Michigan Tales ~ A Little At A Time

noreply@blogger.com (Doug Card) — Sun, 21 Feb 2010 22:48:00 +0000

Otter Lake

It is the stars that pierce the night

and anchor the world below

– The Journal of William Ralston 1641

Nobody would ever call the stranger’s car nice. Its faded paint and dented exterior were actually improved by the slush-streaked dirt. It had a generic look and could have been any make. But the now extinct Oldsmobile made his place in the world feels even more precarious. He had twenty dollars in his pocket, a quarter tank of gas, was drowsy as hell, hungry and lost in this dark rural labyrinth of tiny towns and abandoned farms in Michigan’s thumb country. Lets just say that Otisville, Mayville, Columbiaville and just coming into Otter Lake was his new world.

He didn’t know where he was or if he was going in circles, but was acutely aware that north led to the black edge of the Great Lakes and south would put him in the middle of a decaying industrial no-mans land. The sign read “Entering Otter Lake”. He looked around thinking a few minutes rest and a cup of coffee would be his salvation.

The snow came down in clumps, like tiny parachutes. There was no wind and their graceful descent ended abruptly as they smashed into the windshield. The four lane street suddenly turned back into an empty two lane blacktop. He found a dirt road and turned around. Sure enough, he had passed right through the town.
The five small buildings that made up the heart of Otter Lake were abandoned and dark. They were ringed by a few surviving businesses. Candy's Cafe was closed. It had a dim light inside and a giant ice cream cone in the parking lot. Cindy’s Beauty Parlor was across the street in a small, red brick building that looked like it once had been a bank. Diagonal to the beauty parlor was the grocery - Ed’s Superette.
The battered Olds slowed and then stopped. He pulled down the visor and turned on the vanity light. The tired, unshaven face of a stranger with greasy tangled hair looked back. The man felt sspent. He had nothing left and nowhere to go.
In desperation, he pulled around behind a row of abandoned stores to the shadow edge of the parking lot. He didn’t think any of what the sign said was Otter Lake’s “Population 425” would mind. He resigned himself to this necessity. A cold night and his thin jacket had the feel of yet another ordeal. Images of a warmer coat in the trunk flashed - too far, too late. The last thing he remembered was the crunching sound of tires on gravel as his car stopped.

Otter Lake Part 2

noreply@blogger.com (Doug Card) — Sat, 20 Feb 2010 17:08:00 +0000

      He fought to stay asleep. His neck hurt. His body hurt. His fingers felt puffy and numb. Hours of sleep with his forehead pressed against the steering wheel made that spot a focus of pain. How long had it been? The town was just as dark and God knows he was still tired, but dawn felt close. He scanned the horizon for any trace of light even though he had no idea which way was east. He fumbled for his cell phone to check the time - “No Service Available”.
     The car slowly warmed as he sat in a gentle stupor. He looked out into the dark and tried to put together the last few days. His pre-dawn world had a lot of shapes but few edges.   He flicked the plastic Pterodactyl hanging from his mirror, watching it move back and forth. During the day it had color and detail but now was just a swaying silhouette. At this moment, his empty stomach and the need to get out of this car were as close to a plan as he had.
     The Olds moved out from behind the row of deserted stores. The dim, still landscape of Otter Lake and the warm glow of Candy’s Café were all he could see. The car nosed into the Cafe's empty parking lot, "Black Velvet" playing softly on the radio.

Every word of every song he sang was for you

In a flash he was gone, it happened so soon, what could you do?

Black velvet and that little boy's smile

Black velvet with that slow southern style

A new religion that'll bring ya to your knees

Black velvet if you please
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tkXNEmtf9tk

He turned off the radio and sat in there trying to gather the will to open the door and face the cold. The vibration of the engine and the whine of the heater fan were almost hypnotic.
He peered through the windshield into the Cafe. There were no people inside, but the lights were on. Right now, all he cared about was breakfast.

Otter Lake Part 3

noreply@blogger.com (Doug Card) — Fri, 19 Feb 2010 08:14:00 +0000

   Candy watched as a dirty sedan with a light dusting of snow emerged from the dark and parked in front. “And so it starts” she told herself. Twenty years as a waitress and then a dozen more in a Detroit auto plant was her crooked road to this moment. Her new Cafe was a single story cement block artifact from the 50’s, yellow on top, orange on the bottom and divided by a brown horizontal stripe. Anywhere else it might have faced demolition, but in Otter Lake it was still cutting edge.
     After six months of hard work, too much money and not a little despair, she had finally opened her doors to the world. About a third of Otter Lake’s residents were retired and a growing number unemployed. So Candy knew that counting on business in mid- February before tourist season was just wishful thinking.
     Still, she began her new enterprise, open 5:00 AM to 1:30 PM Saturday and Sunday. Supposedly, this was practice for the summer. But in truth, after years of being told what to do, she needed to grab this dream and make it real. So, Candy now found herself in the wee dark hours of a cold February morning, in the tiny rural town of Otter Lake, alone in her own little piece of the planet and nothing had ever felt so sweet.
     The lights were on, grill hot, coffee pot churning away, open sign in the window, chairs down and tables set. Now she stood at the service window leaning forward on the ledge, drinking coffee and half-listening to the news on the kitchen TV. She wasn’t making any money and right now she didn’t care.
     Candy drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled as she looked out the front window at nothing in particular. She remembered working the afternoon shift in Detroit and looking up at midnight as she wearily walked to her car. The same sky, but how different the worlds under it, she reflected.
     A large green truck slowed down as it dropped a bundle of papers in front of Ed’s Superette across the street. She noticed the car that had pulled up a few minutes ago. It was still parked and the driver, a tall man, was just sitting there. Candy thought maybe he was looking at his map or trying to get cell phone service. She gave a mental shrug and turned back to the kitchen.

