THE BARBECUE AT EMY’S HOUSE
SATURDAY AFTERNOON
For the better part of the last two hours, Emy had spent her time working in the kitchen, to help her mother prepare the side dishes for today’s barbecue. The first thing they did was clean up Dad’s mess. He’d spent an hour last night making up a gallon of his special raspberry chipotle barbecue dressing for today’s event, and there was sauce splattered everywhere; on the walls and over the countertops. It was his annual end of summer gala event, open to mostly hunters, their wives and kids, and a few well-chosen friends. There was also a few car enthusiasts added in to keep the conversations rounded out. But job talk was forbidden.
Emy’s mom had painstakingly baked fresh dinner rolls to feed 75 people, enough deviled eggs to fill up the extra refrigerator in the garage; a long time favorite of the old man’s and on the menu for every holiday and she only used organic eggs. Emy had started slow cooking a 5 gallon vat of barbecued red and black beans late last night and it was still simmering away at 2 p.m. On a large side counter set 5 cakes; three chocolate triple layer with thick chocolate/cream cheese icing and two double layer white cakes with white cream cheese icing, which was a favorite of the Colonel’s. Emy had worked on a large Blueberry pie and 3 deep dish apple pies; all homemade and she was worn to a frazzle. Her apron was covered in the various ingredients she had used today, and her hair was highlighted in white and wheat flour, while her face had splotches of cake batter and icing. She always wondered how her mother could do this every year, not to mention all the different family holidays. There was also an assortment of cupcakes for the children, and Emy had just finished icing them.
Assigned guests were requested to bring in either homemade or store-bought potato salads, tossed green salads, coleslaw, macaroni salad, shrimp salad, and three-bean salads. There would be two families who always brought in fresh corn on the cob, which was shucked in the kitchen and placed in a massive propane boiler. The boiler was set up beside the red cement brick barbecue and ready to go. The massive Barbecue was built out on the back deck by Emy’s father and the envy of the neighborhood. Three years earlier, the family had put a shingled roof over the 10-year old deck, held up by redwood and cedar support beams and the barbecue, which was built from the ground up, was vented up through the ceiling. The following year, the family had framed screening installed to surround the deck, preventing the mosquitoes and other unwanted guests from interfering with their activities. From the ceiling were hung electric Japanese style lanterns in various colored screens. With the coming of the first snow, framed pieces of fiberglass were inserted over the screens to keep the snow from covering the deck. Though it was not heated, this kept the snow from piling up against that side of the house and allowed them access to the deck long before they would’ve normally have had.
The deck was 3 feet above ground and aligned to the house through back double-sliding doors. It was 28’ in width and 40’ in length, the deck provided a sizeable room for summer activities and had a set of 4-stairs 6-feet wide down to the backyard. Emy held several parties here during high school and during a couple of her military leaves. She even had enough room to have a small live-band during her last party, which nearly sent her father over the end and brought the Fairbanks Police Department to his door when complaints continued coming in after 2 a.m. of noise disturbance. One of the officers had gone to high school with Emy and knew she was home on leave and an MP, so no action was taken, and the party winded down almost instantly.
There were 6 large spruce wood picnic tables, stained a cedar red color to match the deck. Several lounge chairs were scattered about and nearly 20-feet of foldable serving tables to hold all the food and needed utensils. For the meal, Emy’s dad was already barbecuing two rather large moose roasts, having started at 10 a.m., over a slow roasting flame. There would be king and silver salmon steaks, halibut fillets, caribou steaks, and reindeer sausage, a dozen chickens spilt into pieces, London broil at least 3 inches thick for the beef lovers and pork steaks for those who couldn’t eat beef because of dietary problems. He had enough meat and fish here to make any grown man salivate, and the odors were already carrying across the neighborhood, telling the people it was time for the annual end of summer barbecue and wishing they’d been lucky enough to have been invited.
For his contribution, Clay was asked to bring a case of assorted flavored sodas and a bag of ice, so he walked over to the nearby Safeway, selected two flats of mixed cans of drinks and piled two bags of ice on top. He then used his new cell phone to call the Yellow Cab dispatcher and request an employee’s special ride. If a cab wasn’t busy, drivers received free transportation if the other driver was willing to cooperate, and this was almost always the case. But along the way, the taxi may be dispatched to a call, and the off-duty man or woman would have to wait a bit before getting to their destination. In Clay’s case, the cab was parked nearby and the driver, who barely knew Clay but was a fellow Athabascan, transported him directly to Emy’s house without any side trips.
Clay was surprised by the number of cars parked along the street outside Emy’s house. The parked cars made it look as if a hundred people or more were in attendance and once Clay was inside, he discovered he was pretty close in his estimation and probably on the low side.
