There’s really not much to do when you’re driving across West Texas in the middle of the night. Even the spare scenery that is visible during the daylight is blacked out, and the place takes on all the beauty of a cast iron skillet. So you find yourself looking at that huge sky, checking out the moon and stars. On this particular night the moon was one of those you could climb up into and rock yourself to sleep. As for the stars, they were all wrapped in a thick flannel blanket, which you’d need up there to keep warm this late in November. I pulled over to figure out how to get up there myself, and stepped out onto the shoulder of US 287, a few miles outside of Claude, Texas.
Good old Claude, Texas – the town that gave me my name. Both names, actually. I had originally been called Wade by my parents, but apparently there was a slight clerical error at the hospital, and by the time all the paperwork got to the county offices, I had been named in honor of the town I was born in. No one there considered it odd that my folks gave me a surname different from theirs; they just reckoned that Mama and Daddy were as proud of the Republic as they were, and didn’t question it. When my folks did find out about the mistake, they decided they liked the provincial pride about the name, and left it. So from that day forward I was officially Claude Armstrong Texas, Armstrong being the county. It could have been worse, I suppose. I could have been born down the road in Henrietta.
Claude was a nice enough town to grow up in, though I can’t think of much that happened that you’d write your Aunt Dode about. Since it was the county seat, it had a fair amount of activity above the other towns around. But things being what they are, that is, me having a name that made me an easy target for every Jake in the panhandle, I had planned to leave Claude as soon as I could get the means. The means did come my way, in the form of a legal settlement with some big tea outfit, following a rather unusual and unforeseen accident.
All of that I suppose I owe to Clive Periwinkle, for it was him who taught me how to drink hot tea, instead of the iced tea I had grown up with. It took me a while to get used to it, but after I got the cream and sugar fixed right, I got to liking it better than the old way. I’d go down to the Quiche Deluxe every morning to have a cup of tea with Clive, and he always had some kind of treat to go with it. I really took to him, as he wasn’t from around here, and had lots of stories to tell about different places and things. I was always fascinated with far-away things, cause far away from here is where I wanted to be. To me, Clive was like a drug store chock full of post cards from all over the world, and he could draw real good pictures with his words. I loved to hear him talk. He seemed to like me too, though it bugged the hell out of him when I’d call him “Clyde.” That was a subtle thing, true, but that’s the kind of stuff that gets people the most. He knew I was just joking, anyhow.
Clive had come here from New York City. He told me he’d always wanted to be a cowboy, and he figured Texas was the place to be. He made a lot of money in some kind of business up there, and decided one day to just pack up and move here. Boy, was he surprised when he got here and instead of cowboys and saloons all he found was a bunch of cotton farmers and fundamentalist churches. I mean, hell, there are towns around here that don’t even have a saloon. But he rather liked the place once he got over the initial shock, and figured he’d stay and make a go at setting up a business.
That’s when he bought the old Hi-Dee-Ho drive-in burger joint. It was an old institution here, but wasn’t near as busy as it should be, so the owners were eager to sell even it if was to some elitist from New York City. It seems that money has a way of knocking down barriers, at least to the people passing it back and forth.
No one seemed too bothered by Clive’s purchase of the Hi-Dee-Ho, that is until he changed the name and the menu. You see, he looked at the fare offered by the old establishment, and decided that all that fried food wasn’t good for the local diet, too much saturated fats and such. He felt obligated in some way to improve the health of the area, or to at least provide a “healthy alternative” to the high fat and calorie content of the other restaurants around town. He noticed that not a single place gave much prominence to quiche – he was passionate about quiche – and decided that was the thing for him. So, without any notice, he shut down the Hi-Dee-Ho. This actually pleased the few locals that considered him an unwelcome outsider and wanted to see him leave, but he didn’t leave. Instead, in a couple of month’s time, he had transformed that old drive-in, both physically and dietarily, into the “Quiche Deluxe Coffee Shop and Drive-Thru Restaurant,” complete with cafe tables, fancy espresso coffee machines, and more quiche dishes than that West Texas town could ever imagine. And, in a really bold move, he had removed every fried item from the menu. Not even the chicken-fried steak sandwich was sacred to Clive.
People were a bit reluctant to try his new place at first. Most didn’t have a clue about what quiche was, so they didn’t like it right off the bat. They figured it was some uppity New York kind of food, too fluffy sounding to be of any real use out here. They began eyeing Clive with a bit of suspicion, too, like maybe he was threatening their way of life. He did have different ways about him, but I doubt he posed any real danger to the customs of the natives. He also had a sense of style that was quite beyond them. That was one thing I liked about Clive; he did everything with a certain amount of flair.
