'Just Another Day', by Kenneth M. Kapp
Charlie woke up grumpy which was not unusual and still had a chip on his shoulder even after gobbling down the poppyseed pancakes Greta made for breakfast. She had tried, knowing that he would insist on driving and that this would be a trying day. Poppyseed pancakes were his favorite.
Thirty minutes later, he was behind the wheel of their beater, bent over like a little old lady.
Greta rolled down the window, staring at nothing, not even watching the road roll by, and, without looking at her husband, heard herself nag, “Chuck, sit up straight. It’s not good for your health bent over like that.”
She tried turning it into a joke. “It’s not as if someone’s going to run alongside, reach in, and snatch that wheel out from under you. If I wanted a little old lady to do the driving, I would have insisted on driving myself.”
Charlie’s fingers tightened on the wheel. He glanced down and then quickly scanned the road ahead afraid he might have missed something. There, 10 x 4 position just like I was taught 65 years ago. Wonder if that’s where they got that 10 – 4, just about the only thing that’s OK when you’re old.
“Reason I’m driving is so we get to the coast safely. You drive too fast. I want to live long enough to finalize where I want my final drop-off. And there’s other stuff to consider too. And later we can walk over to that ravine you talked about. You have your phone, right? We can take pictures and get the GPS position with that app and send it on to the kids. They’re going to be delighted, NOT!”
“Well,” Greta was now staring straight ahead, “it’s not like they have much choice. We drew up the papers, signed and sealed. And it’ll be at most just one of us.” She paused for a minute, her voice softening. “Right, Sweetie, all these years and another joint project. Glad we have an understanding.”
He laughed.
“Yeh, when we’re dead we’re dead. May as well choose where we want to rest in peace. And who can afford the plot and all the bother? ‘Ashes to ashes’ and all that. Not too many people want to be on the floor in a back closet waiting for someone to kick their ashes or a cleaning service to come in and toss the box with your ashes in the trash? Yeh, we agreed on that. Now let me drive in peace.”
Charlie sat back, tried widening his shoulders, and muttered, “See if that’s better, Gret. Just getting old. Hunched is the new straight when you’ve passed 80.”
“Yeh, and passing wind is just green power?”
Greta coughed.
“Been off Route 1 ten minutes already, shouldn’t A be coming up soon?”
“Headwinds, Gret. Headwinds been slowing the beast. Car’s old like us.”
He smiled, listened carefully, and, hearing no laugh, added, “That was meant as a joke, Gret. We’d be getting crosswinds from the ocean anyhow since we’re still going north. Another few minutes to the cutoff. Don’t be in such a big rush driving headlong to the end. We’ll be there soon enough. Another fifteen minutes to find the dirt road going west off to our spot.”
She chuckled. “I think it’s just beyond the bend up ahead. Dead bushes and an old sign board. Maybe we should stop sometime, see if we can make out the last advert. Might be important like ‘The end of the world is coming.’”
“More likely ‘Eat at Joe’s.’ Of course could be the same thing, you think about it. All that food poisoning nowadays: salmonella, listeria, and the ever present E. Coli. Ever wonder what happened to the A, B, C, and D Coli? Just asking.”
They came around the bend and Gerta slapped her hand on the dash board.
“I was right; here’s the turnoff. And no, I have no idea what happened to the Coli family. That’s funny.”
Forty-nine years married, still laughs at his bad jokes, and I’m still along for the ride. She smiled.
“Maybe they opened a pizzeria up the coast?”
And then after a deliberately long dramatic pause she continued, “You know, Chuck, that’s not why I married you fifty years ago – your sense of humor. And please go easy on the potholes and our old-people bladders.”
Charlie grinned and sat back, concentrating on the rutted road ahead. “Gret, there’s a lot more brummps, brummps, brummps than the last time we were here.”
“I thought I heard a couple of brummmps-thumps too – like a rim shot. Just don’t cannonball us into a boulder, alright.”
He caught the reference.
