Cole Dust Cole

by Micheal Maxwell

  “Can I talk to you outside?” Ernie said walking past Cole.

  Cole looked at Kelly and gave a shrug.

  “Go,” she mouthed with a smile.

  Ernie paced in strides as long as the porch would allow. His ruddy face was a deep red and Cole realized from the fierce glare he received as he came out the door that his neighbor was burning mad.

  “How could you do that?” Ernie growled.

  “Do what?”

  “Embarrass me like that; make me look like a fool!”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa partner, back the wagon up. I have no clue what you are so upset about.” Cole held his arms up like the outlaws had the drop on him.

  “Bringin’ a woman in the house and not telling me! Shit fire and save matches Cole, I thought we were friends. I knock on the door, there she is. I wasn’t prepared for that. How the hell could you do that? Where did you find her, anyways? I never seen her before. She ain’t from around here. She from Lawton? How’d you pick up a woman that fast anyway? I was just here two days ago. She moved in? Folks don’t cotton to shackin’ up around here, least ways if you want to have any decent friends. Jesus, Cole, what are you thinking?” Ernie was panting he was firing questions so fast.

  The absurdity of the situation almost made Cole laugh, but the fire in Ernie’s eyes made it clear that laughter would not be the best medicine this morning.

  “Listen,” Cole said, motioning to the chair on the porch. “Have a seat, you got this all wrong. Kelly is my, my...” Cole paused. What does one call a woman of nearly fifty that you’re dating? Girlfriend seemed silly and condescending. Cole’s mind raced for a word. “Kelly and I have been dating for months. When she heard I inherited the house she volunteered to help get it cleaned up. Kelly’s son Ben, is my son-in-law.”

  “What?”

  “Back in San Francisco. Ernie, I didn’t just pick her up. I appreciate the compliment but she is here to help me get this place fixed up, that’s all. No funny business, we most assuredly are not shacking up. Now can we go back inside and start over? I am really sorry if it looked like, I don’t know, whatever you thought it looked like, but you got it all wrong.”

  “This ain’t California you know, we observe certain proprieties.” Ernie’s voice hushed to a forced whisper.

  “Would it help if she was my granddaughter’s grandma?”

  “What? You all of a sudden turn into Jerry Springer. Hell no, it wouldn’t help.”

  “We aren’t sleeping together Ernie,” Cole said matter-of-factly.

  “Now that is weird.” Ernie looked at Cole for a long moment. “You ain’t queer, are ya?” Ernie whispered.

  Cole laughed. He tried to hold it back but it just burst out. “Ernie, come on back inside and let’s start over. Please, come on.” Cole patted his friend’s shoulder.

  Ernie stood, and like a scolded child being admitted back into class, went back in the house. Cole hesitated telling Ernie about Kelly because he saw the loneliness and frustration being single caused this good man. A vibrant relationship is one of the few things in life that puts a magnifying glass to the lives of those without one. Cole knew Ernie really didn’t care where or how Kelly came to be there. Once again, Ernie had lost a “single” fellow traveler and it hurt.

  “Kelly Mitchell, I would like to introduce my friend and neighbor, Mr. Ernie Kappas.”

  “How do you do Ernie, nice to meet you.” Kelly gave Ernie one of her prize winning smiles and offered him a seat at the table where his coffee mug sat waiting.

  Ernie sat down and traced the top of the mug with his index finger. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you. I just was kind of shocked to have a lady open the door.”

  “It seems I have a few things to learn about Middle America that we in California seem to have forgotten.”

  Cole was never disappointed in Kelly’s ability to put people at ease. Usually she took the responsibility for the shortcoming or error and freed the other person from further discomfort. As she took a seat at the table it seemed the room grew warmer and the uneasiness in his neighbor disappeared.

  “Do you like catfish, Miss Mitchell?”

  “Kelly, please. And yes, I love it.”

  “It’s time to harvest a few fish from the pond before they get too big and start dying. I usually do it about this time of year, but since you’re here now I didn’t think it would be right to just jump in and start takin’ ‘em without saying something first.”

  “Sounds like fun but I don’t have much time for going fishing.” Cole wasn’t sure if this was a real need or a spur of the moment conversation starter.

