Читать книгу GRILL!: The Misadventures of an RV Park Fast-Fry Cook - Diane Stegman - Страница 13

I return to my spying spot at my dining table with my wine and tea tree oil, dabbing the oil on each bite. I wonder if Bubba ever got the trash compactor fixed.

The dump truck suddenly fires up and Bubba roars the engine alive several times, as if he were taking out some aggressive behavior in the form of noise.

As Bubba drives away, I am left in a space of time where I can feel my feelings again. My heart begins to beat a little faster as I become aware of the craziness of the stupid choice I made to take a working vacation. “Be accountable for your choices!” That’s one of Dr. Phil’s famous and favorite statements. I just love Dr. Phil! I’ll try, Dr. Phil. I’ll try.

A bright outdoor light pops on from the edge of the roof behind the kitchen. A female comes out to smoke a cigarette. I can’t really see what she looks like. She looks nervously around and pauses as she looks in my direction. I don’t hear the dump truck running anymore, but I hear the golf cart on the other side of the lake coming back around the other way. It stops when I presume they are back at their trailer. Someone else comes out the back door and throws several cardboard boxes into the cardboard box pile, which at this point, looks to be about ten feet high and fifteen feet wide. It’s Betty! I can tell by the way she is moving! Roller-skating with boxes. Roller-skating back into the kitchen.

Car lights shine through my front curtain window and the sound of gravel crunching fills the quiet night as a vehicle slowly passes by on its way to the rear door of the kitchen. As soon as this occurs, I hear the golf cart fire up again and charge in my direction. Three people exit the back door of the kitchen. Bubba and Terry buzz by and halt at the van that is now parked. Everyone seems to be talking at once to the two passengers who are exiting the van. I hear Bubba belt out a loud laugh. It must be Billy and Ray returning from shopping in Redding. Bubba opens the rear door of the van and everyone starts hauling the tons of heavy boxes into the kitchen. I worry again about my new job. I have a feeling that working here and living here at the same time is going to require spontaneous involvement at odd hours. Am I expected to run out there and help right now?

Ray is rolling his oxygen tank behind him as he wanders over towards the big oil-drum-barbeque by the lake. He lights a cigarette. The van gets emptied and Billy drives it back around to the front. Terry walks by the fifth wheel on her way home, leaving the golf cart for Bubba. She is not very steady on her feet, and is mumbling as she passes my open window.

Bubba joins Ray over by the oil drum and starts wading up newspaper, and then stuffs it into the barbeque. They are talking, but I can’t quite hear the words. Bubba lights the newspaper and flames light up the whole area. Ray says something and Bubba rolls Ray’s oxygen tank over to the back door of the kitchen away from the flames. He goes inside the kitchen door and returns a few minutes later with a drink for Ray and a beer for himself. He gives Ray his drink and sets his beer on the redwood picnic table where Ray is sitting, then goes back over to the pile of cardboard boxes and grabs several. He brings them back to the fire and drops them on the ground. He starts ripping them apart and tossing them into the flaming barbeque barrel. Both men stare, as if in a trance, into the fire, their faces glowing orange. Bubba goes back for more boxes.

This talking, ripping, burning, and drinking goes on until I feel myself falling asleep at the dining table. I get up and set my alarm for 5:30, crawl up into my bed, and close my eyes to the flickering glow outside. I drift off to sleep with the sound of coyotes yipping somewhere close by.