Otter Lake Part 4

noreply@blogger.com (Doug Card) — Wed, 10 Feb 2010 05:14:00 +0000

     The stranger wasn’t even sure the Cafe was open, but the door moved inward with a shove. It was warm, clean and smelled nice. The usual garish overhead florescent lights had been muted to a glow and all the Formica and chrome tables were set like a crowd was expected. He found himself a comfortable spot in the rear, by the front window with his back to the wall.
   “Coffee,” asked a woman’s voice. Her stealth like approach had startled him.
     “Yes, please,” he replied in as normal voice as he could manage.
     She filled the new looking maroon mug in front of him. It advertised the services of a local excavator. “We’ll Do the Hole Thing,” it promised. Candy handed him a menu and he watched her leave. She was a handsome woman in her late thirties or early forties. He guessed from “Candy” on her name tag, she was the owner. And, from the new white floor tiles, fresh inside paint and the general look of a meticulous top to bottom cleaning, a new one. Other than that he was relieved to know absolutely nothing else at all about this woman. No insights, hint of yearnings, future plans, glimmer of regret, hopes or anything else. Candy of Candy’s Café was a blank slate. His headache was suddenly gone.
He decided on the Special and as Candy approached and held up the menu, pointed and said “over hard”. She nodded and disappeared. It was a nice moment.
     He turned his attention to the two page Java Junction News stuck between the napkin holder and the sugar. And for the next ten minutes focused the Otter Lake Junior High baton twirling competition, Ottisville basket ball team, ice fishing report and the Catholic Church clothing drive. It seemed curious to him, all this activity, in a place so empty. It was like a sci-fi story where the news paper kept coming out in a town with no people.
    Candy brought his breakfast. It was three eggs, ham, two sausage patties, three pieces of bacon, pancakes and two slices of white toast drenched in butter. Suddenly the lack of people made more sense to him.
     He lingered over breakfast for at least an hour and, when it came time to pay, found he had three dollars and three credit cards. He selected a card and handed it and his license to Candy. “Travis Caribou” from Virginia it read. She did not think he looked much like a Travis Caribou.

Otter Lake Part 5

noreply@blogger.com (Doug Card) — Mon, 01 Feb 2010 02:47:00 +0000

       Travis left the Café and stood in back of his car. He opened the trunk and unburied his down coat. It was stiff and dirty and, as he put it on, a few feathers flew off. He watched them drift across the parking lot and over the giant ice cream cone until they were lost against the broken clouds.
     The main street pointed north for about a thousand feet and he headed that way. It consisted of a thin ribbon of buildings along the town’s west side with Otter Lake and its park directly behind. On his right were the Otter Lake Bar, a party store, vacant scrub lots, and a few unclassifiable derelict structures. Behind the bar were several streets that contained most of Otter Lake's hundred or so houses.
      The thin clouds and fading snow formed fringes of white in a losing battle that let the sky and dirt show through. Midway up the street, he sat on the town’s only bench. It had concrete legs and a wooden slat back that bore the cryptic remains of a farm equipment ad.
    A blue Ford pick-up parked across the street in front of the Otter Lake Bar. Muffled music poured out as the bar door opened and closed. Travis leaned back on the bench, closed his eyes and let the sun hit his face. As cold as it was, he still felt its power. Distant birds, the bell on the party store door, the smooth rush of wind scraping over the world, and after a while, it seemed to him the sunshine and even the lack of noise made noise.
     To his right, a car door shut and he could hear footsteps moving toward him mixed with the aroma of pipe tobacco. Travis knew a smarter man would have tensed his body and formed a plan, but right now, he was not that man.
     "Hello Travis.”
     “Hello Günter.”
     He opened his eyes to see the face of a tall, fit man about 40 in a very expensive long coat with equally expensive black leather gloves. He looked European, maybe Italian, had thick, black hair combed straight back, with fine, almost chiseled, features. Like with himself, the name did not sync with the man. Relief edged out surprise. It was re-enforcements.
     “Nice place you have here,” said Günter.
     Travis tilted his head and gestured. The tall man sat next to him on the bench.   “It’s small, but deceptively complex,” Travis said.
     “Ah yes, I saw the bowling alley,” Günter replied as if
that confirmed the point.
     Travis tried not to react. He had been caught by surprise.
“What bowling alley?” he thought.
     “Curious how I found you?” Günter asked.
     “No,” Travis replied.

