Depression by cmsix

Chapter 12

No doubt about it, I was born too late and Meka was born too early. Even though I couldn't speak a word of the language, I loved my trips via the Way Back machine, or whatever did them. For her part, Meka loved riding in a big truck. When we got back to George and Ethel's house she seemed a little let down.

Ethel cured most of that by dragging out a meal for the two of us. It was about six PM and we'd missed supper, but Ethel and Wanda made it right. Since Meka knew it was nearly night out, she packed it in and then slipped into hibernation mode for the night.

"You two better stay up here tonight," Ethel said. "We've got most everything scattered around at least close to where it belongs, but we haven't even made up the beds yet. In fact, somebody has to go after some furniture. I didn't have anything that I wanted to put down there for Meka, so I called around and scared it up."

"That's fine with me. I don't think Meka is tired of ridin' yet. She loves ridin'," I said.

"Good, the furniture is out near Canton. A lot of antique shops have sprung up to stay out there since First Monday has got so big," she said.

"But isn't First Monday going on this weekend?" I asked.

"Yeh, but the places I bought the furniture and things from aren't on the site. You won't have to deal with too much traffic," Ethel said, but I could almost feel the sneaky tone in her voice.

"Don't matter, we won't have much trouble in the pickup."

"You shore won't, because you ain't going in the pickup. You'll need that new big truck and the new trailer George bought. There ain't near enough room in a pickup, or even in any trailer we got that can be towed by a pickup," she said.

"I've never thought of hauling furniture in a bull-rack, but I guess it will work fine. At least this one's never hauled any cattle and it don't smell like shit yet," I said.

"You men. I'll swear you think just alike and it's always the wrong thoughts. That damned George, and Bob too, said the same thing, as if we can't afford a real trailer for hauling furniture," she said.

"Oh, he bought another trailer?" I asked.

"Sure did, I didn't even have to asks but once. He got it from the same place you picked up the bull-rack. They said they'd have the Carrier unit on it and have it ready to go by tomorrow morning."

"A reefer, we don't need a reefer to haul furniture," I said, surprised.

"I know that, but the unit won't hurt anything and we damned sure don't need a furniture trailer, not 'less you want to lease onto United or Mayflower," she said.

"No, no, a thousands times no. I'll go get the reefer and then pick up the furniture, and be happy about it. Please don't buy a possum belly moving van. I promise to do better if you won't," I said.

"Now you're talking like you have good sense. You don't have time to be driving around the country moving people's household goods anyway. I could have got a box van but they just look so plain. You and Meka go on to bed. You've got a lot of drivin' to do tomorrow and Meka has a lot of ridin' to catch up on," Ethel said.

That was fine with me and when I got to the bedroom I saw that Wanda already had Meka in bed and she was sound asleep.

The next morning I made it to the pisser before Meka. I know she was awake before me, but maybe she was rewarding me for the trip to Six Flags. Whatever it was, all was still right with the world because when I came out to get dressed, she went right in and commenced flushing.

Ethel was happier than a pig in shit too this morning, and she used large quantities of food to make up for the talking to she gave me last night. I had a thick ham steak, along with bacon, sausage patties, and sausage links. Of course there were a few fried eggs and a bowl of homemade chili and Ethel just had to remind me that my biscuit skills were only rudimentary compared to hers. The ones she made put mine to shame.

Meka's meal was planned for her by Ethel. She didn't have all the ham, bacon, and sausage. She had two plates worth though. One held her waffles and the other had three scrambled eggs with a big bowl of chili poured over them. She amazed Ethel, Wanda, and me by asking for another helping of everything and then making it disappear.

Meka perked right back up when she saw Ethel packing our ice chest with Cokes and cold cuts again. She didn't even ask any questions, though her English was better now and I'm sure she could have made us understand. Hell, she knew good and well already that we were in for more trucking and it made her smile wide. She came over and crawled up into my lap.

"Daddy, we go in truck?" she asked.

"Yes baby, we go in truck. Do you like the truck?"

She didn't answer, just hugged my neck and kissed me on the cheek. She settled down in my lap to wait then, and I could almost feel happiness radiating off her.

We drank another mug of coffee at the table and then left with full cups. We had a big thermos too, and there were plenty of Cokes in the ice chest.

