Baited

Scene One – COCA-COLA – Saint Germain, Wisconsin September 1951
 
“Hey Bobby, let’s go to the picture show,” Sally says. She looks out the window at the rusted, dented garbage cans across the alley. “There’s a new Clark Gable movie showing at the Bijou in Hazelhurst.”
 
“I don’t want to go. I’m tired. I worked all week,” Bobby sighs.

“You’re tired? What about me? If it weren’t for my job we couldn’t afford this crummy apartment. How come you’re tired? Are your poor skinny arms weary from pumping phosphates for those bebop girls who hang around your soda fountain? I don’t know why drug stores can’t just stick to medicine. Then you wouldn’t be ogling all those bobbysoxers.”
 
“Lay off will you?  I’m lucky Doc. Williams gave me a job. He lost his kid in the war. He wants to help vets like me.”
 
“Poor baby. Now I have to hear about your glorious military service again? I think you intended to get captured. I heard prisoners of war got off easy while other GIs were shot, some blown to smithereens.” 
 
Bobby slumps deep into the blue sofa. “God, will you ever give up complaining? Maybe a movie would be a good idea.”
 
“Now you’re making sense. Momma said you were a loser but sometimes, like now when you agree with me, I think she might be wrong.”
 
Bobby sinks deeper, white knuckles clench a cushion. “Matinee starts at three o’clock and the evening show begins at five. I’d like to catch the five o’clock show so we have enough time to drive over.”
 
Sally’s stare was Bobby’s service revolver, aimed to shoot a man through the head in the blink of an eye. “I want to go to the matinee.”
 
“Sally, it’s two-fifteen we’ll never make the matinee on time.”
 
“We will if we take the short-cut through the National Forest.”
 
“No, I don’t want to. It’s thirty miles to Hazelhurst on a deserted, two-lane, gravel road. If we have a problem, no one will find us. I’d rather take Highway 70. Then we’ll have plenty of time to make the five o’clock show. My Ford is on its last legs and I worry.”
 
“You’re such a baby, afraid of everything.”
 
“Screw it. It’s always your way. I’ll drive us through the damn forest.”
 
Fifteen minutes later the red, pinstriped Ford swerves from side to side down a lonely road bumping from one pothole to the next. Bobby reaches beneath his seat, brushing a bottle of Coca-Cola and his Colt 45 semi-automatic pistol. The gun barrel is cool to his touch. “BAM,” an explosion like a crack of thunder pierces the space between them. Sally slams against the passenger door. The car lurches to the right.
 
“What’s that?” Sally screams.
 
“Tire blowout,” Bobby says.
 
Scene Two – FOLLOW YOUR NOSE – Club 77, Hayward, Wisconsin May 1977
 
“Thanks for attending tonight’s show,” Bobby says. “Here’s a little ditty I composed about an unwelcome guest at my farm. His visit reminds us to heed risks and rewards of going your own way.”
 
Woodchuck has an uncle.
His name is Chewy Brown.
Chewy’s got a nephew.
He goes by Little Tom.

Tom came to see me,
Last year this very day.
Baited trap cantaloupe,
I took him far away.
 
Woodchucks like to talk.
Their stories bring you tears.
So, Tom said to Chewy, 
“It’s cantaloupe that I fear.”
 
        Tom’s got a hang-up
        Chewy clearly knows
        Take what you’re given
        Always follow your nose
 
Chewy found my red shed.
He dug beneath the floor.
“Holy shit,” I shouted.
There’s got to be one more.”
 
Trap set with cantaloupe,
But Chewy won’t go near.
It must be bigmouth Tom,
Who stoked Chewy’s fear.
 
For ten days and many nights,
Chewy stayed away.
Changing bait every day.
Chewy said, “No way.”
 
Today he took my bait.
April storm was his fate.
Froze the trap it didn’t close.
Now Chewy really knows.
 
        Tom’s got a hang-up
        Chewy clearly knows
        Take what you’re given
        Always follow your nose. 

​If this essay is meaningful, please like or tweet below or leave a comment. Thank you for your interest and possible action you may take.
 
Richard Wilberg, MS, PLCC, ACC 
Creativity Coach for Personal Fulfillment and Career Success
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