Foliate Oak April 2019

Fiction

Stuff Like That 
By Michael Johansen

"Coat-racks!"

That was Stig talking.

"What?"

That was me.

"Coat-racks!" Stig was adamant. "We can sell 'em as coat-racks."

"Sell what as coat-racks?"

Stig was always trying to sell something as something else.

"The old hydro poles by the railway line."

"Hydro poles? They'd make pretty big coat-racks," I said.

"Not the whole thing! We take the cross pieces with all the insulators, turn 'em sideways and mount 'em on a wall. Two hundred bucks, easy. We sell loose insulators for 20 bucks a pop down in the city and add five bucks if it's still got a peg poked up its ass."

Stig had his thinking look on his face.

"You know, we could roll up the wire, 'cause there must be all copper inside them, what?"

What nothing. For once Stig's idea wasn't so stupid. He was right about the wires. There were miles and miles and miles of them alongside all the tracks. They must go right across the country. They used to turn switches and stuff like that, but the railways started using satellites instead. They let the wires go dead. They let them rot, too - just letting the poles fall down any way they like: easy pickings for a fellow like Stig.

He was right about everything else, too. I've seen myself how much people charge for old glass and that wasn't even in the city. I thought his coat-rack idea could work. Slap on a bit of paint, or call it rustic. Some'll pay good money for stuff like that.
That's how Stig got me out on snowmobile. I followed him way the hell back off the trail. I pulled a bobsled - better, he said, for the cross pieces. He had an ordinary box sled and said we'd toss the loose insulators in there. He said he'd already found a spot. We just had to follow his old tracks. The spot was perfect, he said, because none of the poles had fallen down along that stretch. They’re still fresh, he said.

He was right about that, too. There was a whole long straight row of poles and none of them were down. All the insulators looked ripe for picking, all the wires still strung between them all the way down the stretch.

"You sure they're dead?" I asked.

Stig ignored me.

We had two chainsaws with us, but Stig wanted to make the first cut. I didn't care. He said he wanted to do it just right, so we left the snowmachines down the line where the bushes would keep the railway folks from seeing them. We walked and Stig picked the pole just about in the middle and started up his saw. I stood back. He cut out a big wedge on the side where he wanted it to fall – away from the tracks – and then tramped around in the snow to make the third cut on the other side.

"Get ready!" he shouted when he was just about through, stepping back when his saw bit air.

Nothing happened.

Stig let the motor stop and then gave the pole a push. It teetered a little one way and then back, but it stayed upright. It looked like the wires were holding it there.

"We'll need to take another one down," Stig said.

Five poles later and they still wouldn't fall. I've never seen Stig so pissed off. I was thinking I should take the chainsaw away from him. He was hardly even taking any care any more, just hacking through the pole as fast as he could, no wedge or nothing. When it wouldn't go down he just cursed it and stamped to the next, attacking it like all the others. I was glad when his saw ran out of gas and sputtered off by itself. He cursed that, too, and it looked like he was going to throw it, but something caught his eye and he just cursed that instead.

"That's it," he shouted at me and pointed. "That's what's doing it: It's that tree!"

He was right again because a few poles past us there was a big tree had fallen across the lines and was pinning them down, pulling them really tight. It sure looked like what was holding our poles up and I wondered how we were going to get it off. I wanted to think about it some more, but Stig already had the answer.

"I'm going to pull that son of a bitch down," he said and stamped to where we left the snowmobiles.

He didn't say he needed me for anything so I just had a smoke. It really was a nice day – sunny and not too cold. Without the saw running I could hear birds in the trees and wind and stuff like that – and far away I'm pretty sure I heard a train. It was a good smoke.

Stig started up his machine and drove towards me along the poles he'd just cut, but then he did a little loop in the woods around me, coming out not too far from the big tree. He had me take a rope and go back to tie it as high up as I could, so he could drag it off.

It was a spruce, so it wasn't too hard to climb, especially as it was laying down pretty straight. I was still thinking about everything and I wasn't sure if his rope was good enough for the job and I was thinking he should maybe cut the tree first, before he pulled it, but I climbed up it and tied the rope and got down again and Stig never gave me a chance to say anything. I was walking back to him where he was gunning the motor and he couldn't hear me. He couldn't wait so even before I got to him he took off fast, spraying me with snow, 'cause he must have figured the faster he pulled the rope tight the easier the tree would come down.