Ethel had bought a camper style potty for the sleeper. It had some type of chemical in it that was supposed to keep the smell down. Meka tried to act like it was wonderful, but I could tell her heart wasn't in it. She made sure she had a few flushes in her bathroom just before we left and she was good to go.

After we were about a mile down the road I had to see if I could find out what the problem with the porta-potty was. I should have known better myself.

"You don't like the potty Ethel got for you?" I asked, pointing to it and doubting she would understand anyway.

I don't know if she understood what I was asking or not. She looked at the potty too.

"No flush," she said, as if that explained everything.

In a way I guess it did. No doubt Meka was perfectly comfortable with taking care of business anywhere she thought no one would step in the results. If a crapper wouldn't flush, well where was the fun in that?

As soon as we hit I-30, heading back to Dallas, Meka made a startling discovery. I don't know why it hadn't come up before, but it hadn't. I pulled out into the left lane to pass a car and Meka happened to be looking out her window; for the first time she noticed that the cars had people in them too.

Not only that, but she could see into the cars from her perch. Apparently we had passed a car with other children in it and they must have been looking up and noticed Meka.

It didn't matter to Meka that they couldn't hear her, or that they wouldn't have been able to understand anything she said if they could have. She began talking in her language, and by now even I could recognize she was greeting them. They must have been greeting her too, because all at once she started waving to the car.

When we were past them, she looked at me with her eyes bright and shinny and a smile that must have been nearly painful. She'd been paying more attention to what I did than what was going on in other cars and trucks up until now, but she spied another slow car in front of us and waved her hand at me for more speed.

Hell, it was fine with me and I gassed on it. Well, I guess I dieseled on it, but you know what I meant. We were pulling around the next car a minute later and it had kids in it too. Meka could see them because she talked to them again, but they must not have been looking out their windows.

"No see Meka," she said, with a disappointed tone in her voice.

"Daddy fix," I said, letting the train horns do our introductions.

I'm sure the car's driver got a shock, but it worked, because all at once they were getting a Caddo Indian greeting again and the waving was back on. The driver must have recovered too, because the woman flashed me over when I was past. Of course a truck driver doesn't really need to be flashed if he isn't pulling a trailer, and Meka and I were bobtailing to get the reefer. I thanked the driver with my taillights anyway; it's the thought that counts.

When we passed a big truck later, he made Meka's day and then she made his. Truck drivers have a lot of time on their hands when they're driving, and they usually look at anything that passes them. When I got even with the Schneider driver's window, I slowed and let Meka have a good wave. She had a surprise for me after a second or two.

"Daddy," she said, pointing to the driver.

I glanced that way and saw the pumpkin roller waving his CB microphone at me. It's a common gesture between drivers that happen to be close enough to see each other. It means why don't you turn your damned radio on so we can talk? I turned up the volume on the Ranger and one of probably twelve thousand or more "Slowpokes" said howdy.

I had to flick the linear off, because as close as we were it would garble everything I tried to say, but I did it and howdied him back.

"That's a pretty passenger ya got there driver," he said.

"Ain't she just? I'll try to get her to talk to ya, but I doubt you'll understand her. Meka is a Caddo Indian and she doesn't know much English," I said.

I gave her the mike then and showed her how to push to talk. Meka gave the driver a greeting and I'm sure he didn't understand a bit of it, but at the last she said, "My name is Meka."

I was surprised and he was thrilled. He even woke up his partner in the sleeper and in about a minute the guy climbed out and took the mike, saying hello himself. Meka gave this one her greeting too and also told him her name was Meka. She was having a ball.

This isn't as unusual as it might seem. A large majority of truck drivers are suckers for a sob story. Meka's wasn't really a sob story, but the two pumpkin rollers couldn't know that. I'm sure they thought she'd been slighted by some government organization on her English lessons. After all, it had only been a few years ago that the government gave all truck drivers a brutal fucking up the ass. Considering the treatment all Native Americans had received at the hands or our benevolent government, I could understand his assumption.

I glanced in the mirror and saw that we had collected a tail, so I pulled ahead and got back over in the right lane.

"Bye bye," Meka said into the mike, unknowingly repeating the words every Schneider driver heard dozens of times each day.

It surprised me at first, but someone else hollered at Meka then. His handle was Calico, and my guess was that there weren't more than a couple of thousand Calicos, in Texas anyway. Meka was proud to talk to this Calico though, and she had a little more English for him.

