Portraits in Fatigues

Walmart. A foot of new snow, six below, and I'm buying ice. The guy in fatigues (real, not redneck), is next to be cashed out, and he's looking nervously back into the store. His eyes light up, and he puts his fingers to his lips and whistles. Beautiful timber and tone. Impressive critical life skill I never could learn. I see a shadow from the corner of my vision, and with a sweep of the ponytail, the man's wife skids up to the register like a ski jumper finishing a successful run. She drops a tiny jar of something on the counter, and punches him on the arm.
"You did NOT just whistle for me like a DOG!"
He didn't flinch. "You shouldn't run off like one."
Hands went to hips. Gawd she's energetic. "WE don't do that!"
"Mmm hmm", he mumbled as he dug out his card.
"Seriously", she said the way people say in that less-than-serious distracted way to indicate they are ending this part of the conversation, moving on.
The cashier is a cute teenager with about three pounds of makeup, and she's loving this exchange.
From the ponytail, "I want something."
Another "Mmm hmm."
"Seriously!", she said in the way the term is used to bring focus, intensity to the dialogue.
From the uniform, "I'm calling your Dad."
"Seriously?", she said disbelievingly.
"Mmm hmm."
She punches him in the arm again, playfully.
"Seriously (dismissive), when we get the money, I want something."
"What?", he asked as they walked out, bumping shoulders.
I didn't hear what something she wanted.
"Geez", the cashier asked me. "I wonder how long THAT marriage will last."
"Seriously!", I said just to say something.
But I saw the look in his eye when he spotted her across the store, and I'm guessing they have a better start than most.

Few Smiles in the Dentist's Lobby

Waiting in the dentist's lobby while Vikki gets a cleaning. Took hours. Musta been pretty nasty. - A gaggle of rowdy kids took the place over. When one would come out with their goody bag, the whole herd destroyed it. Little parachutes were flying everywhere, toothbrushes were on the carpet, and a flossing pick was shared, everybody trying to decide what flavor it was. The oldest decided it was mint, but I doubt there was any flavor left when she tasted it. A distraught mom just saved a sample tube of toothpaste before it was stomped. The staff were glassy-eyed, still working at their customer service persona, but you could tell it was wearing them down. A three year old was quietly driving a toy truck through the whole building, and decided my chair was it's garage. He held the truck up to me, I took it and said thank you, and he started to bawl. Evidently, I was only supposed to look, not touch. "English", I said, and handed it back. He wiped his tears and chose a different road, occasionally giving me a suspicious glance. A girl about seven had targeted another about her age from a different family. She was chanting "WHAT AN ANNOYING LITTLE GIRL!", getting louder with every verse. The whole place was getting uncomfortable. The other girl was trying to respond, but was shouted down. People were looking up from their cell phones. The staff was out of their chairs, investigating. The mother of the screamer continued her paperwork at the desk, and the mother of the victim just watched, letting things play out. I, stupidly, got involved. I gave the noisy one my meanest stare and most authoritative voice.
"Stop that!"
She crossed her arms and humpffed into her chair.
I turned to the other girl. "Are you annoying?".
"Sometimes", she said.
"Aren't we all."
I wish that had been the end of the story. But the other girl started the "annoying" chant again, the "sometimes" annoying girl hissed "Ridiculous!" at her accuser as she was escorted to the exam rooms. Somebody near the door said something to the mother of the "ridiculous" clan and she responded loud enough for everybody to hear.
"What I AM, is a mother of five foster children, some of whom are just learning to control their behavior, and some who NEVER will. They still require health care, and going out into public. All I can hope is that people will at least try to understand if not help." Then she left.
I guess the village let the kids down.
I was feeling smaller than when I came in, so I tried to get the gal in the business office to smile.
"I brushed my teeth once..."
Nothing.
"So", to Vikki, "I could hear you in the lobby bragging about the grandchild that's not even born yet!"
Just a smirk.
I looked at the bill, looked at the lady handing it to me, and said "What an annoying girl!"
She has beautiful teeth. Go figure.

Troll Kings

The sign said "Troll Kings are in!!".  I pulled in to the parking lot of the fish market.  Winter king salmon are rich and white fleshed, oozing fat and flavor.  I picked out some scallops, cod, rockfish, and halibut, but didn't see the kings, so I asked.  The Mongerman is always there, and he offered fresh, or frozen and vaccuum packed for a dollar less.  i wanted cold and cheap.  He scaled it and priced it, and I almost fainted. He laughed and put the fish back.  If I want thirty dollars per pound fish, I'll drive somewhere beautiful, pay for fuel and a guide, work myself all sweaty, pose for pictures, and smell like fish guts for a week.  Can't wait.