He and I talked a lot about his lack of success during the first few weeks of the Quiche Deluxe. I told him what I could about the makeup of the town, and how he had kind of stepped on their institutions by changing a tried-and-true burger place into a cute little cafe serving food that no one understood. He was resistant to my suggestions at first, and refused to give in to what he considered to be “inferior standards of cuisine.” But after a few weeks of really poor cash returns, I finally convinced him to at least add french fries and Grape Nehi to the menu. That really did wonders in regard to building his business.
At first only a few curious people came in to see what was going on, though they remained quite skeptical that this New York fella could produce anything of merit. Once they tasted his food, however, they realized that he did have something good there, and they noticed that most of his dishes contained local favorites like bacon and eggs. Some even began to enjoy talking to him, in spite of his Yankee accent and exaggerated gestures. Perhaps the novelty that he presented entertained them enough to take them beyond their bias. And he was an excellent cook. They say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and perhaps the same route will take you beyond his prejudices, too. It’s hard to not like a guy who can fix up a good basket of fries.
So folks finally warmed up to Clive. On any given morning you could see at least half a dozen Suburbans in his parking lot, and his cafe tables were surrounded by cotton farmers clad in blue jeans and seed company ball caps, enjoying breakfast quiche and espresso.
In a way, Clive was the best thing that ever happened to this town, for what appears to be a very simple reason: he introduced a new kind of food to the people here. Now this is something which shouldn’t be underestimated, because food is tied-in very strong with ideas. By opening these folks up in their eating habits, he opened them up to a whole new world of thought. There’s an old saying like “as a man thinks in his heart, so is he,” and I’d add that “as a man eats, so he thinks.” I know that my thinking changed because of all the time I spent down at the QD.
As I’ve already said, I’d go down there often just to have a cup of tea with Clive. We’d fix it up in the Queen’s particular fashion, and he’d tell of all the places he had seen and that I thought I never would. It all seemed so fascinating to me, like those Arabian Nights or King Arthur kind of stories. This only added to my already strong desire to go.
It was during one of these visits that I had my accident. I swallowed a tea bag staple.
I know it sounds ridiculous, but you should check it out, and see just how close you can come to doing it yourself. You drop that tea bag in your cup, pour hot water all over it, jerk it around a bit, and you may even squeeze the bag to get every bit of flavor out of it. You fairly well work that bag over, and it’s not the toughest thing in the world. That staple comes out real easy, and if it happens to get a bit too loose while you’re putting the squeeze on that bag, where do you think it’s going to fall? Well, right into your cup, of course.
Now, if you’ve muddied those waters with milk or cream, you’ll never see that piece of extra hardware sitting in the bottom of your cup. Then, when you do a bottoms-up, and rear your head back with your mouth open like a canyon, that staple will wash completely down your throat before you’ve got a clue as to what has happened. Once it heads down your throat, there ain’t a lot you can do to get it out. It’s kind of a waiting game at that point, if you know what I mean.
When the wait was over for me, well, it really wasn’t that pleasant. To use a Bible phrase, “see how great a fire a little flame kindleth.” You could say I was pretty well tore up by that staple, and spent a good deal of time in the hospital, face down. When I got out, and was able to sit long enough to discuss the situation, Clive told me I may have legal recourse with the tea company. I told him I wasn’t too keen on suing anybody, that I wasn’t that kind of person. But he persisted, and when he mentioned that I could get enough proceeds to leave town, I didn’t resist anymore. I realized then that a person may have his principles, but they’ll likely get in the way of something he really wants to do. I chose to follow Clive’s advice.
He had a lawyer cousin who agreed to represent me in court, and when this guy got rolling there wasn’t anyone who had a chance at winning. He told those folks about the physical suffering I went through, the mental pain I had endured, and how my mom had taken to a deep depression for fear of my wellbeing. He had charts showing the potential risk to the general public of such unsafe items as flow-thru tea bags, and made it look like a real plague was about to hit the country. He was a real piece of work.
Well, it’s enough to say that I won the case, and received a settlement that set me up so good that I’ll not have to work for a long time. Like a couple of generations or so. I thanked Clive and his cousin with a little bundle of their own, and they seemed genuinely happy that I had come out so good.
When the hoopla had all settled down, I set out to conquer the world. Clive had told me about so many places that I hardly knew where to start. I can’t tell you where all I’ve been since then. I’ve really had a good time, and I’ve seen a lot of things that most people around here only hear about. I reckon it adds up to about all that’s important for a person to see.