Otter Lake Part 6

noreply@blogger.com (Doug Card) — Sun, 24 Jan 2010 05:05:00 +0000

Travis was sure they should talk about something, but for one reason or other they didn’t. Clouds floated through the sky. Every five minutes or so a car would pass or a dog cross the street or a person briefly appear.

    “And we are here because…?” asked Günter breaking the silence.
     Travis didn’t have a clue. The world had gotten too noisy and this place was quiet. It was just that simple.
     “I’m working on it,” he said.
     “Is this an extended visit?” Günter asked.
     “Yes,” answered Travis, just then deciding. “I believe it is.
And you?”
     “Of course,” Günter answered as though it was a foolish question.
     A line of gray swept over the sun and the world suddenly felt less hopeful. They drove back to Candy’s to get out of the cold.
     “What now,” Günter asked?
     “What now, what now,” Travis repeated more as a statement than a question.
     The two men had a history. It was an odd partnership in which neither man acknowledged anything but that they occasionally worked together. They were brothers in the best sense and strangers in a way that did not seem important. But their collaborations were usually of a structured nature and this was breaking new ground.
     Travis needed clarity. Otter Lake, this place was so simple. It was a small group of buildings by the side of a lake. If your primary activities were eating, drinking, camping or fishing, then this was heaven. He entertained the thought.
     He had wandered for months in Michigan’s northern regions. A motel here, a camp ground there, sleeping in his car when he had to, all the time becoming a little more unraveled. His head was like a Geiger counter and his travels had become sweeps looking for the place with the least clicks.
     "Have more coffee” Gunter suggested to Travis in a polite order. Travis looked over at his friend. He realized his lack of direction was now official and obediently went back into the Cafe`.  Candy looked surprised to see him.
     “Didn’t you just leave?” she asked pouring another cup.
     “Small town,” he replied.
     “I noticed that too,” Candy said like it was a new idea they had both just discovered. Her smile was appealing.
     They both laughed. Her laugh was appealing.
     Thirty minutes later Günter returned. He held out a set of small cheap looking keys. Travis’s Olds followed Gunter’s car through the gates of the closed lake side park that made up the west side of town. About a hundred yards up a dirt road, they stopped in front of one of a scattered group of round toped silver trailers. It was so weathered that the aluminum skin had lost its sheen and was now a flat, light gray.
     Although the two men seemed so different, they packed like twins, each carrying in a single compact bag which was set on the trailer’s worn beige carpet. Günter lit the wall furnace and went back to his BMW only to return with two coffees. They sat in tall captain chairs at an improvised plywood counter extension.
     To Travis’s unspoken question, Günter answered, “It was on the board at Tiny’s Party Stop. Two fifty a month plus utilities and an exit propane fill up. Quite a bargain, don’t you think?”
     “Maybe," Travis answered.
     “Good coffee?” asked Günter holding up his paper cup.
     “No” said Travis.

Otter Lake Part 7

noreply@blogger.com (Doug Card) — Fri, 22 Jan 2010 05:44:00 +0000

    It was still night when Travis opened his eyes and surveyed the room. He had taken the couch in the front room while Günter was in the bed room. Even in the dark he could picture the trailer’s cheap birch veneer and worn 70’s decor. Somewhere he knew there was paint worn off a knob, a sliding door that didn’t slide, tile with iron stains from the hard water and maybe a dirty screen with a small hole in it. Good things, real things, objects with the reassuring wear of a normal world. He was comfortable here. Today was good already.
     Travis was awake now and not as much hungry as craving to consume something. In former times a cigarette would work, but, until he found cigarettes and his will power crumbled or he went to the store, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t fall off that wagon.
     He felt his way over to the kitchenette and fumbled for the light over the old stove, trying every switch and button until rewarded with a flickering greenish florescent glow. Then, like a glorious miracle he saw a stack of heavy paper cups, a tin coffee pot, a plastic jug of water and a box of instant coffee packets on the counter. Günter took on the aura of a Caffeine Saint. Perhaps the Catholic Church would never recognize him, but Travis solemnly promised to. The thought of Günter's face on a medalian he wore around his neck for protection when he went to Starbucks made him smile. The little kettle whistled and ten minutes later he occupied a thread bare swivel lounger gazing out the front window, coffee in hand.
     Travis looked out into the void for the still hidden lake. He toyed with the thought of sitting here as the night transitioned to day and the lake slowly revealed itself. Travis knew he was having this nice moment courtesy of Günter. A difficult problem as his gratitude had already peaked with the coffee. “What the hell was he doing here?” he wondered. It was a short jump to ask himself the same question about his whole life
     Travis was nine when he had his ‘awakening”. He used to turn around and around to see where the murmurs were coming from. Noises, tiny whispers, quiet emotion filled whispers that he couldn’t make out. The noises were very small like a mosquito in the night. He would listen and when he stopped, it would come back. Over the months it became clearer until one day he knew that "Susie was mad" and "Eddy hated someon," “I want to go home," “pretty," “lonely," “sad," “bad," and the like. Some days he avoided the playground altogether and sat hidden on the farthest edge of the school property.
     All through grade school and into middle school Travis had tried his best to ignore it, even as it got louder. It was like someone turned the radio up or the stations were getting closer. But in high school a funny thing happened. His curse became a blessing. He realized he could respond to whatever a girl was feeling and after a while learned to do things that influenced those feelings. He thought that was cool, a little evil, but mostly cool.

