So Long, Chester Wheeler(31)

“Hurry!” he shouted. “I’m already slipping.”

I dove down there with my eyes still closed, groping near the floor. I touched Chester’s hairy calf, which was disturbing enough. Then it dawned in my consciousness that my face was probably hovering dangerously close to his unmentionable bits.

“Hurry!” he shouted again.

I scanned the floor with my hands until I located his shoes, moved up until I felt a belt, then jumped up still holding it. I grabbed under his armpit with my other arm and he took the pants from me and pulled them partly into place. But he let go of the bar a split second before I could fully brace him, and we almost lost him again.

I had to lower him roughly onto the toilet seat with his pants half-on and half-off, and we had to start the whole thing over again.

“I am not getting paid enough for this,” I said when he was finally clothed again.

“You? What are you complaining about? I’m the one who had your face in my nether regions.”

“Not because I wanted it there, I can tell you that much.”

We plunked him down into his chair. It happened a bit too roughly again, because we were both exhausted.

“Come on,” I said. “We seem to have lived through all that somehow. Let’s enjoy some breakfast.”

But Chester was in no mood to enjoy. He was still barking complaints when I rolled him up to our table.

“You just don’t appreciate what a slap in the face that is to my dignity,” he said. “I mean, when you’ve got your pants down around your ankles like that, you want everything to go smoothly. No surprises, you know?”

I sat down and grabbed up my menu.

“I’m not the one who dropped your pants, Chester. That was you.”

“Well, you’re supposed to help me recover from stuff like that.”

“I did what you told me to do.”

“Next time just help me back down and I’ll lean forward and get them myself, and then we’ll go again.”

“Fine,” I said. “I wish you’d thought of it this time.”

Before I could even finish my sentence, a young waitress appeared at our table. She looked about seventeen, with her hair worn up, and too perky for her own good.

“What can I get you fellas?” she asked.

Chester just completely lost it.

“Privacy!” he bellowed. “You can get us some privacy! This is a private conversation!”

The little girl shifted herself into reverse and more or less ran straight backward. As I watched her go I saw that everyone in the place was staring at us.

“Do not take it out on her!” I barked at Chester.

But it was too late. She had run back into the kitchen crying.



A few minutes later someone came to our table, but he appeared to be one of the line cooks. He was wearing a slightly greasy white T-shirt and a definitely greasy white apron.

“Was there a problem here, gentlemen?”

Chester only chewed on the inside of his lip in silence, which was a relief.

“My friend here lost his temper at a bad moment,” I said. “I hope you’ll give our apologies to the waitress. If you’ll send her back here, I promise it’ll go better.”

“I don’t apologize,” Chester muttered in my direction. “And I’m not your friend.”

“I can take your order,” the man said.

It was a clear reaction to his having read the moment. It was a clear establishing of his role as the young waitress’s protector, which I had already gathered.

Chester ordered exactly what he had threatened to order: three eggs over easy, home fries, bacon, a short stack, and white toast. I ordered an omelet, even though I had lost every last trace of my appetite.

I ordered apple juice so Chester could take his myriad pills. There was a glass of water sitting right in front of him, but he only pushed it away.



We drove in silence all the way through St. Louis and out the other side.

I was the one who broke the perfect stillness.

“So, listen,” I said. “Chester.”

I could see his jaw tighten, but he gave me the space to speak.

“Here’s the thing, Chester. I don’t think I can keep doing this.”

“What’re you saying?”

“I’m saying I think next time you get it in your head that you want something better to eat, I should phone ahead and get a take-out order and just bring it back into the Winnebago.”

“Oh,” he said. “I thought you meant . . .”

“Yeah. I know what you thought I meant.”

The scenery that flashed by the window was very green. Very woodsy. Untouched, or at least it gave that impression. I had seen a sign a few miles back for the Mark Twain National Forest, but it’s not like we were making side trips.

“It’s because I yelled at that waitress,” he said. “Isn’t it?”

“No. Well. Yes and no. Yeah, you were horrible to her. But mostly . . . no. I know nobody likes to hear things like this said right out loud, and I don’t mean to offend you, but you’re not as mobile as you used to be.”

He barked a sarcastic laugh.

“Nobody’s as mobile as they used to be, Lewis. When you’re not in your twenties anymore you’ll learn that.”