“A few of them are in decent shape, but many of them are using canes or walkers. Everyone I’ve seen so far, except Martha and her Botox, is wrinkled. Almost everyone is retired, and look at you. You’re healthy, vibrant, and you go to work every day doing the job of a man thirty years younger than you.
“When you’re out there on that football field acting like an old fool and when you’re onstage performing, the guys in your class are going to be wishing they could do what you do and the girls are going to be wondering how they let a guy like you slip away!”
I guess I hadn’t really thought about it like that.
“You really think so?”
“I know so!”
Suddenly, I felt better about the whole thing. Maggie has a way of making that happen. That’s why I keep her around.
We decided that if we were going to have a day in the country, we should start with a good country breakfast, so we jumped in the car and headed to the Crackerbarrel restaurant for a plate of biscuits and gravy.
When our tummies were full, we pointed the car in an eastward direction and found ourselves on Blue Mills Road.
We had decided to just drive the rural roads until we found what we were looking for --- we weren’t exactly sure what that was, but we figured that we’d know it when we saw it.
Suddenly, there it was --- a sign read, ‘Straw - $5.00 a bale’.
“Sounds right to me,” I said, turning up a gravel road.
There were fields on each side of the road. On one side we saw the remnants of a cornfield and a few stray stalks were still standing along the edge. On the other side, was a pasture with a small pond and at one end of the pond, cattails stood erect with their brown heads gently blowing in the breeze.
“Looks like we might be able to get everything we need right here,” Maggie said. “One stop shopping!”
We drove almost a mile before we came to a farmhouse with the same ‘straw’ sign on the fence.
I pulled into the driveway and as soon as we stepped out of the car, a big yellow lab trotted up to meet us.
I just stood there awaiting the inevitable. To this day I have never met a dog that could keep its nose out of my crotch.
I wasn’t disappointed.
The big dog buried her snoot right between my legs, gave me a sniff and licked the back of my hand. Apparently I had passed. Naturally her drool had left a wet spot right beside my zipper.
“Looks like you and Daisy has become friends,” said a voice coming from the direction of the barn.
An old guy in a straw hat and Big Smith overalls came striding up.
“You city folks lost?”
“No, actually we saw your sign. We’d like to buy two bales of your straw.”
He looked us over skeptically, “What’s a city feller want with straw?”
“Decoration. We’re decorating for our fiftieth reunion and having a fall theme.”
He spat a big wad of tobacco juice, some of which splattered on my shoe.
“Long as you got the ten bucks, I guess I don’t give a rat’s ass what you do with it.”
“We also noticed driving in,” Maggie said, “that you still have some corn stalks standing in one of your fields. We’d like to buy some of those too.”
“Can’t sell ‘em to ya.”
“Why not?” Maggie asked surprised.
“Cause it wouldn’t be right. Got no corn on ‘em. It’s already been shucked. I can give ‘em to you though.”
“Thank you very much. That’s very kind of you. We also noticed some cattails by your pond. Could we buy a few of those?”
“Nope! Don’t sell weeds. Damn things is a nuisance. They’ll take over a whole pond if’n you let ‘em. Take as many as you want.”
The farmer was being generous so I decided to forgive the wad of tobacco stuck to the toe of my shoe and the slime dripping from my crotch.
We paid the man and backed up to his barn. After the straw was loaded, he said, “Take care around that pond. With all the rain, the ground is kinda soggy. Don’t want to have to come pull your ass out of the mud.”
I had brought a couple of Willie’s trimming tools and we cut the cornstalks without incident.
I pulled to the side of the road beside the pond and climbed through the fence.
“Remember what the farmer said about the mud,” Maggie shouted as I approached the pond.
I walked gingerly to the edge, but the cattails were just out of reach. I tested the next step and it seemed solid enough, so I put my weight on that foot and reached for the nearest cattail.
I heard a ‘SCHLOOOP!’ and my foot sunk a good six inches in sticky, muddy goo. I immediately felt the cold water seeping into my shoe and reflexively lifted my leg.
My leg and my foot came easily out of the mud, but my shoe was still being held firmly in the muck and filling with water fast.
So there I was, standing on one leg like a gray-haired flamingo, holding Willie’s tool in one hand while trying to keep my balance.
I tossed the tool and took a step backwards searching for solid ground. By the time I had regained my footing, my shoe was almost out of sight.
I got down on my hands and knees and fished around in the muck hole until I found my shoe. I pulled with all of my might and finally, ‘SCHLOOOP!’ the shoe came loose.
I emptied the water and wiped away as much mud as possible on the grass. I gritted my teeth and slipped the thing on --- not a pleasant sensation.
Maggie had witnessed the whole debacle from the road and as I sloshed back to the car, she exclaimed, “Walt, are you all right?”
“I’ll be fine, but the Polk High School reunion is just going to have to survive without cattails!”
We headed back down the road and after a few hundred feet, Maggie pointed into another field. “Look hedge apples! Those are definitely fall things. Since we didn’t get cattails, how about picking up a few of those. Do you think the farmer would mind?”
I was pretty sure that he wouldn’t. I remembered from my days on my grandfather’s farm, that the big green balls were even more of a nuisance than cattails.