Otter Lake Part 8

noreply@blogger.com (Doug Card) — Tue, 19 Jan 2010 05:05:00 +0000

     Travis stood outside the trailer. The dim shape of Otter Lake was on the left and the Town of Otter Lake in front. The stars were glaring points of white in a clear, black sky. There was just enough light to make out the open spaces. The remaining snow was thin and coarse. Travis walked the dirt trail he had driven the previous day. The air was still and bitter cold. He stopped and exhaled a cloud of warm breath. It left his mouth and hung in front of him as it evaporated into nothing. He did not mind the solitude of the walk with only the crunch of frozen earth for company. A place to stay and his friend in the trailer had changed the game and he now felt like a man back in the world after a long illness.
     The way to Otter Lake led down a gentle hill. From this vantage point he could see the dark outline of the entire town. With only a summer park and a few stores it seemed curious that there even was a town. Maybe a gas station and a party store or more likely a gas station with a mini mart inside, but not a functioning town. “Nothing happens without a reason,” popped into his head. It seemed the sad observation of a man clawing for understanding where there was none. He told himself to quit thinking.
     Travis emerged from the dark into the harsh blue-white illumination of Main Street's only street light. Down the street and around the corner Candy's Café was again the only place open.
     Through the window Travis could see the only customers were an old couple eating breakfast. They seemed to be having fun. He stood at the door for almost a minute before deciding not to intrude.
     The Café was on the corner of “Detroit and Burnett”. "Why would anyone name a street in this place Detroit?” he thought already breaking his promise to stop thinking. Disturbingly, the fact that the street name didn’t fit this place, seemed to fit perfectly. He begin to walk towards the dark.

Otter Lake Part 9

noreply@blogger.com (Doug Card) — Mon, 18 Jan 2010 21:56:00 +0000

     Most of the houses in Otter Lake were situated along a single street, Burnett Street. It was about a quarter mile long and separated into chunks of darkness by two dim shaded street lights. The houses were of a basic, unadorned design, averaging a thousand square feet of floor space and only a few had more than one story. Time had given these once proud hand-crafted structures a slightly tattered look. Nothing seemed newer than the 1950s but, decades of vinyl siding and other affordable “modern improvements” hid their real age. Almost every house was white with white trim. Each building was the story of a time and a person, and like the artifacts at an auction, important only if someone cared.
     As Travis walked slowly down the street the cold seeped off the broken sidewalk through the soles of his shoes. Light showed in a few scattered windows. He wondered if there was someone in there or did the light guard empty space. Otter Lake at 5:30 AM was deathly quiet.
     Nestled in a dark stretch of Burnett Street, dwarfed by the winter skeletons of large oak trees, was a rectangular stone church. Although of modest proportions, it still looked large enough to hold the entire town. Unlike the casual house exteriors, this church was lovingly maintained and had a subtle eloquence. A planter box shown through the vestibule window to the left of the fan shaped front steps. The shadow of a small light made the flowers appear black. The church entrance was a dark wood double door with a pointed Gothic arch, black iron fittings and carved detail. He  stopped and walked up the steps. The latch moved easily and without really thinking he stepped inside.
     It was warm. There were dimly lit scones along the walls. It was almost like he was expected. The interior was a pale cream color with a pleasant dark wood trim. Traditional arched stained glass windows filled the outside walls. The cathedral ceiling was just tall enough to be impressive, but low enough to maintain an intimate space. The ceiling came down to form a plaster dome recess over the altar.
     Travis instantly loved this place. Mesmerized, he sat on the brown cloth cushion of a rear pew. An irrational joy flooded over him. For an instant he thought maybe it was the grace of God, then it didn't matter. His thinking became incredibly clear. His ears were filled with the roar of quiet. The edges of his vision closed in with a white haze. Suddenly he had a focus and purpose. He was home. He knew it. Ten minutes he sat there in an ever growing ecstasy, and then it was over.
     Travis stood up and walked to the front entrance as if directed. As he stepped outside a Sheriffs car slowly cruised by. He froze. But the car just kept moving past. He thought he could make out the deputy nodding at him.
     Travis stood at the Cafe’s door without any memory of getting there. He already doubted what had just happened and would have been willing to dismiss it altogether except for the lingering glow.
     The old couple was gone now and a dozen other people had replaced them. He sat in the corner and looked out the front window. Candy poured a cup of coffee. It smelled good. He was happy.

