It all started when we first got together after nearly 40 years. We had worked together 37 years prior for Burger King Restaurants in Chicagoland. Eventually, our lives went very different directions, my family to Dayton, Ohio, Seattle, and back to Montana. Scott stayed mostly in the upper Midwest. Then one day when I was back in Montana, I typed Scott’s name into a Facebook search. A photo popped up but looked nothing like what I remembered him from Burger King days. A lot of years had passed for both of us so that was to be expected. I doubted that I looked anything like he might remember me, even if he did remember me. We worked together for a very few months at Burger King.
A year to the day later from when I did that FaceBook search, he responded to my private message. Low and behold it was him. By the early 2010’s, I had been divorced for a few years and his marriage was moving in that direction. Eventually, and a few more years passed us by, we got together through texting and a few phone calls.
Finally, we decided to get together in June of 2016. My mother had passed, and there was space in my life for other things including a guy. I had moved to Billings, Montana, in January 2016 after my Mom’s passing the previous August. Scott flew out to Montana in June for a few day’s visit, our first meeting after 37 years.
He had expressed interest in seeing buffalo and Yellowstone Park. He arrived on a Tuesday exhausted because of sitting on the tarmac at the Minneapolis airport for several hours for some unknown reason and finally landing at the Billings airport after 1:00 a.m. Plus, he was two weeks out of rotator cuff surgery with his arm in a sling and on pain meds. We did some things around Billings Wednesday and Thursday, then headed to Yellowstone Friday morning.
Scott had never been to Montana so Montana distance made no impression on him. We measure distance in driving time. It’s over 5 1/2 hours drive from Billings to Old Faithful Inn and the geyser. I think Scott imagined it was going to be a short couple of hours. We went through Red Lodge and over Beartooth Pass then down through the Lamar Valley. I prayed that the Lord would bring out at least one buffalo. He didn’t disappoint. We saw lots and some up very close. By the time we got to the Park entrance we still had about another hour and a half to drive. Scott was in a great deal of misery from his shoulder surgery. Hearing that we still had a long way to go brought a series of moans and groans that spoke to the pain he was in.
Old Faithfull was grand as ever. The couple sitting next to us where there celebrating the young lady’s birthday. We learned her name was Sarah. Scott started singing “Happy Birthday” to Sarah as Old Faithful reached it’s apex. The surrounding group of strangers joined in to make Sarah’s special day even that much more grand.
Then it was a short drive out of the park to Gardiner and onto Chico Hot Springs where I had a cabin rented for the night. Actually, that was probably another two and a half hour drive. While getting gas in Gardiner, Scott went into the gas station office to get a cola. In visiting with the owner, it came out that they both had had rotator cuff surgery. The owner got Scott a pack of ice to put on his shoulder and hopefully ease his pain. As I was paying, I ask the owner how much further to Chico. He said probably a short 35 miles maybe another 40 minutes. Scott, literally, screamed like a little girl, “35 miles!?! She’s going to kill me!”
I shrugged my shoulders and said, “We better get going because we have dinner reservations.”
If looks could kill, I’d be the one dead. Off we went.
By the time we got to our cabin at Chico, Scott was in no mood for dinner. He just wanted to get out of the car and possibly get some sleep. The cabin had a lovely hot tub so I ran him a tub full of soothing hot water. After helping him navigate into the tub, I thought he could use some of that wet heat on his shoulder, so I pushed him further down into the tub. The bottom of the tub was a bit slippery, and he went all the way under. He came up sputtering with fire shooting out of his eyes. That was the second time I heard him yell, “What are you doing, trying to kill me?!???”
Then he sputtered, “Get out and turn those damn lights off so I can relax and not fear for my life.”
I objected, “You won’t be able to see anything. Are you sure you want the lights off”?
“You couldn’t possibly care. Just turn them off and get out”!, he yelled in no uncertain terms.
It was a fast drive back to Billings the next day, Saturday, to drop Scott off at the airport to fly back to Minneapolis. He sat with his head leaned against the door, his eyes closed the whole way. No words were spoken.
Some grand vistas flew by as I sped down the freeway. I wasn’t about to wake him so he could look at any of Montana’s spectacular scenery. At last the airport drop off area was in front of us. He grabbed his bag, gave me a perfunctory hug and a kiss on the cheek, then he disappeared into the Billings airport.
As I was driving out of the airport parking lot, I muttered to no one, “Well, I’ll never see or hear from him again”.