Well, he was right about that, too, but I was right about the rope. When the rope came tight the tree kind of bounced and the snow machine bounced too and the tree came over sideways, but then the rope was tight again and it snapped. I could hear it and then I could feel it because I was right beside the rope and it wrapped around me and jerked me off my feet. I just had time to grab the rope myself so at least I'd be dragged frontwards and I yelled at Stig to stop and for once he heard me and stopped, looking back to see what I was yelling about. I rolled over onto my back so I could get the snow out of my nose. That way I could see Stig had been right about the tree holding the poles up. The tree was down and the first pole was starting to teeter, first one way and then the other, and then it started to fall. The second pole was right beside me and I knew where it was going to come down.

"Go on, drive!" I yelled. "Go on, man!"

Stig couldn't hear me though, 'cause suddenly there was this train running right alongside us and blowing its horn. Stig must have seen the poles coming down anyway because he booted it, jerking me on the end of the rope and dragging me backwards. First I was too busy to notice anything else happening because I was watching one pole after the other slam down right behind me, the coat-racks pounding themselves deep into the snow right where I'd been seconds before, but then I saw these faces staring out at me from the train windows – a few little kids with these shocked little expressions on their faces seeing me almost get clobbered by those hydro poles. I tried to give them a smile and a wave – let them know I'd be all right so they shouldn't be afraid – but Stig had come to the end of the trail and had to veer around the sled he'd left there. The rope hauled me clear into the air and then let go of me. Lucky for me I didn't hit anything except a thick drift of snow, but I sank into that pretty quick. It took me a few minutes to dig myself out. The train was gone and Stig was looking at all the poles. They'd fallen just like they were supposed to, but the wires had wrecked all the insulators, shattering them when they pulled tight and snapped.

"Barn boards," Stig said.
"What?”
​
"Barn boards," he repeated. "We take the broken insulators off and sell the cross pieces as barn boards. You know how much people will pay for stuff like that?”

​Michael Johansen is an award-winning Canadian author and journalist who has reported for television, radio, online and print media. He has three published books, the most recent entitled The Boy Who Walked. He is currently an editor on Indonesia's English-language newspaper, The Jakarta Post.

* * * 

The Neighborhood vs Janet
By R.F. Mechelke

I remember the day Janet and her family moved into the neighborhood as vividly as I remember the time my mother lanced my first boil. Janet, as far as looks, wasn’t all that bad. She was pretty in a plain sort of way. Certainly not off-putting in appearance.  Nor was her family a strange looking lot either. To anyone, they would look like any normal family. It was not the way she looked that was alarming. She seemed okay with her kids. At least they weren’t a brutish brood. Her husband, James, was a good sort of fellow, too. When after meeting Janet and James, no doubt everyone would walk away thinking, Geeze, how did that happen? Sympathy was a word that would seem to come to mind for James for anyone meeting Janet for the first time. Yeah, it was certainly a mystery.
 
We were a tight bunch, and we were all concerned about Janet. They moved into the second largest house on the street. Our little neighborhood was one of the older ones of the town. We took pride in our expansive trees that seem to reach toward the moon on clear, bright nights. We had a little park at the west end of the street; unfortunately buttressed up next to James and Janet’s house. The park was the place everyone in the neighborhood always ended up in the evening, where our children played dodgeball, baseball, and hide and seek, or whatever else the kids like to play. It was a wonderful place to sit on the benches along the walk that formed the perimeter of the park, sipping our iced tea and lemonades, giving advice about yard work, our kids, or anything else we cared to talk about. Together, we lived through hard times and bad times. We laughed and cried together. We cheered each other on, when it was called for, and we lent an ear or shoulder when it was needed. Like I said, we were a tight knit group.
          
Sarah and I lived in the largest house of the neighborhood near the center of the street. We had a large patio with a fire pit, where we loved to share evenings with our friends. We would sit around, opening bottles of wine, one after another, as the night air chilled our faces and the darting flames drew us all closer.

Sam, Linda’s husband, broke the silence on one of those evenings, leaning toward me, and asked. “Did you meet our new neighbors, James and Janet?”

Just hearing Janet’s name, made me visibly wince.

Sam grinned, and said, “Oh, so you have,” while lifting his cigarette to his lips and taking a long draw. I watched the embers at the end glow and fade against the black backdrop, and he let loose a cloud of smoke, and added, “Quite a lot to take in with that one, don’t you think?”