Otter Lake Part 10

noreply@blogger.com (Doug Card) — Mon, 18 Jan 2010 04:01:00 +0000

      Travis stared at the pristine white box on the counter by the Café’s cash register. Candy sat opposite to him and lowered her paper long enough to say “Jeannie bring those donuts over here, please, and give this man one before his stare catches the box on fire.”
     A young, thin, dishwater blond girl presented the container to Travis. After careful consideration he decided on a cinnamon swirl and that the waitress would someday regret that barbwire tattoo around her left wrist.
    "You might as well take two so we don’t have to do this all over again,” Candy said from behind the newspaper.
     Travis quickly grabbed another glazed treasure before the offer was rescinded. First rhapsody in the church and now this. “Could it get any better?” he thought. In silence, he ate his donuts, drank coffee and read whatever sections of the paper Candy set down. Gunter walked through the door. Candy got up as he approached, said “next” and went back to work. Gunter looked inquiringly at Travis as he assumed Candy’s former chair.
     “Don’t ask me,” Travis said indicating his own puzzlement with a upturned hand gesture. “I sat down and she sat down. She has ignored me and given me free donuts, so I think we might be a couple. ”
     Gunter looked at Travis. “Wow! That usually takes two or three days, at least the ignoring part. I don’t think any woman has ever given you donuts.”
     "Did I mention they were free?” Travis said.
     Gunter’s eyes scanned the restaurant for any trace of pastry. He knew that free might not include him, but he had to take the chance and, spotting the holy white donut grail, got up. It was empty.   Instinctively, Travis concealed his second donut under the business section of the Lapeer County Press.
     “So what is the deal with our Café owner?” Günter inquired.
     “You know as much as I do,” Travis replied.
     “I doubt that. You are the people detector.”
     “Not this time,” said Travis making a hard decision. “I may not be as talented as you think I am,” he stated.
     “How so?” Gunter said thoughtfully. “Unless a great many people over the years were actors with orders to make you look good ….” His voice trailed off.”
     Travis gritted his teeth and plunged forward. “I had sort of a cheat sheet to refer to and now I don’t,” he said with a apologetic grimace.
     Gunter raised his eyebrows. “Meaning…?” he said.
     “Look, I have this kind of thing I can do. Sometimes I can feel what people feel.”
     “Empathy?” said Gunter with the gesture of a man unamazed.
     “No, really, actually, no kidding, feel what they feel. I am not guessing. I know.”
     "As if, in their head, “I know?””
     Travis nodded.

Otter Lake Part 11

noreply@blogger.com (Doug Card) — Sat, 26 Dec 2009 03:32:00 +0000

    “And you have had this thing since…?” asked Gunter.
     “Maybe always," Travis replied.
   “Is it like the “Ghost Whisperer”?”
     “No, she can see ghosts and they talk to her.”
     “Like ”Marvel Girl”?”
     “No, she does out of body experiences, astral projection.”
     “Mr. Spock?”
     “No…that was mind melding and I never knew what the hell that was.”
     Gunter smiled at the absurdity of this conversation.
     “It’s not a big deal, like I have some incredible super power. I don’t have psychic weapons, read thoughts, take control of someone’s mind, move objects around the room or go into their dreams. I can just feel their more intense emotions. Nothing specific unless the emotion is strongly focused on a singular event.”
     “All these years, you forgot to mention this?” asked Gunter.
     “I didn't know what to say. I'm sorry that I keep this from your of all people. Really, I mean it, but didn't you think I was amazingly good at reading people’s character? ”
     “Yes, I did,” said Gunter adding “deceiver.”
     Travis squinted at Gunter and went on.
   “I am in Otter Lake because this is a clear spot. I can't read people here."
   "Humm...," said Gunter, "Travis Caribou, bad friend, detective and possible mental patient. We will have to update your resume.”
     “Exactly why I did not tell you.” Travis said.
     “Good point,” said Gunter.
     Remember when you got that wasp stuck in your hair and he was stinging you?”
     Gunter thought. “I do,” he said. “I was on my roof and I had to calmly climb down without spilling the paint and turn the garden hose on my head.”
     “Exactly,” Travis said, “this trip is my garden hose.”
     “I can’t tell you how or why I have this ability or if it has any bigger purpose at all. Maybe, the only thing I am going to discover in Otter Lake is how to get nice quiet nights sleep.”
     Gunter considered this.
   “Why do you think the voices are quiet here?”
   "I'm going with the free donuts," Travis said.