"My name is Meka. I am six," she said.

Truckers can be the biggest assholes on earth, but sometimes they can be nice. The nice part usually only comes around during the daylight; probably because the drivers are tired at night, and a lot of them have been driving all day and will be driving all night too.

They seemed to be in good spirits this morning though, and I'll bet Meka introduced herself to and greeted probably seventy-five drivers before we got to Dallas. She was thrilled for the most part, but I could tell it was getting old by the time we pulled into the trailer place.

We were barely on the ground when I got a hint of what her discomfort was.

"Bathroom," she said, looking at me with a question on her expression.

We went inside and found one with no trouble and, the flushing started before she could have possibly gotten her pants down. She was probably just making sure that the crapper wasn't going to try cheating her like Ethel's porta-potty did.

We went to the desk after the flushing was over, and when I told the bosomy receptionist who we were, she called someone and then started to talk to Meka, hoping to keep her from fidgeting, no doubt.

She had to go through "My name is Meka" twice before I told her that Meka didn't speak or understand much English. Undaunted, the receptionist switched to what I thought was probably excellent Spanish.

"Excuse my poor manners, please Ma'am. I should have been more informative. Meka is a Caddo Indian, and that's the only language she's really fluent in. She can give and receive smiles in any lingo though," I said.

She showed me she was better than the average receptionist then, by giving Meka a big smile.

"Meka, my name is Janice," she said, proving she knew the limits now.

Meka returned her smile and waltzed around behind the desk. Soon she was in Janice's lap and somehow a cartoon was playing on the computer. Man, those damned things were getting too smart. I knew I was going to have to get Bob to show me how to do that excellent trick.

A suede shoe operator came out from the office door then and introduced himself. He was into full glad-handing mode and he didn't even let up when I told him I was just the driver here to pick up the trailer George had bought.

"You can't pull that on me. I spoke with Mrs Ethel, and she warned me not to get on your bad side if we expected to sell them any more trailers. Why don't we go look at what they selected and if it suits you, you can go on about your business. Mrs Ethel told me not to delay you since you had some antiques to pick up," James said.

"I ain't in that big a hurry, but I guess we might as well go take a look. In the mean time, I'd like it a lot if Janice could call Bob, Ethel's son, and tell him what she was showing Meka on her computer, and tell Bob how it's done if he don't know already," I said.

"I'll be glad to," Janice said.

Meka was torn between watching a rabbit beat hell out of a dog with a big club, or coming with me, but I won out in the end. She gave Janice another big smile and a thank you, and we were off to look at the trailer.

One thing I really liked about George was he didn't buy anything that was cheap; at least he didn't try to pull that when it was something Ethel wanted.

James wanted to go by our tractor first and I wondered why.

"Mr George warned me that Mrs Ethel would not be pleased if the trailer showed up at her house with a different type of wheel than the ones on the tractor. Apparently the ones on the bull-rack are not up to her specifications and they are being changed as we speak," James said, and I couldn't help laughing at him.

For a salesman, he had an astonishing grasp of what he was doing, because he pulled out a little spiral top notepad and wrote down the model of the aluminum wheels in it. We went toward the lot then and he walked right up to a Quality Ultra-Light fifty-three foot reefer trailer. It not only had the quilted stainless steel rear doors, it had the stainless sidewalls too.

Trailers like that are few and far between now-a-days. They are top quality, no doubt about it, but they are more expensive. Most trailers are owned by leasing companies now. Leasing companies don't waste money on the classic look, like stainless steel sidewalls for reefers, when aluminum, or even fiberglass will do just as well and are a hell of a lot cheaper. Of course, a trailer sales place like this didn't have a snowball's chance of selling to a leasing company anyhow.

"As you can see, the wheels don't match, but we've we'll get a crew on it right away. If you and Meka would like to get something to eat, I'll have a company driver take you wherever you'd like," he said.

"No need to bother with that. Meka loves the TA, of all places, and we can bobtail over there for lunch," I said.

It probably wasn't the best idea I ever had, though Meka might argue with me. We weren't in the TA ten minutes before one of the drivers she'd talked to on the way out here made the connection. We had company for lunch then.