“I am not sure what to think about James’s wife. Never met anyone like her before. Do you know what I mean, Sam?”

Sam took a gulp of his wine, with his face turning a bit serious. His grayish dark hard hair and height gave Sam the appearance of authority, when in reality, he was a timid man. Maybe timid is a bit harsh. At any rate, he was not an aggressive man. I was never really sure what Linda had seen in him. Anyhow, he was a good man though. He was a lucky man, too. Linda was a real looker. But at this moment, he looked a little uncomfortable.

“You know Sam,” I said. “They will likely be here for a while. I mean really, who would want to leave? Not sure how to come to grips with that idea.”

Sam leaned back in his chair, and crossed his legs, and took another draw of his cigarette, and opened his mouth to speak, and closed it again. This was typical Sam. He took another gulp of wine, and focused his eyes on my face, with the turning down of his eyebrows, and surprised me, saying, “I don't think we have to do anything.”

At the time, I wasn’t really sure what to make of what Sam said. He may be a little hen pecked, but he’s a smart guy. What happened after that night, still has me flummoxed.
 
Sheryl, Joe’s wife, was working in her yard while their kids were in school. Janet is a stay at home mom too. Actually, now that I think about it, all of the mothers in our neighborhood were stay at home moms. Anyway, Sheryl was planting annuals along her walkway. Janet was walking what we in the neighborhood have been calling, The Beast. It was an English Mastiff, or a small bull. It was brown, with what looked like a five o’clock shadow. You could smell it coming several houses away. One could say it resembled its owner not in appearance, but in the attitude such a large animal would exude. I can see why Janet chose Ralph. When I heard its name for the first time, I thought it was a ridiculous name. Ralph? Imagine saying that name in an affectionate way or with an angered tone or just calling out that name loudly to get its attention. Anyway, back to Sheryl. There she was, minding her own business until Janet came walking by with Ralphie Boy. Sheryl apparently was startled by Ralph. Really, who wouldn’t be startled by The Beast? Anyway, Sheryl, on her knees, wearing rather short shorts, as was her way, with her rear staring Ralphie in the face. Well, The Beast yanked on the leash, and with Janet being tiny in stature, probably around 5’2”, no more than a hundred pounds, Ralphie broke free, and with beastly glee, ran at Sheryl. Ralph was running rather fast, and bumped into Sheryl, hard, overshooting the proverbial target, as they say, and trampled all of Sheryl’s recently planted flowers. Sheryl was laid out in the dirt, with skinned up knees, bleeding and stinging, when Janet ran up and grabbed Ralph’s leash. Well, with Janet being Janet, she didn’t make the matter better. As Michael tells it based on what Cindy told his wife, Julie. Sheryl ran into the house after exchanging words with Janet, and then she had the nerve to continue her walk with The Beast.
 
Michael and I stood at our shared fence in the backyard. He shook his head after he told me what happened, and I was dumbstruck with a vision in my head.

I shifted my feet, and I asked, “So, she was kneeling down on all fours?”

“That’s what Cindy told Julie. She was wearing the really short shorts she has. You know the shorts. The blue jeans pair, with the tiny, thin folded cuffs. Not only that, Cindy told Julie that Sheryl was also wearing a very flimsy, tight fitting red top.”

I kicked the fence with my foot. “Yeah, I know that top. How Joe let’s his wife outside with that top and shorts, confounds me.”

Michael looked around to see if Julie was outside, and said, “Yah, and with the way she’s built, that top must have been a sight to see.”

Michael only said what I and every other guy in the neighborhood was very much aware of.

Michael could see the smile on my face, and asked, “Are you thinking what I am thinking?”

“If you are thinking about a pool party this weekend, then yes siree, I am.”

Michael turned to the house and saw Julie outside, and called out, “Hey, hun, could you get John and me ice cold lemonades?”

Julie was trying to untangle the kids from their bickering, and looked up, when it registered what Michael said, she put on a sweet smile, and called back, “Sure, sweetheart.”

Michael turned back smiling in turn, and said, “She’s a keeper.”

When Julie returned, Michael asked Julie to make the arrangements for the pool party this coming Saturday, and to make sure to invite Joe and Sheryl. Michael gave me a sly wink.

Julie nodded, and asked, “What about our new neighbors, Janet and James?”

I tried to hide my cringing, and Michael looked at me a little confused, and I felt the need to respond on behalf of Michael, so I forced a smile, and replied, “That’s an excellent idea, Julie. I think it is time we spend more time with our new neighbors.”