“No, he won’t care. I’ll go grab a hand full and we’ll head home before my foot shrivels up.
I crawled through the fence and headed to the big tree about a hundred feet away.
I had to walk carefully because the pasture was littered with meadow muffins. The last thing I wanted to do was step into a fresh pile of cow poop.
It took a few minutes to sort through the hedge apples that had fallen and find a half-dozen that were still in pristine condition.
My arms were finally loaded and I was about to head back to the car when I heard Maggie scream.
“Walt! Look Out!”
I looked in the direction that Maggie was pointing and fifty feet away from me, one of those big ugly bulls with a hump on its back was pawing the dirt, snorting and giving me the evil eye.
It suddenly dawned on me that meadow muffins just don’t magically appear in a field out of thin air. Something put them there, and in this case, a big, mean something.
My last encounter with a bull was on my first day on the job. A perp was pointing a gun at my head, and like me, failed to notice a three thousand pound behemoth that had zeroed in on his butt.
That bull saved my hide, but this one seemed to have other ideas.
As I slowly backed away, I remembered something about dogs being able to smell fear. If it was the same with bulls, he was probably getting a snootful.
I would walk backward a few steps and he would advance a few steps. I figured that if I could keep doing that and maintain the space between us, I would soon be within sprinting distance of the fence.
Everything seemed to be working according to plan until I took a step back and landed squarely on top of a hedge ball.
Naturally, being round, the ball rolled, my feet flew into the air and I landed on my back.
While I was momentarily suspended in mid air, my fear was
that I was going to land on one of those hard round hedge apples. When I didn’t, there was a moment of relief until I felt a warm, sticky substance oozing into the back of my shirt and trousers, followed by a pungent odor that nearly cost me my biscuits and gravy.
I had done a back flip into one of Mr. Quarterpounder’s meadow muffins.
At that moment, the term, ‘Bullshit!’ took on new meaning for me.
This turn of events seemed to push the bull over the edge, like maybe I had violated his sacred depository or something. He ceased pawing and started galloping. I looked over my shoulder and saw that I was maybe thirty feet from the fence.
I jumped to my feet and sprinted as fast as I could. I remembered that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. Unfortunately, that straight line bisected a half dozen more land mines and by the time I hit the ground and wiggled under the barbed-wire fence, I was covered from head to toe with the remnants of my adversary’s latest meals.
Maggie rushed to my side. She has always been quite supportive when my life has been in danger --- but not this time.
She took one look and one whiff, “AAAAAKKKK!” then sprinted twenty feet upwind.
I just stood there in shock, looking like the tar baby in Song of the South, only it wasn’t tar that I was covered with.
“W - W - Walt,” she gagged. “Get out of those clothes!”
“Right here?”
“Well you’re not getting in the car like that!”
I could see her point.
I stripped down to my skivvies, but the pungent goo had soaked all the way through.
“Those too,” she said.
“But Maggie! I’ll be buck naked!”
“Do it,” she said, handing me a blanket that we carried in the car for emergencies. This certainly qualified as an emergency in my book.
The bull, who had followed me to the fence had been watching the whole episode with great interest. I swear, I think he was smiling!
Figuring that I would get in one parting shot, I hung my clothes on the fence, fashioning them in such a way as to actually look like a man leaning against the fence. I put my poor shoes that had been hocked on, sunk in the mud and buried in poop, right under the pants legs. I hated to say goodbye. I really liked those shoes.
I thought that might give the bull something to think about for a while, and I knew for darn sure that when the farmer found my little surprise, he would have a story to tell around the cook stove that wouldn’t be topped for years to come.
Even stripped naked and wrapped in a blanket, Maggie made me ride in the back seat.
It was a quiet ride home. Neither of us wanted to open our mouths or take a deep breath.
One thought that popped into my mind was that there weren’t going to be any hedge balls at the reunion either. No cattails --- no hedge balls. I hoped that wouldn’t be a deal breaker.
When we pulled up in front of the building, my worst fears were confirmed. Willie, Jerry and the Professor were all sitting on the front porch.
None of the three are normally at a loss for words, but the apparition that crawled out of the backseat definitely left them speechless --- until I got within smelling distance.
“Whoooowie!” Willie said. “You sho’is ripe!”
I knew that I wouldn’t have a moment’s peace until I had satisfied their curiosity, so I plopped down on the step and told them the whole disgusting story.
Jerry, of course, couldn’t wait until I was finished. I could see him mentally sorting through his poop jokes as I was talking.
He didn’t let me down.
“There are two flies sitting on a pile of poop. When one fly farts, the other fly looks at him and says, ‘Hey do ya mind? I’m eating here!’”
Wearily, I struggled to my feet, and as I was climbing the stairs, naked, wrapped in a blanket, leaving a noxious trail behind me, a thought popped into my mind. “If only my classmates could see me now!”
CHAPTER 13
Father O’Brian had just poured his first cup of coffee when there was a knock on the door.
“Just in time for a cup of joe,” Paddy said, ushering his friend into the kitchen. “What’s on your mind?”