  “It doesn’t take long. But it needs to be done. Otherwise they die, it stinks and you waste a lot of good eatin’.”

  “Well then, you should take some time to go fishing.” Kelly turned to face Cole. “Why not right now?

  “For one thing I don’t have a pole.” Cole felt like he was being ganged up on.

  “We’re not going that kind of fishing!” Ernie started to laugh. “You’ve never pond fished for cat before?”

  “Can’t say that I have. What do we use, a spear?”

  Ernie laughed again. “No, no we use our arms.”

  “Our what?”

  “Arms.”

  “This I’ve got to see.” Kelly looked at Cole, sensing his hesitancy to get involved in “arm” fishing.

  A few minutes later the three stood at the edge of the pond, barefoot and, in the case of the men, shirtless.

  “There are barrels buried in the walls of the pond you see. All we have to do is stick our arms in and get ‘em.” Ernie pointed to the sharp edge of the water opposite the gradual slope where they stood.

  “Aren’t they slippery?” Kelly asked.

  “Doesn’t matter. Watch.” And with that Ernie waded in. “Gets kind of deep in the middle.”

  The water was about a foot above his waist when Ernie turned for the long side of the pond. Bending down he began to feel along the edge. With a sudden jerk and a strained grunt Ernie yelled, “Got one!”

  With a great heaving motion, Ernie’s arm, or rather a three-foot catfish attached to his arm, leaped out of the water. The huge fish had its mouth around Ernie’s elbow. He raised his arm above his head as the tail swung frantically at the sky. Ernie laughed and tried to keep his balance as he wrapped his free arm around the big fish and made his way for the bank.

  “Here, grab it!” he called to Cole.

  Kelly squealed and moved away from the edge of the water. Cole approached the fish not really knowing what he was going to do or where to grab. Ernie thrust out the tail end of the fish at Cole.

  “Get ‘em in the middle. Hang tight,” Ernie cried.

  Cole caught the fish behind its fins and held tightly as Ernie pulled his arm from deep within it. The fish thrashed about violently and twice Cole almost lost his grip. The gaping mouth of the huge catfish was just beneath Cole’s chin as his grip turned to a bear hug. Ernie brought along an army green bag that now rested at Cole’s feet. From the bag Ernie produced a hammer with a thick black rubber handle and shiny chrome head.

  “Throw ‘er down!” Ernie yelled.

  Cole happily complied and watched as Ernie struck the fish in the head several times. It flopped hard, rolling from side to side and then lay twitching in the grass. Ernie pulled a buck knife from the pocket of his shorts and in swift, experienced strokes, beheaded and gutted the fish. The head and entrails were tossed into the pond and almost instantly disappeared into the gulping, grasping mouths of a splashing flurry of waiting fish.

  “Your turn,” Ernie said turning to Cole.

  “Yeah, your turn,” Kelly said, giving Cole an “I don’t think you can do it” grin.

  “Isn’t this enough for dinner?” Cole asked hesitantly.

  “We need to take out at least half a dozen. We’ll fillet and freeze most of it.”

  Cole looked at Kelly. She stood with her arms folded and her head cocked to the side. Her smile and po
sture screamed “Chicken”. This was something of a challenge that Cole could not let go unmet. As much as he didn’t want to stick his arm down the throat of a twenty-pound catfish, he dreaded going into the dark green water of the pond even more. Never a big fan of swimming, not being able to see what swirled around him in the dark was even more abhorrent to him. He slowly waded into the pond. He would show Kelly what kind of a “big, strong, macho, swimming in the murk, catfish gagging, outdoorsy” kind of guy he was!

  If he had known the degree to which Kelly was repulsed by this strange ritual, the bludgeoning of the fish and its vivisection, Cole would have happily forgone the opportunity to arm fish. As he made his way across the pond Cole felt the soft bump of fish hitting his legs. A shiver went through him and he felt a chill even though the water was well above seventy degrees.

  “Go down a little ways from where I was,” Ernie suggested to Cole.

  Cole reached the steep side of the pond and reached out in an attempt to feel the wall. His right hand hit the muddy vertical surface and he made his way along the grass and roots until he hit something hard and plastic. He felt along the curved surface long enough to determine it was a barrel protruding from the wall of the pond.

