Sweet Bitters

She arrived on her sister's door-step on Labor Day Weekend, 1998. She never saw herself ending up in Charleston, SC. Her sister had lived here since 1991 and seemed to find it to her liking. But what a change is would be from living in San Diego, CA. What a hellish year, actually 2 years, it had been for her. She was 43, had just completed a year long course study in mortuary school at Cypress Community College about 30 miles south of L.A. Once the bar exam was taken, it was time to hit the road. Charleston was the only destination that made sense, but one that held no particular promise.

The drive from San Diego to Charleston is a long one that took place in late August. Late August is the absolute worst time to be driving on a road that skirts past the Mojave Desert. She parceled her passage along the highways and byways out over 5 days, with an extended stop in Memphis, TN. She had a friend there. Sue was a fun gal that she had met on her trip to Bali back in 1992. She also had a friend in prison there. Gregory was her gangster friend from San Diego days who was stupid and got caught. She had instructions on how to pay him a visit. That promised to be yet another story.

A solo cross-country drive gives one an opportunity for thorough self-examination. How had she come to this? The break up of a 3 1⁄2 year long relationship with a man much older than her had a lot to do with it. He was on the verge of retiring and made it clear that while the last few years had been “fun” he didn't see his retirement being spent with her. There was a whole host of reasons she supposed, but he just summed up the situation with, “We really don't have anything in common.” That was what ushered in her torturous bout with insomnia. She knew one thing for sure. If you have never experienced insomnia you know nothing about it or the hell that becomes uniquely yours. People said to her, “When you are tired, just lie down, relax, if you are really tired, you will fall asleep.” What a bunch of shit. People don't understand that the “falling” that they speak of is tripped by some sort of neurological switch in the brain THAT IS STUCK--! It is stuck on OFF and NEVER kicks IN to grant you that “fall”.

That's what made her feel very close to death, like one day she would jump from something high in order to escape her agony. That's when she decided to go to mortuary school. It was free tuition, and it was easy to find a rent-a-room situation in the Cypress area. It seemed like a way to hang on to her last thread of sanity. It also, due to her state of mind, appealed as an appropriate change of career away from massage therapy to something where the subject on the table was more of an object. She had no idea what sort of prospects Charleston would hold. It really didn't matter. At least she wasn't jumping into vertical space. This was strictly a horizontal transfer. San Diego and Charleston were actually on just about the same latitudinal coordinate, how funny!

Traversing the entire width of the USA via interstate 10 brings to lite the realization of just how much of nothing makes up the route between stops and starts. Hours and hours of endless flat incredibly uninteresting terrain await the traveler. Yup, this was “America”- a whole lot of nothing. Look, just look at all of that vast wasted space. Just think of all the lives being lived out on the periphery of this road. Now that's what has to be quiet desperation by the truck load. Making the monotony of it come to a halt with that stop in Memphis was a respite sent from the divine. Her friend 6 years after their Bali exploit had managed a 180. Fully ensconced in a marriage and mother to a 2 year old boy-child, she was hardly recognizable. In some ways it was a good thing---in some ways extremely tedious. Her friend had what some people call “momitis”. Momitis usually strikes women who have their child late in life. It is characterized by every waking minute being totally and completely devoted to the child's every in and out breath. It smacks of the husband being irrelevant and little more than what was necessary to create the being, the thing that is now second to nothing in the universe. This kind of mom now has all that she ever has or ever will need. Then there was the visit with her gangster buddy in the “clink”. He looked good, for being so unhappy. They had him making license plates. He was happy about being moved to Memphis from the pen in Lompoc, CA. He said he was sure that he would have never made it out

of there alive, considering his 9 year sentence for income tax evasion. For lunch, she fed quarters into the vending machines. They sat rattling the wrappers as they talked about old times. He spoke about appeals and what he was gonna do when he got out. But if those appeals didn't work-it would be a long time before he'd have to worry about what to do when he got out. It was sad. She was sad. She knew how he felt because at that moment her own life was as much of a dead end as was his.

