We went to high school together. She lived across the street from me. I worked for the same company as her father did, and at the same time. After high school we lost track of each other. She joined the army, got married, and eventually went to the Persian Gulf to fly Black Hawk helicopters with the 101st Airborne in the Gulf War. I think she was on her third husband then.
She would visit my father when she was in town, and I would visit hers. When my dad died, she left a letter for me. Unfortunately her meth-addicted sister left it at the wrong address and it was a month before I saw it. I had decided to move to Washington (state) some time before, so I was happy to find out that she lived there. She was on husband #4 (her last), who liked to beat her up and terrorize her cat. We kept in touch as she went through her divorce. I stopped in at her dad’s during his final illness, and reported back to her. Her relatives couldn’t be counted on to tell her what she wanted – the truth.
She bought a small two-bedroom house on the Olympic Peninsula. It was built in 1912, so it needed some work. She dry-walled and mudded, took out a wall to make the house more airy, painted and recarpeted. She wired up some new lights and new heaters. It’s really a cute little house.
Her cat didn’t like me. But then, her cat didn’t like anybody – expecially men. (Her ex’s kitty-torture left the poor thing, as the vet said, neurotic.) Nevertheless when I was visiting last month, the cat climbed up into my lap and let me scratch her. The cat has cancer of the cartilage and has nasty, scabby, hard wounds on her neck. She’s not in pain though, so she hasn’t been euthanized. Oh, she’d still growl and hiss at me; but she’d be friendly enough if left to her own terms. This trip, she was much the same. My friend said that aside from herself, the cat has never gotten into anyone’s lap but mine. I guess I made a friend. A neurotic friend, but the cat has come a long way.
I went up to Washington last week to help my friend move. I painted and cleaned, and helped out where I could without getting in the way. My friend asked me to wipe down the inside of the refrigerator, and I went on to the stove top. When she saw the stove she said, “Oh! You cleaned the stove! I love you!” I said, “Really? Will you marry me?” She said, “Yes, if you clean the oven too.” I cleaned the oven, but I won’t hold her to the deal.
Thursday we were in Tacoma to get a camper shell put on her truck. We stopped into Fred Meyer and I bought a couple of inflatable mattresses. Her belongings were being packed onto a lorry on Friday. Naturally, I got the leaky mattress – and the Fred Meyer was an hour away. “Those,” as my dad would say, “are the breaks of Naval warfare.” I’d also bought a pair of Cobra tranceivers so that we could keep in touch on the road.
Saturday morning we packed her stuff into her truck. I loaded my “parachute bag” into the Jeep. We made one last sweep of the house. She burst into tears only very briefly and then said, “Goodbye, house!” And we were off.
She left the American flag in the closet for the next owners.
We headed south on Saturday morning, keeping in touch on the radios. (Very handy things to have, BTW.) After driving all day we arrived at the hotel south of Redding, CA at about eight o’clock. The cat had been in her carrier all the way, and she obviously didn’t know what was happening. She prowled around for a bit, then settled down when my friend spread her favourite blanket on one of the beds. Her cat jumped up and started “making bread” with her paws on it.
This morning brought another day of driving. We headed south again, refuelling and stopping when necessary.
Finally we hit Bakersfield. This is it. I was continuing south on the 5 to L.A., while she was taking the 58 to points east. She still has three days of driving ahead of her. We stopped at a Jack-in-the-Box to use the toilets, then hugged each other goodbye. She said, “We’ll see each other again.”, but I doubt it. I want to go north, not east; and I don’t see her coming back this way. Surely it’s the last time I’ll see the cat. I’m sorry that she learned to distrust men. She missed out on a lot of petting and ear-scratching. My friend said, “Don’t cry – like everyone else.” I didn’t, of course. Bad for the image.
And now she’s gone. Where is she now? Mojave? Barstow? Flagstaff? There’s no way of knowing until she calls me when she reaches her new home.