  “You find it?”

  “Yeah, I think so,” Cole offered.

  “Now, reach in and hold real still. When it swallows your hand, shove your arm in as far as it’ll go. Then bring ‘er out! Don’t worry, it will hang on,” Ernie coached from where he now stood above Cole.

  As a kid Cole helped his father install a new electrical box in their family room. It required running wires under the floor and up through a wall on the other side of the room. It was Cole’s job to crawl under the house and pull the wire across. The crawlspace beneath the house where he lived most of his life was an eighteen inch nether region of darkness, spider webs and God knows what that required the eleven year old to enter head first. Cole found the space just big enough to allow him to rise up on his elbows and make his way along by dragging himself, inch by inch, using his elbows to pull his weight through the darkness. The only light was the screened air vent just above the foundation under the windows of the family room.

  Using the small rectangle of light to guide his way, Cole crawled the depth of the house, bumping his head on low hanging pipes, spitting out and swiping at sticky spider webs.

  “I’d do it,” his father conceded, “but my back won’t take the crawling. Besides, I’m just too big. You’ll be fine.”

  Now all these years later, the fear of “the creatures in the dark” that Cole imagined under the house were actually a reality, and he was trying to get them to eat him! Slowly his arm ventured deeper and deeper into the barrel. He felt a large slick object slide against his palm. Freezing, he closed his eyes and images of great white sharks glided through the waters of his mind. He pushed his arm a little further into the abyss. He felt a sharp sting and the sticky grasp of a fish taking in his hand. He gave a hard push forward. His arm shook to the shoulder. A deep pain shot up the underside of his arm. He yanked back. The fish held firm as he began to back away from the wall.

  “You got one!” Ernie yelled above him.

  Cole couldn’t answer. He tried to raise the fish out of the water as Ernie had done. He couldn’t lift it. The fish reared its head and Cole could feel its body violently jerking in front of him. He tried to push his arm further into the fish. He hoped that the pain or disruption of the fish’s internal workings would stop its thrashing. It was not to be. The weight of the fish was pulling against the tendons in Cole’s wrist. Unlike Ernie, who had nearly half the length of the fish to counter balance its weight, Cole’s fish was barely past his wrist and was bending his hand down at a right angle. The weight and struggle was straining and stretching Cole’s arm and burning like fire.

  As he staggered onto the bank Cole’s arm dangled at his side and the fish beat against his leg. Ernie ran to where Cole stood and grabbed the fish just behind the gills. Out of the water Cole’s fish was nearly a foot longer than Ernie’s. As it tore from Cole’s hand, the barb of an old fish hook left a deep scratch that began to bleed and drip onto the grass.

  “Damn boy, that is a fish!” Ernie cried excitedly.

  The thud of the hammer against the fish’s skull made Cole cringe and he turned away. Kelly stood several feet away with her back turned to the pond.

  “Gallon a guts!” Ernie exclaimed as he ran his hand along the inside of the fish’s rib cage.

  Kelly suddenly ran for the house.

  “What’s with her?” Ernie asked innocently.

  “I guess we are bigger city slickers than we realized. I appreciate your help with this Ernie, but this is just not my thing, you know. Take all the fish you want.”

  “The hell you say. Well, guess I’ll be eatin’ catfish again this winter.” Ernie smiled. “Go see about the lady. You better put something on that arm. I’ll handle it from here.”

  “Thanks Ernie, I owe you again.”

  As Cole turned, he heard the dull crunch of bone as Ernie took the head off the huge catfish. “Yeah,” Ernie said, with a laugh that Cole wasn’t sure how to read.

  Kelly sat on the porch, her hands clasped tightly between her knees, her head down and her hair hiding her face. She looked up as Cole approached the steps.

  “Pretty stupid, huh?” she said, not looking at him.

  “Pretty, at least,” Cole said, sitting down beside her.

  “He must think I am a real wuss.”

  “We.”

  They both laughed and Cole put his good arm around her shoulder. “I think it will be a while before I eat catfish again.” He held his other arm out and inspected the scratches. “Do they have teeth?” Cole queried as he turned his arm and looked closely at a deep cut.