“You know darn well what’s on my mind and I know it’s on yours too. How can we just go back to our normal lives after what’s happened? How can we play Bingo when the men that murdered Frank are running around scot-free? Have you heard anything from the cops?”
“I called the old guy a few days ago, but there was nothing new. I think they’re stumped. This Corazon is a slippery character.”
“So what are we going to do about it?”
“What would you suggest?”
“The cops can’t watch Corazon 24/7,” Ernie replied. “It’s a manpower issue. They’re already spread thin, but you and me --- we’ve got plenty of time --- at least what time is left for us. I say we make the most of it. Let’s sit on the guy until he makes a mistake. I’d rather spend my final days doing that than watching Oprah on TV with Minnie Potter.”
Father O’Brian thought for a moment. “You’re right, Ernie. When one of the Three Amigos goes down, it’s up to the other two to make things right. I’m with you!”
“Great! I’ll fire up the old Buick while you pour that coffee into a thermos. Maybe we’ll stop by Dunkin’ Donuts on the way.”
Maggie was surprised to see me get up from the table before I had finished my second cup of coffee.
“What’s the rush?”
“Ox is leaving his SUV at the dealership for some brake work. I’m supposed to pick him up. See you tonight.”
“Try to avoid pastures today,” she said as I kissed her on the cheek. “I’m not sure I can tolerate another episode like yesterday. I love you --- but there are limits.”
“Very funny!”
Ox was waiting on the curb in front of the dealership. He climbed in and immediately wrinkled his nose.
“What’s that smell? It reminds me of the stockyards.”
I shared the story of my ill-fated encounter with Ferdinand the Bull. To his credit, Ox held it in right up to the point where I was standing naked in a farmer’s field wrapped in a blanket.
“Pictures!” he said, getting all choked up. “Did Maggie get any pictures?”
“I certainly hope not!”
“That’s got to be one of your best, Walt. In fact, it deserves a donut! Pull in here. I’ll buy.”
Apparently, the pungent aroma filling the car hadn’t dampened his appetite.
I pulled into the Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot just as Ernest Harding was walking out the door with a box under his arm
“Aren’t those our two letter writers?” Ox asked pointing to the old Buick.
“Sure are. Wonder what they’re up to?”
“Let’s find out!”
Ernie had just fired up the engine when Ox tapped on the window.
“Officer! Imagine that! Seeing two cops at a donut shop.”
Ox ignored the barb.
“Hi Mr. Harding, Father O’Brian. Just wanted to say how sorry we are about your missing friend.”
“Thank you,” Paddy replied. “Any news?”
“I’m afraid not. What are you two up to today?”
“We’re --- uhh --- we’re going to the museum. Heard there’s a new exhibit in town.
Ox looked at the donuts and thermos. “Must be planning on spending the whole day.”
“You never know. Later on we might play chess with some of the guys at Loose Park.”
“Sure. Well, have a good day --- and don’t do anything you might regret.”
“Hey,” Ernie replied, rolling up the window, “how much trouble could we get into at the museum?”
“Those guys are up to something,” Ox said, as we watched them pull into the street. “I can just feel it.”
“You’re right. I’d bet anything that they won’t be anywhere close to a museum today.”
On the way to the precinct, my cel
l phone rang.
“Walt? This is Archie Sanders.”
“Hi Archie. How are things at the theatre?”
“That’s what I’m calling about. You and Maggie didn’t get to see the play because of that unfortunate incident the other night and I thought you might want a second chance. We’ve been sold out every night and tickets have been hard to come by, but I’ve scored a couple for this Thursday. Think you could make it?”
Normally, our evenings are free, but as luck would have it, I had planned pumpkin carving that evening to fulfill the rest of my decorating committee duties.
“I’d love to, Archie, but I’ve already made a commitment. We’re pumpkin carving that night. Maybe you could give them to Martha Woodstock. I’m sure she’d love another opportunity to see the play.”
“No need for that, old chap. Martha has been at almost every performance and I can’t get away from the theatre without her corralling me. It’s almost like I’m being stalked.”
“The price of fame. Now that you’re the lead, are you going to make it to the reunion?”
“Wouldn’t miss it. The troupe has hired an understudy for me and he’s coming along nicely. I’ve already asked for the evening off.”
“By the way, how’s your friend that was shot?”
“He’s coming along nicely, but probably won’t be back onstage while we’re in Kansas City.”
“Good to hear. Well, see you there --- and thanks for the offer of the tickets.”
Ox had been listening to our conversation.
“Pumpkin carving? You’re really into this reunion thing, aren’t you?”
“Not by choice. Wanda Pringle, the reunion committee chairman, is like a drill sergeant, and Maggie is playing right into her hands.”
“Really! How so?”
I told him about reprising my roles as a Powder Puff Cheerleader and an Elvis impersonator.
Ox almost choked on his long john. “A cheerleader! Fabulous! Normally, you couldn’t get me anywhere close to a high school football game, but I wouldn’t miss this one for all the donuts in Kansas City!”
I pulled into the parking garage and Detective Blaylock pulled in behind me. My recent conversation with Archie had aroused my curiosity.
[Lady Justice 12] - Lady Justice and the Class Reunion Page 11