Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch. 02

"When my marriage failed, I didn't make a very good choice the second time. If I had learned something, wouldn't I have done better? You need to read the letter about that failure, too."

"Okay, while I put the steaks on, go get the letter."

"Okay," Gail turned to leave the kitchen area and as she walked across the old adobe tile floor, she told Howard, "And the same rule applies, you have to read it out loud to see if there's anything I want to change."

****

Ricky,

You will notice I did not begin this letter with "Dear" Ricky. You are not dear anything, to me. In fact, I should have begun it by addressing you as Mr. Hennessey, because I feel like I really don't know you.

I don't know if I was running away from home, looking for a friend, or just wanted a man in my life when I met you. I'm not sure what you thought you had, but it wasn't what you got. I wasn't interested in sitting in a bar all night. I didn't want to trade partners with strangers, and I certainly didn't want to move out of an apartment in the middle of the night, just to avoid paying the next month's rent.

I worked every day. I couldn't understand why you thought you didn't need to. It surprised me when I discovered the money I was giving you to pay our bills, went down the throats of a succeeding string of other women. Whatever else you did with them, you gave me an STD, which was really the last straw. And then you had the gall to accuse me of giving to you. It wasn't a very convincing argument when you "accidentally" allowed me to find another woman's underwear in the truck. Yes, the doctor gave me some medication which worked. Although you never asked, I thought you would like to know. Silly me, I thought marriage vows meant something.

I appreciate you buying the truck without saying anything about it to me. It was very nice that you let me have it in the divorce settlement. You will be happy to know I've almost finished paying it off. How long did you think you could keep hiding all the credit card statements? Five different VISA cards, charged to the max was not very good money management. Oh, I forgot, you didn't care, did you? You thought I could pay for them along with everything else.

I won't bother to thank you for leaving me with the furniture. It was a wedding gift from my mother. She had it delivered to the apartment before we married, so it's really mine. She wanted us to have a nice "love nest." Of course, it's no longer as nice looking. Using your knife to scratch an "X" on the table tops and every other flat surface you could find when you were angry with me does make it look a little "used." I suppose I should feel lucky you didn't use the knife on me, as you threatened to do so many times.

Seriously, I doubt this letter will cause you more than a moment of guilt. That's not my reason for writing. What I really wanted to tell you is, "Thanks." You taught me something, even if it took a black eye and a few broken ribs to learn it. Next time, don't tell your wife that her mother is a better lay than she is. She might not be as nice about it as I was. After all, weren't you supposed to be my teacher? I thought that's what being a virgin when you married was all about.

Someday, when your extraordinary good looks begin to fade, you better have something to sustain you because you are going to run out of women to support you. When your sexual prowess fails, or your promiscuity results in an illness that can't be treated by a few shots, you better have something to live for, because that mirror will tell you how far you have fallen. It is a fate I consider myself lucky to have escaped.

Gail

****

When Howard finished reading the letter, he looked at Gail where she sat, mesmerized by the flames in the big fireplace as if she were in some kind of trance.

"You don't want to change any of this one, either, do you?"

"No, not really, I'd probably make it a lot worse and it wouldn't faze him. He'd just laugh and consider himself lucky to have me out of his life." Her tone of voice changed when she said, "You know, a month or two after the divorce was final he called and asked me for a loan."

Howard walked over to the old rawhide covered couch and sat beside Gail. Like her, he was staring into the flames that were licking the bacon strips wrapped around their venison steaks.

"Gail, about this Ricky guy, why did you marry him?"

"I don't know Howard. Truly, I do not know. I've asked myself that same question at least once a day for the last couple of years and a lot more often than that the two years before that."

"But didn't you know, or suspect, what kind of a person he was?"

"No, and that's the absolute truth," she answered. "I was just barely eighteen years old. I could not stand to live in my mother's house for one more second. All I saw, were those other girls, getting married, wearing fabulous white dresses, opening piles of presents, moving away from home and into their own apartments. If I'd had any idea how easy it was, I could have done it all by myself and saved myself an awful lot of misery."