The Memphis detour revitalized her for the rest of the mission. There was only a day and a half more to go. It was a good thing too. That unexplained crack in her side-view mirror would have to be fixed as soon as she got there. She hit Charleston around 1:00 the Thursday before Labor Day Weekend. Being at work, her sister left her the key under the doormat. She let herself in. Looking around the apartment she saw the familiar trappings of someone who was going back to school. Her sister was enrolled in school for physical therapy and was part-time waitressing at a spiffy restaurant around the corner from where she lived. She was 6 years younger and she too had hit a career wall. Restaurant management had been her and her hubby's thing. After acute observation that the hospitality industry often lead to alcoholism/drug use and incestuous co-worker relationships, she decided to make a change. With that change came divorce. So being divorced for 3 years and actively seeking a mate, she wasn't all that thrilled with her sister coming to stay. A open-ended houseguest would put a damper on her prospecting for romantic afternoon trysts. She made it clear that her door was open, but for a limited time, tick-toc—tick-toc.

Well, first things first. Before a place of her own could be had, she had to find a job. Really all she had ever done before mortuary school was massage therapy. Actually, it was modeling for artists that evolved into 16 years of massage therapy, both of which were retreats from her prior disappointment in retail management. It was all, admittedly, not terribly impressive, and not much to go on. But by the law of averages there had to

be somebody out there who was looking for somebody. That somebody was her.

That somebody looking turned out to be Klaus, the owner of a cute little German Restaurant called Max and Moritz. The name's alliteration suggested a fun, light hearted theme that contrasted with the seriously old-world oriented cuisine. Schnitzel, Cole-slaw (hand chopped—no Cuisinart allowed) various varieties of Wursts paired with German brew polished off with Strudel for dessert was their standard fare. Max and Moritz, she came to find out was a wildly popular children's illustrated tale of two little boys who get into all sorts of mischief with antics that the Germans refer to as pranks. The ad said that a prep-cook was needed. Well, how hard could stirring and chopping be? That was her attitude, and with that attitude Klaus hired her on the spot.

Next up was finding a place of her own. After one month, her welcome at her sister's house was running on fumes. So there was this ad for a FROG, which in Charleston speak is, furnished room over garage. With an address positioned conveniently equidistant between Max and Moritz and her sister's place, it was perfect. The family in question, Nancy and John Cox, along with their two boys Matthew and Sullivan, were extraordinarily ordinary. Nancy was a nurse who had her own blood pressure study practice. John was an environmentalist who studied things like water table levels. He'd been recently laid off which was the reason for wanting to rent out their FROG. He also, together with a partner, dabbled in the import and sale of African Art. Matthew being the older of the two boys acted has a capable protector for his younger brother Sullivan, who was born profoundly deaf. A whole host of four legged fur babies rounded out this idealistic family model. Two old and quite smelly basset hounds Savannah and Sam, along with a big orange no nonsense-mouse-catching-cat named Moe, completed this very southern family tree. There was one other being present but not really a member. His name was Bob-Tail, due to the absence of a properly formed tail. Bob-Tail belonged to John's business partner who was away in Africa to purchase more art for the business. Being black as coal, he looked too, like a perfect piece of African Art. Bob-Tail, being at

the very bottom of this pecking order, hoped everyday that his dad would return. She knew how Bob-Tail felt being the odd man out, but at least someone would eventually come for him.

Her sister helped her pack for what is known as a garbage bag move. All of her possessions divided between 12 large black garbage bags were loaded into the back of her Subaru station wagon and deposited into her new FROG abode that was just 2 1⁄2 miles away. Her new life soon fell to routine. Having slept outside during the night, Bob-Tail charged like a bronco busting through the stanchion gate when she opened the garage door at 6:00 AM. One was no less anxious than the other for that first morning snuggle. She and Bob-Tail bonded inextricably. Both were fish out of water, not knowing when their tide would roll in. These morning merges were respite from the night's separation since Nancy had made it clear that she didn't want Bob-Tail sleeping with her in the FROG. So taken with each other were they, that they often brought little gifts to exchange on these early day visits. Sometimes she would bring him a generous piece of a sardine, which was his favorite. Sometimes he would bring her his catch from the day before—usually a dead sparrow. This he did in spite of the fact that she repeatedly expressed that his gifts weren't necessary. No, all she needed from Bob-Tail was a nuzzle from his nose to set her day going in the right direction. The day began by early morning preparations for the lunch time crowd that would start showing up around 11:00 AM. Most mornings Klaus was already there by the time she arrived. It was a lot of cutting and chopping. There was sorting and mixing to be done. Everything was done precisely and exactly as it was done before. Even the tuna had to be drained from its can an exact certain way, most of the liquid gone with just the littlest little bit remaining. Absolutely nothing was to be wasted. All of the bread left over from the tables was made into crumbs. That tuna liquid mentioned before was turned into something that went with fish. Cabbage was chopped by hand because it was thought to taste better, and all of the thicknesses of the chopping had better be the same. So why not use a machine?

