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Friendship


Kevin Solter leaned against the pickup’s side panel and gave its rear tire a half-hearted kick. “Dude, it’s not working out. Probation’s only ninety days, and if I don’t get good evals, I’m gone. They’ll can my ass. Know they will.”
 At the driver’s side of the truck, his friend Darrell Buckner slugged down the remainder of a soda and tossed the empty can into the truck bed. It settled among a collection of toolboxes and spooled wire. “C’mon, buddy. What are friends for? You get on my crew, we’ll help you out. You know that.” He patted the truck bed’s rear panel with the same reassuring nonchalance as his promise.
Solter’s face tightened and he dug at a bit of dirt with the toe of his boot. He said, “What about your foreman? Heard he’s tough.”
Buckner said something unintelligible and spread his open palms in front of his chest. “All foremen are SOBs. You gotta know how to handle ‘em. Quit worrying. I’ll take care of you.” He was three or four years older than Solter.
The younger man flushed; it was a warm day but not yet summer hot. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s just . . . you know.” He pushed at the small clump of dirt at the toe of his boot.
Buckner opened the driver’s side door and spoke over his shoulder as he climbed into the cab, “Lighten up, man. He doesn’t eat people.”
***
Solter recognized his friend’s lie when he met the foreman. Ian Wolfe, at least ten years older and a head taller than his crew, was big-bellied and gruff. Named right, thought Solter. He does look like he eats people.
After signing Solter’s personnel transfer, Wolfe stabbed his pen back into a shirt pocket. His medicine-ball gut quivered at the motion. "So, boy, what can you do?"
Solter sucked small courage into his lungs. “Finished the apprentice course a month ago.” His voice was weak, and he only found words for short sentences. “Worked the line crew in the south end of Foster. Understand most procedures. They mostly had me run errands, flag traffic, respond to safety issues.”
“Hmm. Safety issues.” The phrase evoked a tightening in Wolfe’s body, which grew more erect. “Safety is always a concern on my crew.” He turned his head toward the other men. “Ain’t so, boys?”
As if rehearsed, the men uttered words of agreement, all statements ending simultaneously with the word, “Boss.” The word hung on their lips in a hiss. Solter glanced at Buckner but detected none of his friend’s previous bravado. And as to handling the foreman, it was Wolfe who seemed to be the only handler on the crew. Buckner stood in submissive compliance.
The foreman noted Solter’s inattention. “You don’t think safety is important?”
Solter’s eyes snapped back to the foreman. “Oh, yes, Sir.” Something caught in his throat, but his words managed more enthusiasm and confidence than when he earlier described his previous job.
Wolfe’s rolled his eyes skyward, taking in the massive electrical tower that cast zig-zag shadows across the neighboring field. “Oh, safety’s good, ain't it boys?” The other crewmembers nodded earnestly, their bodies twitching like nervous retrievers awaiting a command. Wolfe pointed overhead at the thick twisted cables running from tower to tower, his voice now ministerial. “Those wires carry 38,000 volts, Solter. Fry you to a crisp. We won’t need lunch that day, will we, boys?”
Around Solter, heads shook, their response clear. “No, Boss. No, Boss.”
In a moment, Solter mouthed the same words. “No, Boss. No, Boss.”
***
The crew worked without a break until mid-morning, concentrating on inspection of line continuity. At ten-thirty, an ursine growl erupted from the foreman’s stomach, and a pained expression blossomed on his face. “Whose turn is to go to town for lunch?”
Naively, Solter motioned toward Buckner’s truck. “I have a sandwich.” But everyone looked directly at the new recruit, including Wolfe.
Wolfe pointed a finger toward town. “New man always goes for lunch. It’s a rule. I have rules.”
The other crewmen nodded agreement. “Rules.” Their voices rang as one, hollow, as if spoken from an empty barrel.
With that, Wolfe walked to his truck and up-ended a thermos into a cup. A translucent, golden-brown liquid spilled into the cup. After drinking it down, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and uttered a slow gasp of satisfaction. He filled the cup again, speaking as he poured, his back to the crew. “Solter, you got an hour. The others will tell you where to go. I want extra fries. I’ll pay you when you get back.”
***
An hour later Wolfe took his food without reaching for his wallet. "Forgot I don't have anything smaller than a hundred. See me tomorrow. Meanwhile, Solter, you had your lunch break. Keep checking those lines. Mind what I said about safety. We already have today’s lunch." From his truck, Buckner offered a ghoulish smile and bit deeper into his sandwich. A red streak of ketchup dibbled down the corner of his mouth.
Solter gazed upward as he heard the hum of the thick cables. As he buckled his tool belt, he looked at Wolfe and the rest of the crew. Will the food I brought back from town be enough?
The End

© Richard. J. Schram


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