As Julie walked back to the house, Michael said, “Thanks, John. I was caught off guard a little there.”

“No problem. Who knows, maybe they already have plans.”

“We can only hope”
 
The day of the pool party, Sarah was scrambling around the house trying to get the kids ready. I had to shut the door to my study, so I could read my paper in peace. Boy, raising kids is such hard work. It was a fine day. The sky was blue, and the temperature was perfect. The guys and I were really looking forward to this. Everyone was coming, including Joe and Sheryl. I was bringing all the beer, which reminded me to ask Sarah to get the coolers from the basement.

When I finished my paper, I found Sarah in the living room wrestling with Johnny trying to get his shirt and shoes on, and as she saw me walk up, she pointed to the kitchen, and I saw the coolers already laid out for me, and I said, “Thank you, sweetheart. What would I do without you?”

I loaded the coolers with the ice and beer, and placed them in the Red Ryder Wagon, and stuck my head back through the front door, “I am leaving to Michael’s. I’ll wait for you and the kids there. Bye babe.”
 
All us husbands were seated around Michael’s patio table.

“So, Joe.” I said. “We heard what happened to Sheryl. Looks like she’s doing okay.”

We all turned to watch Sheryl prepare to jump into the pool. She was wearing a violet two-piece suit, with her blonde hair up. We turned back to Joe, who produced a proud smile on his face, and he replied, “She’s doing much better. Janet had felt so bad about what happened, she came back to the house to patch Sheryl up after returning her dog home.”

Michael and I looked at each other, and I turned back to Joe.

Joe continued, “I think James and Janet should be coming soon.”

I asked, “Have you spoken much with James, being he’s your next-door neighbor?”

“James? Oh yes, very nice guy. He’s a whiz with cars. He helped me with my carburetor just last week.”

As Joe was describing how James fixed the carburetor, James and Janet walked through the fence gate unto the patio, with their kids scattering toward the pool. Janet was wearing a white one-piece, with her light brown hair down. We all stood, waiting for Michael to greet them. As Michael was making the introductions, I snuck glimpses of Janet. Michael pulled out a chair for James, and as he thanked Michael, James offered the chair to Janet and he sat in another chair next to her. All us other husbands stood there, looking at each other, not understanding what was happening, so we just sat down with James and Janet.

I offered to Janet that Sarah would get her a glass of wine, and she replied, “You know John, I would rather have one of those beers you got in the cooler next to you.”

I must say, I was surprised as hell. I fished for a beer, and as I was about to pop the cap, Janet said, “I can handle that, John. Thank you.”

Janet skillfully popped the beer open and took a nice healthy drink from the bottle. She looked around with a satisfied smile, and said, “Wow, that’s good beer. Mighty fine taste you have, John.”

Janet saw Sheryl in the pool, and said to Joe, “I’m so sorry about what Ralph did the other day. I am not good with that dog. Thank God my brother picked him up yesterday. He and his family were vacationing in Florida for the past two weeks.”

James laughed, and said, “Not a moment too soon, right Janet? That beast was driving me crazy, constantly banging into things and tipping things over.” Again, Michael and I looked at each other.

Janet continued, “Oh my God, I have to tell you guys, I wanted to murder that dog. I love my brother, but he was real close to losing his so-called best friend.”

While I felt uncomfortable with Janet there, sitting and talking with all us guys, I have to say, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.
​
Janet laughed and talked just like she was one of us, and she was nice. It was nice. And I began to talk and laugh with her. Just like I said, I liked Janet and James the moment I met them.

R.F. Mechelke holds a B.S. from Marquette University and an MBA from Cardinal Stritch University. His short story, “The Blue Line,” will be published in the April 2019 issue of the Blue Lake Review.

* * *

The Tree Line
By Josh Rank

“Go back inside!” shouted David Collins. The wind whipped the collar of his split pea soup-colored coat against his throat. “Now!” He struggled to balance the shotgun in his right hand as the dog pulled on the leash in his right.
 
But Chase didn’t move. Even after the divorce, when he withdrew into himself, when his third-grade teacher called home with her concerns over his behavior in class, when he moved to the new apartment on the other side of town with his mother, he rarely disobeyed his father. He didn’t smile much. But neither did he argue. Tonight, however, Chase stood his ground.
 