"Yeah," Howard admitted, "we aren't very smart when we think we know it all, are we?"

As Gail sat, staring at the flames in the fireplace, snatches of a conversation returned as if they were being spoken for the first time.

A gruff voice demanded to know, "What do you mean, you're quitting?"

"I'm resigning from my job and I am not giving two weeks notice," Gail answered.

Her boss was surprised. "Gail you've been here for five years. Have you accepted employment elsewhere?"

"No, Mister Abrams." Gail shook her head. "Although I've had offers in the past, I'm not going to work for your competition."

"Then why are you quitting?" Mister Abrams still sounded surprised, but he was beginning to accept that Gail was serious.

"Mister Abrams, in the last two years, two people in my department, with less time on the job than I have, have been promoted."

"Yes," the man answered, proud that he had people from his department advancing in the company. "Both of them had good experience before they came to work here. We like to promote from the inside. The company feels it retains more loyal and better trained employees when it does so."

"You are right." Gail's voice turned cynical. "Joan had six months at her previous job, less than a year here, and she was promoted. Alice had two years secretarial experience and was promoted in six months."

"Yes, they may have had less time with the company, than you have," he agreed, but he reminded her, "but both of them are fully licensed."

"Mister Abrams, I am also licensed, at my own expense and outside of office hours. Joan and Alice went to school at company expense during office hours. Not only that, all of my performance reviews, copies of which I have, show quote "this employee is considered an excellent candidate for promotion" unquote. I also applied for both of the jobs Joan and Alice were promoted to."

Dismissively, Mister Abrams said, "Now, Gail ..."

"Mister Abrams, I have enough proof to file a lawsuit for discrimination against this company. I would win and you know it. I think I'll just ask to be paid my two weeks severance pay and two weeks vacation pay, which I'm entitled to, and I'll just leave. It will be less trouble for you."

"Well, if that's what you want to do, I'll see if I can get a check for you, at least by the end of the week. I'm not sure I can pay you for the vacation time, though."

"Mister Abrams, I'd like to have my check, for the vacation time too, today, maybe within the next hour, or so. I think you would like to see me leave about as bad as I want to be gone. You can do that, can't you?"

****

Dear Mr. Abrams,

I really am sorry I had to leave my job. From the first day I worked for the company, I felt I was doing something I truly enjoyed. I had dreams of being more than just a person in the back room, handling stacks of papers, making copies, and typing forms for the examiners.

After the first year or so, I thought I was a valued employee. At least I was led to believe I was, because every person who was hired into my department spent their first few weeks learning from me. When you introduced them to me, you said, "This is Gail Fisher. She will show you what your job is, and if you have any questions, just ask her. She knows this department backwards and forwards."

Twice, other companies tried to hire me, offering me more money to go to work for them. Stupid me, I did not accept either of the offers because I had loyalty and a confidence I would be promoted to fill the next opening as an officer.

I enjoyed my profession so much. On my own time, and paying for the courses myself, I passed the exam and received my license. I did not wait for the company to send me to school. Maybe I should have waited. Two of my co–workers were given that opportunity, and they were advanced with much less experience than I had, and they were trained by me. Was I doing your job, too?

As I told you, Joan Evans had six months at her previous job, less than a year with the company, and she was promoted. Then within a year, she left to start a family. I cannot see that you or the company gained much for the expense of training and promoting someone who never intended to make her job into a career. She was looking for a wealthy man to marry and found one, a good client of the company.

Alice Bennett had two years secretarial experience and was promoted in six months. She found a different way to gain a promotion, did she not? I suspect Mrs. Abrams would be interested in learning the number of times you took three hour lunches on the same days Alice chose to take an afternoon off.

No, I have not shared any of my information with anyone else, nor will I do so because, I hope that if I ever seek another job, I will have a good reference from you. I will not ask a prospective employer to refrain from contacting my previous employer, but I may say that I had a "personal problem" with my supervisor. I'm sure anyone hearing that will understand they might get better information about my work habits, from someone else in the company.