Otter Lake Part 12

noreply@blogger.com (Doug Card) — Tue, 22 Dec 2009 22:08:00 +0000

   It was a quiet breakfast. Every page of the paper was read including sports, classifieds and the food page. Gunter worked on the crossword puzzle and Travis looked through the want ads, curious as to the price of a used tractor. He found four columns to choose from. This went on long enough that Travis started to refuse any more warm ups for his coffee as he was beginning to grind his teeth, never a good sign, he thought.
     “This really is a most unusual place, you know, your astounding mental powers aside?” said Gunter. He noticed it seemed to be his job to end long stretches of silence.
     “Because they love me?” Travis asked smiling proudly.
     “Well, there is that, of course, but did you notice that cell phones don’t work here. A half mile in any direction, no problem, just not in Otter Lake. And did you know that the same number of people live in Otter Lake as when it was a lumber town in the 1800s? The population here has never really changed.”
     “I don’t know what is more curious, this information or the fact that you know it,” Travis said. “Let me guess…”
     “Tiny's Party Store” they both said in unison.
     “It is like CNN.” Gunter said admiringly. “I was there already this morning, and if you stay long enough reading free magazines and eating mini-mart delicacies, the world is yours."
     “It sounds like you were sucking in knowledge like an aphid on a plant stem,” Travis said.
     “You have the concept exactly!” Gunter exclaimed.
     “Tiny’s donuts are horrible,” volunteered Candy as she walked by, “Jeanne brings ours from the bakery in Fostoria,” she said implying that was a mark of donut greatness.
     “I didn’t get one of yours,” Gunter mumbled in a low voice.
     “Travis is hiding one under the paper,” Candy said cheerfully over her shoulder as she walked away.
     Gunter stared across the table.
     Travis produced the donut and handed it to Gunter.
     “Years, based on trust…,” Gunter said with sadness in his voice.
     “It is just a donut,” replied Travis wondering how Candy’s love had already turned into betrayal.
     “Nothing is just a donut,” Gunter replied solemnly.

Otter Lake Part 13

noreply@blogger.com (Doug Card) — Wed, 09 Dec 2009 16:13:00 +0000

     They both ordered. Günter asked what whole grain cereal they had and, after receiving a blank look, asked for one egg over easy with whole wheat toast. Travis again ordered the “Café Special” in an attempt to further cement his place in Candy’s heart, even if it meant a shorter life.”
     When his order arrived, Günter picked up his toast thinking maybe “wheat toast” had been too vague. .
     “I walked around this morning.” Travis said deciding not to mention his experience at the church.
     “And…?”
     Well, it’s very dark,” and after a pause sensing that wasn’t enough, “and dramatic…and I think some of the houses here date back to the beginning of Otter Lake.”
   . “Maybe these people are really two hundred years old and they are the original owners. Come to think of it, I don’t remember seeing a cemetery around here,” Günter speculated.
     “Or it is possible that the houses were handed down and the population stayed so low, because even though this place is very pleasant, it never had an economy that could support more than four or five hundred people and unemployed people move away.”
     Günter considered this.
  . “No, I am going with my idea,” he said giving Travis a decisive look. “Remember Occam’s razor, the simplest answer is usually the best answer.”
     Travis rolled his eyes.
   “I don’t think that meant the answer from the simplest person.”
   Günter took a bite of his donut and as he looked away said in a voice almost to low to hear, “pretty sure I’m right.”
     “I heard that and … pretty sure you are nuts,” Travis stated in an equally quiet way.
     "Slander is a poor argument,” then adding “Trav, you don't really have a plan do you?”
     Travis thought about it. “It’s more of a direction really.”
     “What direction would that be?”
     “Kind of 360 degrees.”
    “ As long as we know what we are doing,” said Gunter relieved.
    " Not to worry, “said Travis.

Otter Lake Part 14

noreply@blogger.com (Doug Card) — Sun, 06 Dec 2009 04:48:00 +0000

The two left the restaurant and parted ways. Gunter went to pick up a few groceries and, he said, to apply for a position at the Star Dust Bowl he saw posted at Tiny’s. Travis walked back to the trailer. The walk had seemed a lot longer in the dark.

He unashamedly-micro waved a cup of this morning’s coffee and with little expectation turned on the TV. To his surprise all it came on. He lay down on the couch and flicked through the stations. Hockey, crab fisherman in Alaska, the local school board meeting, movie stars in court and three shopping networks. There was a knock off of Princess Diana’s engagement ring for $69.95. Only seventy five left. He settled on a PBS program showing the inside story of the All American Circus. He was glad there still was a circus.

Travis sipped more coffee. Instead of making him more hyper, it had the opposite effect and just as the unicycle clown finished to thunderous applause, he drifted off. He was at the circus. It was his job to train little dogs, some wearing Rhine stone collars, sweaters and funny hats to do tricks. He stood by the exit flap opposite the center ring. A half dozen women in sparkling tight costumes walked by. There were so many pretty women here and despite it being the All American Circus, the majority of them had European accents. He especially liked one and watched for her every day. He thought her perfect, in the way a man does when he really knows nothing about a woman. As she walked by he said “nice show.” A dozen other people said the same thing. It was a totally safe comment. But to his horror, she stopped and looked directly at him.

“Thank you,” she said. She kept standing there.