I noticed one thing about all that I had seen, though. I couldn’t fit it all back into Claude. I mean, I could tell folks there about how tall a mountain was, but not how big it was. And while trying to explain it to them, I found that I had become too big to fit back into Claude, too. You’d think that if your world got bigger, you’d feel smaller, but that isn’t so. You begin to feel a lot bigger, too, and that really is a good thing in spite of how it may sound.
I guess I’m real fortunate to have done so many things, seeing as how it all got started with an accident. I reckon that most of my life has been directed by accidents, and that suits me just fine. I was never much for making plans anyway, cause most of the people I knew who did ended up disappointed when things didn’t work out they way they wanted. It seems they made the mistake of thinking the world would stand still while they got their plans done, and that isn’t the way it is. The world will move everytime, just as sure as it’s going around right now. You’d better move with it, or when you get done you’ll be crying about all you missed and wished you had done, instead of being happy over what you got through your plans.
I kind of learned that from Clive, too. He came out here and found things were really different than what he’d planned on, but he didn’t cry about it. He just cinched up his belt and got busy doing things. He’s made a pretty good go of it, all by virtue of an accident. By watching him, I learned to relax and take things as they come, to enjoy the little accidents that happen everyday, like sunrises with clouds, and big splashing raindrops, and shooting stars. You could never arrange for those to happen as wonderfully as they do, but just look at them. They’re beautiful, and all without anyone putting the pieces in place. I guess there can be a lot of merit in an accident, even if it inconveniences you for a while. And it’s a hell of a lot easier to be happy about these kind of things rather than fretting over them.
Now I have to say that in all of this there is a bit of melancholy, for I had to leave behind the one thing I really liked in Claude. Her name is Darlene, and she is about the finest woman I’ve ever met. She’s the kind of girl who likes to put salt on her french fries, and that’s an important thing to look for in a person. She could make me smile better than anybody, and she never said a mean thing to me or anyone else, at least not without them deserving it.
She was a waitress at the old Hi-Dee-Ho, and when Clive changed it over to the Quiche Deluxe, he kept her on board. I became rather attached to her, and wanted to take her with me on my trips, but she wasn’t comfortable with it. I guess a person has to be ready to see the world, or else it won’t do them any good to go. I told her I’d come back to see her now and then, and tell her about what I saw, but on one of these trips back home I found out she’d taken a liking to another man. They got married shortly after. I reckon she needed someone who’d be around, not gallivanting all over creation. I decided I’d better not call on her anymore, even though I still thought about her all the time. I’d stop in at the QD on her off-shifts, and talk to Clive about her so I could stay up on how she was doing. I still miss her a whole lot, and don’t have any desire to find anyone else right now. I often wonder, if she ever got free from her husband, if she’d go somewhere with me now. I’d sure like to take her. Maybe I’m just hoping for that possibility.
If I was to tell the truth, I’d have to say that I do get a bit lonely. That’s the bad side of it being such a big world. It’s good to have a friend with you when you say, “Well, would you look at that!” Otherwise, you begin to feel a bit foolish talking to yourself, and then shortly after that you get to feeling a bit lonesome. And I really would like to have someone to laugh with when I see something funny. There’s usually other folks around laughing, too, but it’s good to be able to depend on the same person to laugh everytime. Cause if you can find someone you can depend on that way, chances are you can depend on them in other ways. Me and Darlene kind of think the same way, so I know she’d be there to laugh and cry and do other things when I did.
These are the things that ran through my head while I stood there on the highway. It was my first trip home for the holidays in several years, and when there’s a holiday involved you can be sure there’ll be some reminiscing. Which that is okay, but you should also have a few things to look forward to as well. I found just what I needed for this a few feet above my head, by my normal accidental methods. Without noticing it, I had stopped my car underneath an oak tree, and when I looked up among the branches I saw a bunch of mistletoe. Maybe I did have something here to look forward to, after all. It could be that my most favorite possibility would happen yet.
It was getting on close to sunup, about the time you could get breakfast at the Quiche Deluxe, and I was feeling a bit hungry. I figured I would head on in to town, but before doing so I walked to the back of my car, opened the trunk, and got out my tire tool. I stood under the lowest bunch of mistletoe, knocked it loose, and put it into my shirt pocket. Then I started the car, and pulled back onto the highway, bound for my favorite place for accidents. I was getting the urge to have a nice cup of tea, served up hot, by the finest waitress in town.