Gail Fisher

****

It wasn't that Gail didn't like her job, she did. She liked it so much she planned to make it her career. It was the history of the city and the state, told in documents of who owned land, how long they owned it, and to whom they sold it, or a portion of it. From the date when thousands of acres were given to a long–ago Spanish or Mexican soldier, settler, or nobleman, until Johnny and Susie bought their little house on a very tiny portion of that land, documents detailed all the conveyances between those two dates.

Howard was saying something, and Gail was not listening until he tapped her on the shoulder.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I think the steaks are done. Let's eat."

Gail cut a piece of steak, put it in her mouth, and smiled, "Oh, this is venison? I didn't know it would be this good. I thought it might taste, I guess I've heard the word, 'wild,' used so many times." She laughed a little and added, "I'm not even sure what wild tastes like, but this is good."

"It's all in the way the meat is treated before it's butchered. You've heard of aged beef, right?" Gail nodded and he continued, "It's the same with game. It needs to be aged to develop a good flavor."

"Is that what you do with all the cows around here? Sell them to be butchered for steaks?"

"Yeah, eventually, that is, if I ever get enough of them."

"And now it's your turn to tell me about your world crumbling," Gail reminded Howard. "You've already learned about two of my big mistakes. What's your biggest rock look like?"

"Rock?"

"Yeah, my life is a rock wall," she explained. "I'm sitting on top and all the rocks breaking loose and falling are going to cause me to fall off. So I figure that's what I mean by my world crumbling."

"Hey, that's pretty good. I might even use that analogy myself."

"Ah, Howard, what does your biggest rock look like?"

"Oh," he grinned. "It didn't work did it?"

Gail liked his grin. It changed his face into the look of a little boy caught doing something naughty. "Nope, I'm persistent, I'll keep asking until you answer."

"Okay," his face, once again turning serious. "See, I work at a hardware store. I guess it's a good job. I get paid for it. But I can't stand my boss, and since he's the owner, I don't have much choice."

Pepper's Hardware was a small town hardware store, which meant they sold plumbing supplies, appliances, hammers, nails, or an electric drill – if that's what you needed. They also stocked batteries, tires, oil, and antifreeze for your car. But it didn't end there. The store sold bicycles, blue jeans, western shirts, and in the back you could get a one–hundred pound sack of deer corn, sacks of special feed for chickens, cows, pigs, and even dog food. Just about every thing you couldn't find at the local grocery store, you would find at Pepper's and a hook to hang it on.

Every year, Pepper hired, as part–time employees, at least two players of the local high school football team. Thursdays were spent with local football fans going in and out the store, talking about the upcoming football game. Fridays, the students even wore their game jersey to work. Local football fans filled the store, taking up aisle space, pre–playing the game. Saturday was even worse, more fans crowded the store congratulating or commiserating with the players over the previous evening's game, describing how the different plays appeared from their perspective in the bleachers. As soon as football season was over, the next sport, with usually the same players, went through the same process of pre–play and post–analysis.

However the conglomeration of people was not customers who came to purchase Pepper's merchandise. The genuine customers had problems finding what they wanted with so many people standing around, and they often left without buying anything, remarking they were going to drive to the next town where they could shop in a less congested store.

Pepper could not see any problem. He just complained that Howard wasn't helping people find what they wanted, without realizing he, himself, was the cause. Pepper grumbled that sales were falling because of Howard's poor job performance.

"Good grief," Gail exclaimed, "Can't the man see what he's doing to his business?"

Howard shook his head, "Evidently not. He was the star quarterback on that football team about twenty–five years ago. He's just trying to live it all over again. I guess the right word is vicariously. It's a shame, too. He'd have a good store if he could understand he's not seventeen years old anymore."

Gail asked, "So why do you stay?"

"Well, Pepper's really a good guy, just not a good businessman. He doesn't like that I work so much overtime, but he needs someone like me in the store all the time. I can take a day or a couple of hours, almost anytime I want, if we aren't really busy.