The shoulder healed. The Yellowstone “pain” experience faded into the memory of Old Faithful geyser shooting skyward as a small group of strangers sang “Happy Birthday” to Sarah. The shoulder pain faded even more as Scott remembered the multitude of amazing buffalo that walked within touching distance of the car. And now we laugh at the “scream” in the gas station when Scott heard how much further we had to drive and the subsequent loving push under the water in the hot tub.
That was the first of several events that continue to have Scott asking me if I am trying to do away with him.
There was another hot tub event where the drain plug wouldn’t release. It was as if the plug had formed a vacuum and nothing that we could do to get it to pop up worked. Because of the water depth and the difficulty of getting out of those tubs, Scott couldn’t seem to get out. Even one of those attempts at getting out had him slip under the water with feet in the air. Try as I may, I couldn’t get him upright. Finally, with the help of a towel and a lot of pulling, he was able to sit up with his chin just above the water. Once again, he accused me of trying to kill him. I was about to call the front desk, when I thought to use my metal nail file to pry the drain cap up just enough to brake the suction. Scott, saved at last!
These events might have not been so infuriating to Scott if I hadn’t laughed hysterically the whole time as he was accusing me of attempted murder.
He accuses me of upping the game when we moved into a lovely home in Hudson, Wisconsin in September 2017. I told him when we looked at the house before buying it, that the gas stove would have to go. He resisted, saying that a new stove would cost a lot, and I could do just fine on a gas stove.
I said, “I am not safe cooking with an open flame. Seriously!”
He looked at me with raised eyebrows and said, “You’ll be fine.”
The control knobs for the gas stove were right in front, waist high. It was about week two cooking on that stove, when Scott woke in the night smelling gas. I was sound asleep. He discovered one of the knobs had been turned just enough for the gas to start but now enough to engage the pilot light. He got it turned off and opened up windows, letting me know that we had an issue. A few days later the same thing happened. By now, Scott was angry that I wasn’t turning off the stove the right way. I assured him I was. Then came the accusations that once again I was trying to kill him.
I shot back, “That’s absurd, and you know it. I don’t know how this is happening”. These so called “attempts” were potentially catastrophic endangering both of us.
It couldn’t have been more than a few days after that second time that the same thing happened, but this time Scott didn’t wake up right away. This time, I awaken to Scott yelling frantically that the house was full of gas and don’t turn on any lights. He ran to the kitchen, turned off the knob that was slightly past “Off”, and started opening up windows and doors. We ran outside waiting for the house to air out or explode. After a good half an hour, we went back in to find the house was once again safe. I finally figured out that the knobs were catching on my belt buckle and turning on just enough to engage the gas but not the pilot light. That next day we bought a flat top stove. He knows now, I ONLY will cook on a flat top stove.
The next big “try-to-do-Scott-in” event was using a tens unit. If you have never used one or don’t even know what one is, it is a small electrical unit with wires coming from it. These wires attach to pads. The pads can be place on the body where there is pain. Mild electric shock stimuli vibrates through the pads to stimulate muscles and tendons to increase blood flow and hopefully alleviate pain.
Scott was experiencing shoulder pain probably from the rotator cuff injury and resulting surgery as well as long-term over use. We decided to try the tends unit for possible relief. I attached one of the pads to each of his upper shoulder blades in the back. I turned on the machine and waited for the electrical stimulus to start. He said it wasn’t working so I increased the intensity. Now, the left pad was working fine but not the right one. I tried to read the miniscule print on the very tiny instruction sheet most likely written in China or Taiwan. I saw where it said to apply some moisture to the pad and re-attach it. I read nothing about turning the machine off first. Those words might have been there and “logic” says that such an action would make sense. BUT, I didn’t!
I applied a few drops of water from the sink onto the pad and slapped that baby back on his right shoulder. Instantly, Scott’s right arm shot up into the air, his hair stood on end, and he screamed like a little girl being tortured. With his left hand, he yanked the wires off. I know I should have immediately consoled him. But, instead I fell on the floor laughing so hard I couldn’t speak and every time I tried, I laughed harder, especially, when he accused me of actually trying to kill him this time.
His right arm hung limp at his side. “I can’t even lift my arm”, he whined. That brought more gales of laughter from me.
“How’s the pain in your shoulder”?, I said with tears running down my face.
If looks could kill, I’d be dead.
Eventually, his arm got all the feeling back. It took a couple months. It works just fine. He still has pain in his shoulders.
We no longer have the tens unit.
That’s the last big attempt I have made on his life. I like having him around. I always liked having him around. I’m working on building his trust in me. He only accuses me of putting him in harms way when I take a turn that he thinks the cars coming toward us are too close and are on his side of the car. He would take the brunt of a collision if we were to get hit. I assure him I had plenty of room for the turn. I’m working on that. It’s a work in progress.
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