“Jazz was great back then, Coltrane, the Adderley’s.” He doubled down, “‘Mercy, Mercy, Mercy’ that was ‘Somethin’ Else.’ I remember how a couple of times in the past this road was closed after an extended drought – the state foresters afraid that a low-slung vehicle would strike a spark if it hit a large rock in the road. Signs were posted on sawhorses between the ditches.” Charlie was trying to guess conditions by estimating the percent of green clumps versus brown.
“Ever think, Gret, we keep having droughts, this road may be closed because of fire conditions. What will the kids do with our ashes if they can’t bring them out here? Just being against global warming’s not going to get them a free pass.”
“I wouldn’t worry, Chuck; we’re going out in a blaze of glory anyhow – that’s how one crematory is advertising their services. Besides ashes keep best when it’s hot and dry. We’ve gone through this with the kids a dozen times already. In any case the instructions are in there with our will and stuff. We’re only coming out this time to get the GPS coordinates. Sammy says he can even do a flyover with one of his drones from the turnout in case things seem iffy. Give it a little more gas, I’m getting hungry and a beer up on the point will be perfect.”
The ride was longer than she remembered. She was too tired to comment on the Adderley composition and record, and kept thoughts about Miles to go or “Favorite Things” for the ride home, thinking maybe she’d get lucky and forget.
Charlie could already taste the salt air from the Pacific. Another quarter-mile and he knew they’d be able to hear the waves crashing against the cliff. Three minutes later he pulled up at the bottom of the small rise a hundred yards from their lookout. He turned off the engine.
Greta let out a cheer. “Jesus, I thought we’d never get here.”
“Well, we did. How about we get out the blanket and cooler, take a short walk to stretch, peek over to make sure the Pacific is still there, and then we can eat and have a beer.”
“Yup, Chuck, you’re right. Reminds me why I fell for you the first time.”
“Not because you tripped over the root of the oak tree?”
“Leave it, OK. It’s never going to be funny. Now I need to take a whiz. Think you can set things out and open a couple of beers before I get back?”
“Not a problem, love.”
After eating lunch and drinking their beers, they folded the blanket and put things back in the car.
A complete walk-around of the site to police the grounds – “It’s our eternal resting place,” Charlie joked, “we better keep it clean!”
Five minutes later, they walked hand-in-hand to the promenade from which Charlie’s ashes would be launched.
“Gret, get out your phone and bring up the GPS app. Take a couple of snaps and then we’ll go over to your ravine. Good thing we’re not Freudians – male projecting point and female ravine. Really.”
“Yeh, really. It is what it is. I think of the ravine as ‘Gimme shelter.’ You remember, Jagger and Clayton.”
“Yup. We fought the good fight when we were younger. Now we’re just getting by.”
Greta started to sing the Beatles song, “A little help from my friends.”
“We’ve had good days, Gret, good days.”
They continued on for another five minutes to a break between a tangle of coyote bushes.
Greta laughed. “OK, I’ll get some pictures and the coordinates, then let’s get going. We can stop at our favorite greasy spoon for supper. You’re the big-time spender after all.”
Charlie took her hand once the phone was back in her sling purse.
“Yup, that’s me alright, Mr. Party Hearty.”
This time they both chuckled and continued to walk past their car, hands swinging, exploring some of their favorite vistas.
~ * ~
It was a little after five when they walked into Joe’s. Early times. Joe waved them to their usual booth and brought over two menus. “You kids need these?”
Charlie looked at Greta. “Nope, we’ll both have the special and two lagers.”
“No problem. You have a good day?”
Greta answered, “Yeh, just another day in paradise.”
Charlie nodded, “Yup, just another day in paradise.”
Kenneth M. Kapp was a Professor of Mathematics, a ceramicist, a welder, an IBMer, and yoga teacher. He lives with his wife in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, writing late at night in his man-cave. He enjoys chamber music and mysteries. He was a homebrewer for more than 50 years and runs whitewater rivers on the foam that's left. His essays appear online in havokjournal.com and articles in shepherdexpress.com.
Please visit www.kmkbooks.com.
Photography by Carolina Basi