In a feat of intelligence that I could hardly believe, Meka recognized the guy from the sound of his voice and called him, Rodeo - his handle - right away. Before we'd finished our burger and fries she had correctly named five other drivers that happened to drop over by our table. I had suspicions that one of the early ones had been using Meka's name in vain from the CB in his truck, out in the parking lot.

Calisto was a Mexican but he could speak English as good or better than I could. He didn't mistake Meka for Mexican like most people did, and he asked me if Meka was her real name or her handle.

"It's her real name, I'm not sure she can grasp the concept of a handle yet," I said.

"Well she'll be able to sooner or later and I think hers should be Little Queenie, I love Chuck Berry," he said.

"Well, explain it to her then," I said. Meanwhile, I was thinking...

What followed was the dankest bunch of hand waving and motioning I'd ever seen. Calisto went so far as to go into the TA's little storefront and buy a cheap CB microphone.

Armed with that, and a hell of a lot more gesturing, he finally got Meka to agree that she would be Little Queenie on the radio. I consider it one of the best displays of perseverance I'd ever witnessed, by Calisto and Little Queenie/Meka both.

Of course there was a penalty for me in all this. Meka pointed to the microphone, pointed to herself, and said Little Queenie. I knew it was coming but couldn't figure out a way to stop it. I felt like the guy watching the mythical train wreck. She pointed to the mike again and then pointed to me.

There was nothing for it, I had to confess.

"Armadildo," I said, and I know I blushed.

Several people in the TA's restaurant happened to think that was very funny, and of course I blushed more when they expressed their feelings. Little Queenie didn't know what it was all about, but when she repeated Armadildo and smiled wide, the laughter got even louder. I just grinned at her and nodded my head.

Something even more amazing happened when we got to the check out. Our lunch had already been paid for, and then some. That's something you just don't expect to happen in a truck stop and I was at a loss for a second.

"You're way too slow on the draw today, Armadildo," the woman said, grinning savagely after saying my handle, "I could have collected for your lunch six times if I weren't so honest, and the waitress has sixteen dollars worth of tips coming, besides what I saw you leave on the table. Come on back to see us anytime you can, but don't forget to bring Little Queenie."

I whispered in Meka's ear then and she did the deed. She turned to the restaurant and said Thank You All in a nice firm voice, before we left. For a second I thought the room was going to give us a standing ovation, and Jerico - one of the ones Meka recognized from his voice - was smarter than your average truck driver, since he handed Meka a plastic bottle of Coke as we left. It earned him a kiss on the cheek.

When we got to the trailer place again, the trailer had new wheels and tires on, and there was a guy with a buffer polishing hell out of the reefer unit's fuel tank. Janice came walking out the door before I even popped the brakes. It looked like she had two CDs in her hand.

"Hi, I talked to, Bob, and he said he knew what to do with the movies, so I burned a few CDs worth for Meka," she said, as we got down.

Meka had curiosity written all over her face, and when Janice handed me the CDs I showed them to her.

"Cartoons. You can watch them at home," I said.

She pondered for a second and then her big smile split her face. I could tell she was really happy about it, and I guess it was inevitable.

"My handle is Little Queenie," she said, announcing it to Janice, and that wouldn't have been bad if she'd left off there.

"Daddy is Armadildo," she said, grinning as if she knew what she'd said.

I have to give Janice credit, she tried to maintain, but it got the best of her when the blood started rushing up my neck to shout that I was embarrassed. Janice just burst out laughing and kept it up until tears were streaming down her cheeks.

Of course Meka knew she was the cause of it all, even if she didn't understand why. She was laughing right along with Janice in seconds and then pointing right at my red face. She understood exactly what that meant.

I recovered in a few minutes and Janice had just about finished laughing at me. Thankfully, the polish man got through with the tank and we hooked the trailer and left. Of course I had to get Little Queenie's approval first.

I'll admit I've never understood exactly why Canton's giant flea market was called First Monday, since it started on Friday, officially. I'd heard several explanations but I wasn't biting.

When I wanted to know for sure, I asked someone who I knew would know. Now that I had easy access to Ethel, she took over the duty of informing me. She said it started this Friday, and that's why Meka and I were hunting a place to park near Canton, Thursday night.

It turned out to be easy as pie. We drove toward Canton and I pulled in to park when I saw a bunch of other trucks parked in a lot by a big station. I'm not sure it was a regular truck stop, though it looked like it might be. At any rate, no one knocked on the door asking for a parking fee while we were sleeping.