Life was going along. She and Bob-Tail were getting along, she and her sister were too. Halloween was right around the corner and her sister was required to wear a costume for that particular dinner shift. Not wanting to spend a lot of money on a stupid costume that she would probably never wear again, her sister complained of the frivolously unfair expense. Good at thinking quick on her feet, and wanting to help her sister have a good time with this whole thing, she remembered that she had left some of her white massage sheets in her sister's dresser drawer. That's how she came up with a fabulous plan to make her sister the belle of “the monster bash”. Her sister was short, so that would make the whole costume even cuter. Placing the sheet evenly across the top of her sister's head, she traced out eye-holes. Once the holes were cut, she drew eyebrows on the sheet with eyebrow pencil. Eye shadow was expertly applied atop the eye holes-backdrop for exaggerated eyelashes compliments of Mayballine. This was all tied together with a Betty Boop ruby-red bow pair of lips from Revlon and a glitter beauty mark just for fun! A gypsy headscarf atop the sheet wrapped around her head and big beads around her neck, and—DONE! Little sister was ready. Not only was she ready, she was willing! Victory at last!

But as is often the case, just when ya think it is safe to breathe easier, dynamics knock the wind right out of you. Even though she had no prior restaurant experience, she knew that there was a difference between a prep-cook and a line cook. Prep cooks clean and sort and chop. Line cooks actually stand in the line of fire close to the chef. It is a completely different ball of wax. She had been at Max and Moritz for nearly a month and there had been some recent confidence demoting incidents. Suffice it to say, it occurred to her that what Klaus wanted was a line cook for a prep cook's pay. The disparity was laid open in an honest way and there were no hurt feelings, it was, what looked like to her, yet another failure.

She enjoyed the couple of days off having lots of extra play time with Bob-Tail, hoping

that Nancy and John wouldn't be too concerned that she wasn't at work. Finally it was Halloween Day. To celebrate, she and her sister went crabbing with the intention of feasting on crab cakes on November 1, AKA--The Day Of The Dead. The crabbing spot was a tiny pier just a stone's throw from her sister's back door. They had plenty of chicken necks for bait. They tied down easy into the crab nets. In no time at all they had a pail full. Getting them from the net into the pail could be tricky at times. Occasionally one would be quick and clever enough to jump the pail rim and go running with its sideways gait and when cornered throw up its tiny claws in an heroic last stand protective stance. Poor thing! From here it's back to the house and into the freezer. The best way to clean crab is to freeze them into numbness. That way when you are standing at the sink, tearing them limb from limb under running water, they don't feel it as much.

Finally, the witching hour arrived, it was time for her sister to go to work. The final touches were put on the gypsy ghost costume. It looked absolutely smashing!There was no contest, but had there been, they were both sure that this would take the prize. Added to the festivity was the awareness that on this particular Halloween, the moon would be full. Always a great boon to Halloween's desired other worldly atmosphere, a full moon is never appreciated more than on October 31 of any year.

While little sister was away being one of hallowed eve's characters, it was big sister's job to get busy with those frozen crabs. Oh she hated the job! First there was the cruelty. Frozen or not, they had to be aware that something hideous was happening. Pulling limb from limb, not unlike the draw and quartering torture technique from the Middle Ages, she made as short a work as possible of the barbaric task. Only the thought of those delicious crab cakes to be had next evening could see her though to the end. Once all the murdering was carried out---the sacking of the loot commenced. Digging, digging, digging all of that fresh, white, incredibly sweet meat from inside those impossibly narrow tunnel appendages was a work that required the patience of JOB. That together with ones own appendages turning into dried up shoe leather laces, lacerated by sharp

encrustation shells, made the whole operation a sorted mess.

And then of course the doorbell rang. It was Halloween after all. How thoroughly mean of her not to answer. Beside the fact that she could not and would not be interrupted from the rapture of her task at hand, she didn't have any candy of any sort to give. Be off then! And then, the phone rang! “Hello?” she questioned. “Go to the window and look outside,” instructed her sister. “You are just not gonna believe it.” Doing as she was told, she brushed the curtain aside. And there it was in all of its Great-Pumpkin-Fat- Bellied-Sherieff grandeur. This had been a difficult year, a very uncertain-with-no- clear-path-ahead, moment in time for her. But, in the light of the absurd magnificence of that Halloween moon, right then, right there, everything else ceased to matter.