Travis did not have a plan for this, but as it turned out, he didn’t need one. They just talked and the next day talked again. Then they started to casually meet each other by arrangement instead of relying on “accidents.” And one day she reached over and touched his face and that was that. From then on they were inseparable.

One night after the evening show, they were sitting at the buffet for performers. They often just sat quietly enjoying each other’s company. Grysbok the stilt-walking clown came by.

“You are one lucky dog trainer,” he said laughing.

“I know,” Travis said, believing it with all his heart. Maria looked at him and he saw his future.

Just then, the circus tent and the grounds began to shake. A rumbling sound escalated until it was hard to hear even the screaming. People fell over, tables toppled and they started to run from the tent.

Otter Lake Part 15

noreply@blogger.com (Doug Card) — Sat, 05 Dec 2009 19:51:00 +0000

A hand gripped his shoulder and shook roughly.
"Wake up...hey you, wake up..."

Travis pushed through the cobwebs. He opened his eyes. A woman with a stern expression looked down at him. He closed his eyes. But contrary to his hopes, when he reopened them, she was still there. He sat up.

“Do I have to stand here or can I trust you not to go back to bed? You have one hour to get ready," this angry sounding woman said.

She was a tall, with long, straight, auburn hair, about thirty-five and a little too thin. Small lines in the corners of her eyes and mouth made her look tired. She wore a white blouse and the type of jeans "ladies" wear to work in the garden. They blended perfectly with the bedroom’s neutral green paint and plain woodwork.
Travis felt a bolt of panic as the thought presented itself to him that this woman was his wife. Wake up, wake up ...he told himself.

He took another look around. This world was definitely not the circus.

The woman stood in silence. He felt the pressure of her focused attention. Travis still had not spoken.

“Crap, you have that look again,” she said with a hint of cold disapproval.

“What look?’ he said hardly recognizing the sound of his own voice.

“The Otter Lake look…” she replied a bit wearily. “That's it, isn't it?"

She knew about Otter Lake? How was this possible he wondered? Travis felt his strength draining through a crack in this new reality.
“Give me a break,” he said stalling for time.

Ignoring him, she continued, “And who is Maria? Is she one of your Otter Lake friends?”

“Yeah, sure,” he lied, hoping she would quit speaking.
"Travis got up and went into the bathroom to take a shower and try to sort things out. He wondered how he knew this room would be the bathroom. The door opened and a pile of clothes landed on the floor. He felt numb and was relieved to hear the door close.

   Hot water streamed over his head, down his face and shoulders. With all his heart, Travis wished he was back at the circus. Otter Lake, the circus and now this strange angry woman who may or may not be his wife. It seemed quite surreal and not at all pleasant. He thought of fun house mirrors facing each other. No, these dueling worlds were not distorted he decided, it was more like realities stacked one on top of another, like a dream within a dream. Travis felt a tidal current sweeping him out to some place of oblivion.
   He closed his eyes and let the river of hot water run down his neck and back. “Relax” he told himself and concentrated on deep steady breaths. The soothing water, steam and measured in and out of his lungs were like tiny hooks stopping his fall. Even the sharp knocking on the door did not break his trance.
   "Ray get out of the shower! We have a half hour."
   "In a minute," he yelled back, somehow knowing she always subtracted an hour from the real time.
   It was working. He felt much calmer. Still confused but more in control. The shower became his comforting cocoon. Pieces of his jumbled world intruded and then faded. Nothing beyond this little room existed. Words from long forgotten poem came back.

You are not wrong, who deem

That my days have been a dream;

Yet if hope has flown away

In a night, or in a day,

In a vision, or in none,

Is it therefore the less gone?

All that we see or seem

Is but a dream within a dream.

He did not know what this meant. He no longer knew really what anything meant.

Otter Lake Part 16

noreply@blogger.com (Doug Card) — Sat, 05 Dec 2009 04:37:00 +0000

Travis emerged from the bathroom drying his hair with a plush pea green towel. His wife, for the moment her name escaped him, had a light lunch ready. He attacked it ferociously.

This woman, who was maybe his wife, sat across the table and watched him eat. The clink of his fork against the plate sounded massive in the quiet room. His wife concentrated on him and he tried to concentrate on his lunch.

“Ray tell me if I guess it,” she said.

Travis winched at the realization that here he was “Ray” and her sternest was not going to give up.

“Guess what?” Travis/Ray asked.

“Your latest dream adventures, of course,” she replied almost sweetly.

Ray thought intensely. It came to him. Her name was April.

“You owned the gas station. Went to high school. Played on the football team. You weren’t the mayor again were you?” she taunted. “Came back after being in the army, married your high school sweetheart and had a family. I hate that one. And my favorite, you were an old man and the last resident.”

Travis looked up still chewing the last bite of a tuna fish sandwich. All of this did seem vaguely familiar to him.

“Well?”

“You know it is just a stupid dream. Let’s forget it,” he said in a bid to escape.

“No, Ray, I want to hear this, “she said with more than idle curiosity.

Travis, who was now Ray, sighed in resignation.