  “Let’s go clean that up.” Kelly stood. “Do you even have a first aid kit?”

  “Of course not.”

  After washing the wound with a bottle of anti-bacterial soap, it was decided a trip to the drug store and then buying paint and wallpaper was the next order of the day. Kelly got her notes and sketches and grabbed her purse. “Let’s take the Mustang! Top down, it will be fun.”

  When they returned, three hundred dollars more on Cole’s Visa card and several cans of paint and rolls of wallpaper heavier, Ernie was nowhere in sight.

  The pharmacist at the Rexall Drug Store gave Cole a sample of a strong antibiotic cream and Kelly expertly wrapped his wounds with the bandages they bought. They grabbed hamburgers and chocolate shakes at the Dairy Queen and ate them in the car on the way back. Neither mentioned the fishing expedition.

  It was nearly five o’clock when Cole shook off the paint chips from his clothes and out of his hair and gave up scraping for the day. In the downstairs bathroom Kelly was finishing up painting the trim around the window. Cole admired her work, then gathered up the plastic she used for drop cloths and rolled them up and shoved them into a shopping bag for the night. He carefully opened the window for ventilation and closed the door.

  Kelly tossed together a salad and made garlic toast in the oven while Cole went upstairs to shower. Later, when Kelly showered, Cole grilled two lamb chops rubbed with olive oil and fresh dill, baby red potatoes and zucchini on a small hibachi he got at the hardware store. The food was hot, fresh and a lot more in keeping with what they were used to. Over dinner Kelly explained her plan for wallpapering the upstairs bedrooms and finishing the paint scheme for the upstairs bath. She asked for Cole’s thoughts on her plan for the kitchen and to her delight he envisioned the final look much the same way she did.

  When the dishes were cleaned and the table cleared, they retreated to the living room.

  “I will not fall asleep tonight!” Kelly laughed as she took three notebooks from the shelf.

  “I have to admit it was pretty dull going last night, but you know, it made me look at how little we actually remember from life. What he wrote was pretty uneventful, but isn’t life mostly a series of
events we recall connected by memories of events that are lost? Like today, a year from now we’ll remember the catfish scratching the crap out of my arm, and the gross way Ernie tossed their guts to their brothers and sisters back in the pond, but will we recall how good the hamburger was we ate for lunch? Or how we laughed about how weird the ointment smelled the pharmacist gave me? Today it mattered, tomorrow it’s gone.”

  “My goodness, I really missed something by falling asleep.”

  “Maybe it’s just old age creeping in. It just seems life is rushing by and disappearing.”

  “I sometimes think I remember too much. Things I wish I could let go of. Memories are a two edged sword Cole. You think you want to remember things, but you really don’t. We have both lost someone we loved very much. Do we really want to remember the smell of their hair as they leaned against us, or the way they put toothpaste on their brush? I think that part of healing, the thing that dulls the pain, is the fading away over time of what we hold on to as precious. I still think I get whiffs of Peter’s aftershave when I go in the bathroom. But he was never in the houseboat, Cole. If we can’t let go we go crazy.”

  “I guess so,” Cole said, flicking the pages of a notebook. “I am not really talking about Ellie. I...” Cole paused for a long moment. “You have filled such a void in my life. Now don’t freak out on me. I’m not getting mushy, I just find who you are has lifted me up out of that need to hang on. I will always have a love for Ellie. You will always have a place in your heart that will only be filled by Peter. That kind of love doesn’t diminish with more love in a person’s life. My mom used to say “love is the one thing there is always room for no matter how much you have”. Loving one person doesn’t mean you love someone else less. I just started thinking about how we need to live life where we savor the little things; God knows the big things take up room enough, good or bad.”

  Kelly took Cole’s hand and leaned forward and kissed him. “You are a wonder, Cole Sage,” she said, as she gently raised her hand to his cheek. “Read to me.”

  Cole opened the notebook on his lap and smiled. Once again Kelly knew exactly where to put the period at the end of a sentence. Her uncanny ability to transition before the edge left a conversation, never allowed for too much to be said, or thoughts to grow stale. He looked down at the first entry and began to read.