Emy wore a blue summer dress and looked as if she had come right out of the wheat fields of Kansas. She answered the door, relieved Clay of the ice and took it out into the garage to place it in a very large 22 cubic foot floor freezer. Another young man Clay had never seen before suddenly showed up and took the soda away and carted it toward the deck outside. Clay looked out through a rear dining room window and could see this was where the masses were converging. He thought about waiting for Emy, who seemed to have disappeared, but then her mother appeared to grab him by the arm and lead him through the kitchen and out onto the deck. The picnic tables were full of families; with kids from babies and toddlers, pre-teens and teenagers to young adults and then the old farts. Most of the men-folk stood around talking, and they ran from early twenties to senior citizens, each one with a beer, mixed drink, or a non-alcoholic beverage in his hand. Clay also noticed a good sized group of men who stood around the barbecue. Emy’s father basted the two massive roasts on the iron spit, which was being turned slowly by an electric engine. Clay had never seen such a large barbecue pit before; he figured it was holding more than 60lbs of meat on its rotating spit.
Clay was startled by this whole affair. It had been a long time since he had attended a GI barbecue, which was roughly the same size as this one. But for the last 6-years, he’d been pretty much of a loaner and on assignment, so this rubbed up against his comfort zone somewhat. Emy suddenly appeared at his side with her left arm draped through his right and a big joyous smile on her face. “Can’t you feel it?” She asked. She glanced around the room and then was suddenly gone again, leaving Clay there wondering what she was talking about. He’d been to a lot of barbecues in his life, some rowdy and some downright homey, but the twitter she caused to his stomach was something brand new. Then he spotted her. She stood beside her father and pointed back at him. Dad turned and casually waved with a huge blue barbecue mitten on his right hand. Clay waved back. He didn’t want to approach unless he was summoned, there were a lot of men around he didn’t know and didn’t want to make it look like he was pushing his way in. By the looks of the men-folk, he saw a lot of servicemen or prior servicemen and women in this large group. The short haircuts and tattoos were always a giveaway, then their stance and finally the look in their eyes. For the ones who had seen close combat, there was always that particular look in their eyes that could never be faked. No actor had ever been able to reflect that particular blank look, and he hoped they never could because to him it was born of pure honesty. For war was truly terrifying and horrifying, a point in a man or woman’s life when she was quickly changed in the blink of an eye and could never go back to who they were a moment before. For those who were in c
ombat too long, they now drifted about with the infamous 1000-yard stare. All too many Viet Nam veterans came home with this look, and now, it had become apparent in the veterans returning home from the sandbox- especially after their second and third tour of duty.
Then it came. Emy’s dad waved Clay over with a simple gesture of his blue mitten. For the briefest of moments Clay stood frozen, he struggled with a desire to leave the house and just tell the FBI he couldn’t do this job. The idea of putting Emy and her family in prison sickened him, but besides him never earning his major’s gold leaf, Clay still had his oath to consider; serving and protecting his country against domestic terrorism. Slowly, Clay made his way over. He only stopped long enough to grab an ice cold cola, pop it open and take a long sip. He really wanted a beer or something stronger but knew this wasn’t the time to get goofed up and blow his assignment because of his boozing. The crowd of men separated and allowed room for Dad to take his barbecue mitten off and shake Clay’s hand, to welcome him officially to his house. Clay was then introduced to several of the older men standing about, while Emy went outside to join in the on-going volleyball game in the backyard.
“Clay, this is Silas Wickersham… these gentlemen are Allen Peterson, Norm Johnson, Sid Linker, and Greg Slocum…and we have Charlie Yoder, Chad Kenders and Steven Rouse.” All of the men stepped up and shook hands with Clay. He needed to wipe his right hand off on his jeans to dry it; damp from holding the ice cold can of soda.
First thing Clay noticed was Kenders, who was a half Eskimo, and Slocum, half Indian and probably Athabascan because of their location here. Between the Eskimo, Aleut, and Indian, there were some noticeable physical differences between them. Add in the half-white or half Afro-American influence or other minority influence, and there are very noticeable differences. Clay had known of at least two Japanese men who had married Athabascan women, and one woman from Indonesia who had married an Athabascan missionary back in the 1960’s and their grandchildren were spread all over the interior. Being Christian, they were no longer welcome back in the Muslim world of Northern Indonesia, so the family had to stop their visits.
Chad Kenders had a rounded face, was quite dark skinned, but shorter than the rest of the men and quite stout. Clay would not want to wrestle the man and wondered if he too, had dealt with the same racial problems Clay had for being a breed?
“Mr. Jefferson, or might we call you Clay?” Silas had stepped up and was facing Clay.
“Clay is fine, Sir.” Clay recognized authority in this man and also a lot of pain. He recognized the eyes of an old warrior, one who had led men into combat and had written too many letters home to their loved ones for when their young man had fallen. He also noticed the Texas A&M University ring on his right hand, knowing this college was well known for its Army ROTC program.
“Well, Clay, from what our gracious host tells me, you’ve only recently returned from over there and have received your Honorable Discharge with a high disability rating. On behalf of myself and the others here, I wanted to thank you for your service to our country.” Silas again offered his hand, and Clay grasped, while the others came up and patted Clay on his shoulders.
Silas then pulled out a business card from his wallet and handed it to Clay, “I own Wickersham Chevrolet on South Cushman, and we offer a 20% discount off sticker price for combat veterans. If you need a car or a job, you come see me. Emy told me you were driving Yellow Cab… that’s no job for a former US Army Captain with your awards for valor. No, you come see me, and we’ll see about a job… all right, Clay?”
