bubba roars the engine alive several times, as if he were taking out some aggressive behavior in the form of noise.
As Bubba drives away, I am left in a space of time where I can feel my feelings again. My heart begins to beat a little faster as I become aware of the craziness of the stupid choice I made to take a working vacation. “Be accountable for your choices!” That’s one of Dr. Phil’s famous and favorite statements. I just love Dr. Phil! I’ll try, Dr. Phil. I’ll try.
A bright outdoor light pops on from the edge of the roof behind the kitchen. A female comes out to smoke a cigarette. I can’t really see what she looks like. She looks nervously around and pauses as she looks in my direction. I don’t hear the dump truck running anymore, but I hear the golf cart on the other side of the lake coming back around the other way. It stops when I presume they are back at their trailer. Someone else comes out the back door and throws several cardboard boxes into the cardboard box pile, which at this point, looks to be about ten feet high and fifteen feet wide. It’s Betty! I can tell by the way she is moving! Roller-skating with boxes. Roller-skating back into the kitchen.
Car lights shine through my front curtain window and the sound of gravel crunching fills the quiet night as a vehicle slowly passes by on its way to the rear door of the kitchen. As soon as this occurs, I hear the golf cart fire up again and charge in my direction. Three people exit the back door of the kitchen. Bubba and Terry buzz by and halt at the van that is now parked. Everyone seems to be talking at once to the two passengers who are exiting the van. I hear Bubba belt out a loud laugh. It must be Billy and Ray returning from shopping in Redding. Bubba opens the rear door of the van and everyone starts hauling the tons of heavy boxes into the kitchen. I worry again about my new job. I have a feeling that working here and living here at the same time is going to require spontaneous involvement at odd hours. Am I expected to run out there and help right now?
Ray is rolling his oxygen tank behind him as he wanders over towards the big oil-drum-barbeque by the lake. He lights a cigarette. The van gets emptied and Billy drives it back around to the front. Terry walks by the fifth wheel on her way home, leaving the golf cart for Bubba. She is not very steady on her feet, and is mumbling as she passes my open window.
Bubba joins Ray over by the oil drum and starts wading up newspaper, and then stuffs it into the barbeque. They are talking, but I can’t quite hear the words. Bubba lights the newspaper and flames light up the whole area. Ray says something and Bubba rolls Ray’s oxygen tank over to the back door of the kitchen away from the flames. He goes inside the kitchen door and returns a few minutes later with a drink for Ray and a beer for himself. He gives Ray his drink and sets his beer on the redwood picnic table where Ray is sitting, then goes back over to the pile of cardboard boxes and grabs several. He brings them back to the fire and drops them on the ground. He starts ripping them apart and tossing them into the flaming barbeque barrel. Both men stare, as if in a trance, into the fire, their faces glowing orange. Bubba goes back for more boxes.
This talking, ripping, burning, and drinking goes on until I feel myself falling asleep at the dining table. I get up and set my alarm for 5:30, crawl up into my bed, and close my eyes to the flickering glow outside. I drift off to sleep with the sound of coyotes yipping somewhere close by.
Chapter Three
There was no need to set my alarm. Bandito was tapping my back gently with his paw. He does this when he needs to go potty. I look out the window and admire the beautiful pre-dawn indigo colored sky. I see that it is 5:10, so I turn the alarm to off. Bandito is staring down at my face like he is in a hurry. His muzzle is turning gray now. He used to be pitch black from head to foot. Bonita, who is pumpkin in color, peeks her head out from under the covers. “Okay! Just a minute. Let me get some shoes on.” I had slept in my sweats, so there was no need to change into clothes. They start bouncing around on the bed like excited children. The holding tank still has an unpleasant odor. I will need to empty and refill that one more time before I go to work. After leashing up the dogs, I carefully unhook the battered door and hook it open to the outer wall of the trailer with the bungee cord, then close the screen door.
No one is around yet. I see lights on in some of the visiting RVs. The oil drum barbeque has a thin trail of smoke coming up from it, and I notice that the pile of cardboard boxes are now gone. The golf cart is still parked where Terry had left it last night. Bubba must have walked home. There is a dog looking at us from the lawn area next to the main building. It looks like one of those cattle herding dogs and does not seem interested in us. The dog lies back down on the porch area by the lawn.
Bonita and Bandito have done their business, so I return to the trailer. They climb back into bed and lay down. They know my routine. They do not bother with me until I’ve had my coffee, and today I need it bad!
While my bottled water is boiling on the Coleman stove, I walk around the trailer to open the holding tank drain valve. I’m hoping that this will do it as far as cleansing goes. I put the water hose into the toilet to refill the tank. I heat up some soymilk in the microwave, and put coffee in my small, single cup, Melitta drip filter. The tea kettle outside is beginning to whistle.
With hot coffee in hand, I sit and watch the sky turn to day and enjoy the quiet. A man walks along the shoreline of the lake with a fishing pole. I assume that Billy must stock the lake with trout. I hear the approaching quacks of the ducks as they waddle towards me along the shoreline coming from the direction of Bubba’s trailer. I can hear a logging truck coming down the highway. It barrels by, disturbing the peace and quiet of the morning, reminding me of what I got myself into—a working vacation. I turn off the hose and pull it back outside and take a second cup of coffee into the trailer to get ready for work.
My dogs begin to growl when they hear the heavy crunching of logging boots walking past my trailer. I look out to see Bubba passing by holding a cup of coffee. He hacks up a loogie and spits next to my trailer. What a gross man!
The group of quacking ducks is at the end of the ramp that leads to the kitchen. Bubba opens up a side storage unit and comes out with a pan full of feed. He carries the pan near to the lake. The ducks are quacking like crazy following him. They scramble to eat as fast as possible when he throws the seed on the ground. Bubba then disappears into the kitchen. Well, he can’t be all that bad if he likes ducks and feeds them! They must live down by his trailer.
By 6:30 I am adding the blue chemical into the toilet. I take the dogs out one more time, and then settle them in the trailer for the day. I’m hoping I get a lunch break so I can let them out for awhile. I leave only the screen door shut thinking that the dogs would at least have something to look at, and hopefully, not bark at. If I were to leave them in the fenced area they would bark all day! Fifteen minutes later I walk past two RVs waiting for propane on my way to the front entry of the main building. Stopping at the doorway I read the restaurant hours: 6:30AM to 8:00PM. Two cars and one motorcycle are in the parking lot. Billy’s van is off to the side near, what I think, is her connected home. I take several deep breaths and walk into the unknown.
A tall bulky woman wearing Bermuda shorts and a brilliant white T-shirt with the American flag imprinted on the front is standing behind the register. She looks to be my age and is admiring her long acrylic fingernails, which, even from ten feet away I can see, are also American flags. Because of her concentration on her nails at the moment, I have a few seconds to observe the restaurant area. There is no Bubba’s special, instead the chalkboard reads: ‘TRI-TIP BBQ TONIGHT! 4:00PM.’ People are at the tables eating huge piles of pancakes and hash browns. At the same moment that I am looking in the direction of the kitchen, Bubba walks over to the chest high meat counter holding a large chopping knife.
“KAREN! HOW DO THEY WANT THAT STEAK COOKED?”
“Rare!” I hear a voice answer, but do not see her.
Bubba’s eyes catch mine in a brief instant of recognition. He does not smile at me, but I smile at him. He turns around and