Chase knew his father’s words were hollow. They stood near the tree line at the back of the property, where the orange glow of the light attached to the side of their house became more of a suggestion.
 
Chase wasn’t comfortable in this vague area of recognition, but he had grown accustomed to it. There were plenty of things left vague in the two years since he first visited after moving with his mother, Sammy. It was a warm and sunny afternoon and he didn’t understand why it was called a “visit” when he was just going home. Sammy had been calling the apartment their new home, but that didn’t make sense. They already had a home. It was right where they left it. There was no room for a new home and nobody visits their actual home; they just go to it.
 
It was on this visit home that Chase found another confusing thing: There was a dog tied up to the tree in the front yard.
 
“Whose dog is that?” Sammy had asked David, who then turned to Chase.
 
“It’s his,” he said.
 
“Oh David you can’t just go and—” Chase’s parents walked away talking to each other like always did now, but he didn’t pay attention. He sat next to the dog he would eventually learn to be a boxer. With its skinny legs and small waist, she didn’t seem like much of an athlete, but he didn’t name the breed. The dog itself, though, he named after something else he didn’t understand. He liked the word “Brexit” from the first time he heard it while his Dad watched the news. It stuck in his head and when David told Chase he could name the dog whatever he wanted, there was no hesitation.
 
“Do you know what Brexit even is?” asked David with a rare smile on his face.
 
Chase nodded. “It’s my dog.”
 
His father grabbed him by the shoulder with one of his giant hands. “It sure is.”
 
Three years old and already housebroken, Chase didn’t concern himself with teaching Brexit tricks. Whoever had her before had taken care of the basics. The story of how she arrived at the local animal shelter was unknown, but once David heard about the adoption fair due to overcrowding, the dog was soon introduced to the boy who would spend the next two years essentially attached to her neck.
 
“Dad, please,” said Chase at the light’s edge near the tree line.
 
“She’s sick,” said David. “You know that. She’s not going to get better.”
 
Chase was supposed to be at his new home, but he couldn’t stay away. They had agreed, his parents, that this was the best course of action and that Chase shouldn’t be around. Chase didn’t agree with either point.
 
“This is what the doctor is for,” shouted Chase. Tears invaded his nose which ran into his throat and made his words soupy. “They can fix her.”
 
“We’ve talked about this, said David. “It’s too expensive for just ‘a fairly good chance.’ You don’t want her to be in pain, do you?”
 
“No!” But Chase was talking about the pain she would feel that night and not in the coming months. He noticed the way she wouldn’t always get up to greet him. Or the way she would squeak a little when she jumped down from the couch. The problem was that she couldn’t explicitly tell him how bad she felt. It was up to him to interpret her behavior and his overwhelming attachment hadn’t allowed him to entertain the thought that the best thing for her was to be gone.
 
“Chase, honey—” His mother’s voice floated on the wind behind him.
 
“Why did you bring him here? Now?” yelled David.
 
“He just…I don’t know. I’ve never seen him like this.”
 
Chase stood between his parents. His mother looked like a dark ghost. The orange light from behind drowned her face in a shadow. She stepped forward and knelt down.
 
“Chase, things don’t always make sense. It seems like they should, but they just don’t. The hard part isn’t learning this, but accepting it. It’s different.”
 
Chase turned around and watched his father lean the shotgun against a tree before leading the dog away from the tree line.
 
“She’s young,” said Sammy. “It seems like only old dogs get sick, but that’s not true. It doesn’t make sense, but that’s the way it is.” She looked over Chase’s head toward David.
 
“Say goodbye, Chase,” he said.
 
“No.”
 
“Chase.” His mother left his name to disappear with the orange light in the trees.
 
He sat in the grass. The dog turned toward him but didn’t move. Chase scooted forward and wrapped his arms around her neck. He said goodbye even though he didn’t understand. Even though he didn’t want to. Even though he wasn’t sure what that actually meant. Then he stood up and Sammy took him by the hand. His Dad led the dog back toward the shotgun and the tree line. His mother led him back to the house. His home. His first home.
 
It would be another ten minutes before David walked back into the house alone, but they didn’t hear him close the door because Sammy had turned the music up so loud.

Josh Rank graduated from the University of Wisconsin – Milwaukee and has had stories published in The Emerson Review, The Feathertale Review, Hypertext Magazine, and elsewhere. He currently eats sandwiches in Nashville, TN. More ramblings can be found at joshrank.com.

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