“Yes, Sir,” Clay said, and then he looked down at the business card, which had all the lettering in gold.
Emy’s Dad stepped up then and reprimanded Silas for talking shop at his barbecue, “You know the rules, Colonel. Now you’ve got to take over here, while I see about the rest of the meat. If I don’t get some fish on here, the wife is liable to skin me.”
Silas looked over his shoulder at Clay, as he pulled the barbecue mitten on, “I’m a retired Colonel, Clay. US Army...commanded a company of the 173rd Airborne in Viet Nam in ‘68, spent some time in Germany and General Staff in DC, then up here finally with the 6th Infantry-Buffalo Soldiers out of Fort Wainwright. Then I pulled the pin and my Wendy Sue, and I have been up here for 35-years. That’s her sitting over there gabbing with a table full of grey-haired lovelies.” Silas pointed with his barbecuing brush, with sauce droplets all over the deck and his people darting this way and that to get out of the way.
Clay looked over and saw the senior ladies and wondered what it was like for them to spend their lives following their husbands around the world, to raise their kids in often terrible conditions and have to play out the role of the Colonel’s Lady and stay shy of post-politics.
Emy was back again to stand in front of him and ignore the looks of the other men around her. All her attention was on one man, and this tended to make Clay uncomfortable. “Did you meet everyone?”
“Not everyone, but your dad introduced me to this group here, and I believe I was offered a job at Wickersham Chevrolet.” He pulled the business card out and showed it to her.
“Oh, that’s good. He gave you one of the gold ones. He has two types, and he saves this one for important people. Besides, this was the group I wanted you to meet, the rest of the people are great and all, but they’re just people. This group here, they’re important, and I am hoping you might see why sometime.”
Clay looked into Emy’s eyes, “You’re a very strange lady and being a pessimist, I keep asking myself, why all this attention to me?”
For a brief moment, her grin was gone, and then it was back, and her eyes lighted up again, “You’re a pessimist, and I’m an optimist. You helped me out, even after I slammed you bad and a lot of men would’ve either ignored me, hurt me or even taken advantage of me. Yet, you played my knight in shining armor and brought me home. I thought you were worth having as a good friend… got it?”
Now Clay was grinning, “Yeah, I got it, but I’d better be buffing up my armor if you keep having nights out like that.”
Her grin was gone again, but there was no bitterness in her eyes. She was suddenly very serious and reached out to grab his hands, “For the first time in a very long time, Clay, I feel very safe. You’ve done that for me. I’m not sure how, but I’m glad it was you in that taxi that other night.” Then Emy was gone again, back to the kitchen to help her mother and leave Clay there with a twitter in his stomach, his mouth hanging open and strange warmth in his chest. Right at that moment, Emy’s Dad came up behind Clay’s blindside, and he jerked around in a flash with his hands up in an offensive posture. Then he saw Dad standing there with a surprised look on his face, and he immediately lowered his hands.
“Easy, Lad…It’s only me,” Dad said. His hands were also up, but in defense, concerned that Clay might lash out. He’d seen one too many veterans respond with violence for no apparent reason and he should’ve known better than to come up behind Clay without announcing himself. He hadn’t been home from the sandbox that long to have adapted to civilization.
“I’m sorry, Sir…just…just combat. It does that to you, an automatic reflex to stay alive.” Clay dropped his hands and reached over to pick-up his soda.
“My fault, Clay, I shouldn’t have surprised you like that. I simply wanted to have a chat with you about Emy, while she was away helping her mother.”
“Yes, Sir, that would be fine.” Clay directed Dad over to a set of lounge chairs in the corner of the deck against the house, and the two of them sat down on the blue over-stuffed chairs. They set their drinks down on a small white plastic table, and Clay waited for Dad to begin. Outside on the lawn, the joyous game of volleyball had transformed into a combative game of who can knock the most players out with spiked balls, gang tackles and body blocks under the nets. The smaller children were on the sidelines rooting for their favorite team or player. There would be a lot of bruises and black eyes before this game was over.
“Sir!” Clay glared at Dad, shot to his feet and spilled his can of soda.
“Sit down, Clay. Don’t get excited.”
Clay didn’t know what to think and remained on his feet, “Sir, as hokey as it sounds, my intentions are strictly honorable…in fact, I had no intentions.”
“Dad!” Emy screamed. Her voice carried, and it could be heard throughout the house, deck, backyard, and most of the neighborhood. Dad suddenly noticed that his daughter was no longer in the kitchen, but was now standing only a couple feet behind him. Her face was flushed red, her hands were on her hips, and her icy glare was directed right at him. She was not happy. To make matters worse, everyone on the deck had become eerily silent.
Who needed reality TV? Clay thought for some strange reason. Then Dad suddenly realized he had really messed up when he looked over to the kitchen door and saw the look of doom on his wife’s face and the threatening tapping of her right toe against the floor. It was the couch tonight for sure and maybe the whole week.
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