"And it's the best job I can find. If I can stick it out at least two more years, I'll have all the back taxes on this place paid off. Then I can start working on building this ranch into something that will make a living for me, instead of just eating everything I earn."

"Ah, so you do have a plan?"

"Yeah," Howard acknowledged glumly. "If I can stay out of jail long enough to do it."

"Jail? What do you mean, stay out of jail?"

"Dumb, temper, too much to drink, and stupidity, oh, and a woman who didn't know enough to keep her mouth shut. I guess that about spells it out."

"What'd you do," Gail asked, trying not to laugh. "Break up the bar like a western movie hero?"

"Almost. My brother and I went out one night, and an old girlfriend of his grabbed him by the arm to walk him out the door of the bar, saying she was going to show him how much she'd learned since high school. Her boyfriend threw a punch at Frank, knocked him down and I ended the fight."

"Uh oh, I guess that's disturbing the peace, drunk and disorderly, damage to the bar, and about twenty other charges, if they can make them stick, huh?"

Howard looked up from cutting his next bite of venison steak, and asked, skeptically, "How do you know so much about things like that?"

"Remember the absentee father? He's a cop. When I was fifteen, Mother decided I wasn't manageable, so she sent me to live with him. I mean she threw my clothes in suitcases, drove me to his house, threw the suitcases in his yard, and said, "Here, it's your turn." Then she drove off."

"Nice," Howard said.

"Not," Gail countered.

"Whew, so did you write him a letter, too?"

"Yeah, but I haven't finished it. I don't know what to say to someone that I can only remember living with for a little more than a year. He'd already divorced Theresa and was looking for number three, so he wasn't home very much."

********

Much later in the evening, Gail was in her sleeping bag, on one of the old metal cots which was not even as wide as a single bed. She heard Howard shifting his weight across the room and knew he was not asleep either. It was the third or fourth time he'd rolled over in the last few minutes.

Gail asked, not talking too loud because if he was asleep, maybe he wouldn't hear her, "Howard, are you awake?"

"Yeah, can't seem to go to sleep."

"Can I ask a question?" When he didn't answer for a moment, she continued, "Do you think what people become is because of the way they are raised or because of their genes?"

"Well," Howard answered, and then thought for a moment before continuing. "Genes are probably just hair and eye color, you know, physical stuff, height, and weight. What people become, personality and opinions, are the values they're taught by the people who care about them."

"Okay, thanks." Gail thought about what he said. Maybe the values she had, ones she was trying to believe were good, strong, and moral, came from her mother and father. But maybe lots of them came from Tincha, too. It might have been better if they came from genes. Grandma and Grandpa were really good people. She didn't remember much about her father's parents. They were never part of her life after she was six or seven years old, when her parents divorced. Gail fell asleep, working on that letter to her father.

Similarly, Howard was having the same kind of thoughts. He wondered why he and his brother were so different. Frank worked, but never did more than he must. He would rather spend the evening with his friends, drinking far too many beers, than go home and do anything around the house. Frank's wife, Melanie, wasn't much better. She didn't seem to care about taking care of the house or fixing very healthy meals. Yet she could describe every character and most of each day's happenings of several soap operas. They both drove good vehicles while Howard was trying to keep an antique running well enough to get him to the ranch, plus to and from work.

Two more years, two more years, it was his goal, almost a mantra, just two more years. The bank loan would be paid. It will be tough to make the ranch start paying, but he knew he could do it. His father did it and raised a family, too. His grandfather did it and the generations before them did, too.

Although Gail would prefer to cry about it, that was not the solution. Tears will just make her eyes red and not answer any questions, nor give her any solutions. Maybe her dad was right. He told her she was tough and could do anything she set her mind to. Tonight, however, it did not seem that things were turning out as she had planned.

********

Dear Dad,

I guess I can call you Dad. I don't recall that I said Daddy, and Father just seems too formal a word. Maybe it's because I don't know you very well. I'm not sure who you are.