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Jake and I worked together on the rigs, till he broke his neck last week in a head-on crash with a semi. Buried him on Sunday. I drove 520 miles out of the bush back to Pierceland for the funeral.
We used to play horseshoes. Our doubles team once got barred from the local Hutterite tournament because my t-shirt said, "Jake Eats Snot." His read "Leonard Sucks for Zip." I bought him twenty-five B-52's from the shooter girl on his twenty-fifth birthday in July and like a lot of good things in life, somehow they all disappeared way too fast. Carried him then and I'm carrying him now, a big fat heartache heavier than any brass-handled casket.
He left behind a young wife.
Sarah was way too pretty for Jake, but they'd gone out ever since trade school and neither one knew the difference. So it goes. I had a crush on Sarah too, years ago, everyone did. I'd gotten over that. Jake was my best buddy, and good friends just don't do that to good friends.
Jake was the type of kid who'd jump over the boards and throw haymakers at the brawniest farmboy defenceman from "Krautville" after I'd taken a dirty crosscheck from behind. Fierce kinship springs from bitter small town rivalries.
That's why I got a little bit peeved when Melvin Hohlzinger from Goodsoil put in the first bid on Sarah's box lunch. The ladies' auxiliary are holding a fund raising auction to build an indoor arena in town. Half the proceeds go to the municipal committee and half back to the girl who bundled the munchies. I'm not much into charity, but thought I'd stop in to check out which pretty faces might have just turned sixteen and who slaps together a mean sandwich.
Melvin Hohlzinger used to like Sarah, too. Asked her to marry him way back when. Being a good hometown fan, she turned him down flat. Sarah was much sought after in these parts, and not just for her cabbage rolls. Hohlzinger's a rich kid. His dad owns the hotel in Goodsoil, but he never could skate.
"Thirty dollars!" he booms. Most lunch boxes are going for around fifteen and the highest paid so far has been twenty. This ostentatious display in the face of Jake's passing kind of irks me.
I've got a petro paycheque in my pocket so I come in over the top at "Thirty-five!" Jake would have done the same for me.
A hush sweeps over the Pierceland Community Hall, but that doesn't last long. The old grannies in the kitchen start buzzing and Melvin's face turns beet red. From the corner of my eye, I can see Sarah perk up and smile wanly for the first time in a week.
Dare I mention the contents of that lunch box? Finely-sliced celery mixed in with some canned cod and a dollop of mayo smeared over leftover buns from Jake's wake. To this, Sarah added a bottle of Shiraz and a little baggie of pistachios. Not much of a meal, but the red ribbon was a nice touch. I don't even know how she mustered the enthusiasm to bother. Sense of duty or maybe to keep her hands busy. I haven't felt very hungry myself as of late.
My counter gets Melvin's dander up, so he barges in with, "Forty-five!"
I can bid whatever I want - after all, it's not eBay - so I shout back, "A hundred dollars!"
I guess I mentioned Hohlzinger's loaded, but he's also German and a bit stubborn. "Two hundred!" he replies.
The whole town is staring at me, all my aunts and cousins and everybody I went to school with. No doubt this bolsters a sudden gust of bravado when I breeze in at "One thousand!"
It's nothing really, I'm thinking back to all the money I wasted on booze and gambling or worse. It kind of reminds me of the time Jake and I stood on the second level platform over the skating rink at West Edmonton Mall dropping down five dollar bills till all the teenagers underneath fell on top of each other in a great big pile-up and the security guards came and kicked us both out.
I'll give Hohlzinger credit; we're not talking chump change now. Still he refuses to put on the brakes. Chock-full of Teutonic pride and sneaking a lecherous peek at Sarah, he grunts out, "Fifteen-hundred dollars!" Personally, I think it was a stink bid.
No one had any idea exactly how high I'd go. Definitely caught the room off guard when I disproportionately upped the ante to, "Ten thousand dollars!"
That pretty much shut up Hohlzinger. I told you he was German, not stupid. He likely got to thinking about the 220-horse Evinrude speedboat he planned on buying this summer along with a bright shiny concave slalom ski.
I had done some thinking, too; it was about three months' wages. Sarah would probably offer to give me back her share, but I wouldn't take it. She needed the money more than I did. Jake left her in an awkward spot when he inadvertently cashed in his chips; they'd just bought a new house together. Anyway, the kids in town needed an indoor arena.
But I tell you, it was the best damn sandwich I ever ate. As part of the package, we spread out that box lunch on a picnic blanket near the jack pine up by the church and Sarah and I plunked down side-by-side for one last toast to poor Jake.
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