I found out the next morning that it was a truck stop, sort of. It did sell diesel but I doubted it sold much. The café was a winner though and the waitress just about fell all over herself making sure that Meka got just what she wanted. Luckily, Meka had no trouble with the words waffle, sausage, or sunny-side-up. She had coffee down pat too, and she made please sound so good when she held up her mug.

Meka and I boarded the red antique express after breakfast and headed for the place Ethel had to us about. She'd said she'd leave word there about the other pickup points. We pulled up in front of Old Towne Antiques and were inside five minutes later.

We just looked around a little at first and I noticed and old guy at the counter watching Meka carefully. I understood his caution but it still rankled a little. He visibly winced every time Meka picked something up, so I decided to make his day, and I walked to the counter.

"She is a curious little thing and she can't speak or understand English or Spanish. If you're worried about her breaking something, just follow her around and I'll pay for anything that gets a scratch. You might as well bring a basket with you, and if she wants it, let her put it in the basket and I'll pay up when she's done," I said.

"But what if she picks out something that's too expensive?" he asked.

"I guess that could happen, if it's more than ten thousand or so, better check with me first," I said.

I guess I was feeling my oats this morning and I got a little jolt of glee when he nearly swallowed his tongue over that one, I decided that I hadn't had enough fun yet though.

"By the way, Ethel told us to stop here first to pick up a few things she'd bought over the phone. Where should I put the trailer to get it loaded?" I asked.

"Oh, you're the man Mrs Ethel sent for the furniture she bought?" he asked.

"Yep, I'm the one."

"Now the light is shining for me. Mrs Ethel has beat you to the punch though, if that's Meka," he said.

"She has?"

"Yes, she's already told me to let her have anything she wanted and to call if it was going to take another truck to haul it home," he said, and I knew he was having fun himself now, watching me squirm a little.

"Did she leave me any instructions about other places I'd need to go for pickups," I asked, being more careful of my manners this time.

"I think we've got most of it here already. She arranged for a local guy to bring everything here, since we have a regular loading dock out back," he said.

"I guess I'd better put my truck driver hat back on and bump the dock then," I said.

Meka was still browsing and I tried to let her know she could keep it up while I moved the truck. That was not about to fly with her. If the truck was moving she wanted to be in on the deal. I drove around back, opened the trailer's doors, and backed up to the dock where the man was signaling. He'd come through the building to get it right.

We got down again and went back into the store. Meka was back to her examinations in seconds. The man didn't follow her but I noticed that he had a woman about twenty or so years old right with Meka, carrying a basket and occasionally getting something from a higher shelf if Meka showed interest. It's just amazing how accommodating antique shop people can be when they know you're going to be buying something.

Meka did a good job on her shopping, she filled up three baskets with stuff, most of it antique dolls and toys, and things like that. I knew that she didn't understand that we'd be taking it all with us, and the young gal was probably putting anything in the basket that Meka acted like she liked.

I didn't give a rat's ass. If Ethel didn't want to pay for it I'd be glad too, but I knew Ethel did want Meka to have anything she wanted. I could settle up with her later and I might be able to get her to let me pay for half of it if I tried hard enough.

One thing that Meka really loved was a whistle that had a plunger in the end. If you blew into it and then moved the plunger in or out it changed the tone of the whistle. She hadn't been able to make heads or tales of it until the young woman gave her a demo. It didn't leave Meka's hands after that and spent most of the time in her mouth, being put to its intended use.

I knew it was an antique, the old guy did, and so did the young woman, but to Meka it was a wonderful toy, and that settled that. Me or Ethel one was going to get the pleasure of paying for Meka's seventy-five dollar antique plastic whistle. I'm sure it cost at least fifty cents when it sold new.

After Meka was through shopping the old guy told me it would be three or four hours before they had everything loaded and secured.

"You can drop the trailer and drive to town if you'd like, or I can loan you my pickup if you'd rather," he said.

I knew which vehicle Meka would want to ride in, so I dropped the trailer. I even let Meka help this time. I'd been watching her the last few times I'd dropped or hooked and I knew she was anxious to get her hands on the dolly bar's hand-crank. I let her this time and it was big fun until the pads hit the ground. I took over for the hard part and then we were off.