A Raven Talk

I'm exiting WalMart, and the freighter raven is strutting near the entrance again. We've had dealings before. He'll respond when you speak to him. So I lean up against the the fakestone pillar and wait for an appropriate audience. it doesn't take long. She's about six, has curly hair and gummy worms, very christmassy and sophisticated, put together, fashion-wise. Soft brown eyes and wrinkled brow, suspicious.

"No. I didn't bring you anything."
Brrrup Brrrap.

"I know it's Christmas eve. and I knew you'd play that angle."
Burrup, Caarrrrrr.

"The best gift I could give you is nothing."  I look away, "You're too fat as it is."

Brrack braack Burrup.

"Now that's just rude! I've lost three pounds."

Bbruk buk.

The little girl's mother called to her, but before she left, I got a dirty look, and the raven got two gummy worms; a red and a green.

"Merry Christmas!", I said to both, as they flitted away.

Write, Right?

I'll be writing here again.  OK?

Surprise Houseguests - Three Years Later

The truth is there are no sane hermits. Forgive me, then, if I occasionally long for a more spartan existence. Mortgages and relationships require maintenence, and I've been in a place where there was no harassing phone, no media blast, no internet, and no dry erase "to do" board. I wasn't entirely miserable there. Cat Stevens caught grief for reasonably dumping the clutter of his life, and walkabouts are an accepted practice in some cultures. I was ready for a break in May when the phone call came.

Two people I didn't know needed a hand. They were relatives of the second or third distant kind, young brothers coming to Alaska to work. The younger one I'd met for the first time in his father's shop several years ago when he was a sneering preteen, critically watching (not helping) while I replaced a U-joint in my stranded vehicle. He'd been surly and disrespectful, and I wrote him off as someone with few prospects for a productive life. His brother I had only heard of because my mother rambles on about family, neighbors, and friends that are importantly connected to her, whether or not they have relevance to her conversation target. I knew he was just back from Iraq, but had no inkling or interest in where he was headed.

When they arrived unannounced in Alaska, I was in a remote place, corraled with a group of men that had spent too much time together, just wanting to finish the current job and move into the next phase of our lives. Cell service was nil, so I didn't get the message for two days, when I stepped onto the Anchorage tarmac, and switched the phone on.

"Um, Hi. I don't know if you know me, but this is..."

Damn. Understand I didn't have a choice. Long ago my father accepted several troubled nephews, put them to work at the trading post, turned almost all of them around. I had been taken in by a friend's family in Ketchikan when I had first come north, spending a wonderful week in a spectacular author's home until I steadied my stance. The grandfather of these boys had salvaged my arse from a dilemma when I was nineteen and needed five gallons of gas at three a.m.

"Where are you now?"

"We couldn't find you, so we got a motel and rented a car."

The Marriott summer rates are two-and-a-quarter per night in Anchorage. They'd shelled over two hundred for the ride. I'll bet sticker shock kills more Alaska tourists than bears do, and I don't blame relatives, even distant ones, for searching out a space on the floor for a sleeping bag. I make sure they understand, though, that the hospitality industry only has a few months to cover the cost of operations, and the folks that live here have limited time to enjoy their own summer activities. I had plans for fishing and extended motorcycle trips, with no plans to change those plans because others hadn't planned.

"The first thing we need to do is get you out of that motel. Then we'll return your car. I've got room and a car you can use temporarily. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

I remember a saying my mother repeats, about fish and house guests getting old after three days. "If they last that long, I'll be amazed," I thought. They've got Alaska at their fingertips, a young man's dream.

As it turns out I didn't know anything about their dreams.

Update: Three years later, and they still live in town with a gaggle of friends and their mother, who came up last year.  The younger cousin joined the Alaska Air National Guard, and deployed to Afghanistan, soon to return.  The older attended the college and works steadily, hoping to soon land a job he can call a career so he can pursue flying and the other items on his checklist of things to do while living in Alaska.

Good on 'em.

Are You Ogling?

Standing in line at the multi-mart, the acned cashier waiting on the flouncy flirt, when the husband storms into the young man's face and yells "Are you ogling my wife?"  The poor kid does the exact wrong thing; in his terror, he glances down at her chest while he shakes his head no.  The frozen moment lasts too long, so I step in.

"Why wouldn't he? She's a beautiful woman."  Hubby looks at me and scowls.  Wifey hits him with a paper towel, and says "Yeah!  Why wouldn't he.  You never say nice things like that to me!" 

Hubby's smile says the whole thing was a joke and the cashier recovers enough to finish their order.   Scanning my single item, the poor kid thanks me.  "I didn't know what to say!  He was mad!"

On the way out of the store, the couple is emptying their cart, still laughing about the facial expression on the kid's face.  As I pass, he nods, she winks.