“OK, I was a stranger that came into town late one night and slept in my car in the cold.”

“Its 80 degrees.” said April.

“Well, in Otter Lake it is February. So I end up making friends with the owner of the local diner.”

“A woman…?”

“Yes, a woman and an old friend came to help and we end up living there in a trailer. That’s about it.”

“Help you with what?” she asked.

“I wish I knew,” he said honestly.

Otter Lake Part 17

noreply@blogger.com (Doug Card) — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 19:38:00 +0000

     “Your trailer friend is a guy?”
     “Yes, I swear. He is a good-looking, probably Italian, maybe late thirties, with nice clothes, nice hair and a nice car kind of guy. We have known each other a long time and occasionally work together.”
     “Ray you have a job as a systems analyst for Amtrak,” April pointed out. “What could you possibly do with this man?”
     “Oh, you know detective work, investigations of a sort, whatever a client requires. To a point that is,” Ray replied in a hesitant, low voice as if he was just trying out the answer.
     “I see …,” she said with an expression that made it clear she didn't see at all.
     “Hey April, quit trying to make sense of these dreams. Remember, it’s Otter Lake. Here, I am a detective or apparently a lot of things. And stay away from my handsome imaginary friend,” he added feinting jealousy in a desperate attempt to make the absurd seem funny.
     It did not work. April just stood and stared. The room had the quiet of a vacuum except for the ticking sounds produced by a cheap red plastic wall clock in the shape of a tomato.
   Dead silence. Travis thought it went on forever, but three minutes was a closer estimate.
     “I know there is more. Just tell me,” she said in a flat demanding tone. More silence, more ticking.
   Ray saw it was almost four o'clock.
   Finally he replied “There isn't any more, really…” Ray said looking down and speaking as honestly as he could lie.
     “Ray…”
     “OK. I find God in an empty stone church and am in Otter Lake because I can get peace from the pressure of being able to read the emotions of other people.”
     She looked at him with more incredulity than usual.
     Ray did not think that whatever was happening here, he was winning.
     “Well, that’s new… strange, but new, nothing else?” she asked with impassive distance.
     “Not that I remember.” He remembered that answer working on CSPAN.
     “Ray, why do you keep dreaming of this place? Five years now… I think it is over, a couple of months go by and then you are back in Otter Lake.
     I want you see someone about this. Are you so unhappy here that you have to keep escaping to this silly imaginary world?”
     Ray decided that any reply here would be a poor decision.
     “I dream too, you know, but I don’t keep going back to some broken down little flyspeck town. I go to places I want to go but can’t afford like normal people. Thank God I don’t have to go to Otter Lake with you.”
     Travis/Ray felt happy about that too.
     “This is all so much crap you know. You, for sure, cannot read people’s emotions. I am living proof,” April said walking away.

Otter Lake Part 18

noreply@blogger.com (Doug Card) — Wed, 02 Jan 2008 02:52:00 +0000

The next day and the next day were blocks of time to crawl over. Since no one can say they remember all of their dreams, Ray knew he may have gone to Otter Lake far more often than he remembered. That is not to say it was all he dreamed about, but it was all he could recall. And each time he seemed to be a different person and in a different time. His sense of place had become a hazy marker. He was not sure anymore if that fixed location even existed.

Otter Lake was always in the back of Ray's mind. Real or not he wanted to return. It was the last thing he thought about before sleep and the first thing he thought about when he awoke. But after months of futile effort it became apparent that events would occur independent of what he desired. Strangely this knowledge relieved him of the need to push or feel failure. After all, Ray reasoned, it was not up to him.

Struggle was a waste. Resignation was the only option Ray felt he had. And if that was not a positive direction, it still moved his day from here to there. Not that this existence was that bad. It wasn’t. If his marriage was not passionate, it also was not hostile. They had achieved equilibrium. He and his wife lived in a condominium loft in East Orange, New Jersey. They were both 38 and, although always intending to have a family, it had not happened yet.

Travis worked as a computer programmer for Amtrak. It was not a bad job. But, after 10 years of the constant political rankling about funding, it still felt like temporary employment. One nice thing about working for a train company were the free train passes. There was a 30-day pass that allowed you get on and off the train whenever you wanted. He had only done this once, but it was the best. He took the northern passenger train called the Empire Builder. This train goes from Albany New York to Chicago and then up north through Wisconsin, Minnesota and west to Seattle. He got off in small towns, stayed a day or two and jumped on the next train. It was wonderful. He operated according to whim. Even his wife, who was a planner, seemed to enjoy herself. At least she said she did.

Ray smiled at being Travis Caribou. Both names felt right. He liked having Gunter as a friend. Ray didn’t seem to have anyone like that. And the circus dream…. He knew it was so shallow and probably covered in the first chapter of Psychology 101, but he loved that dream.

The day he had last returned from Otter Lake was just in time to attend his sister-in law's wedding. It was the perfect event to cushion his rather jarring return. Weddings are all story and fantasy with very little intersection with the real world. It was a place Ray knew well.