No complexities, no unnecessary frills to eat away at the edges of that quiet simmering and easy pleasure.
His life, that has become habit; admirable habits. No Fuss.

He got up in the morning, showered and shaved and then dressed himself in the usual work clothes, hardy and ruggedly things made for his job at the mill. Again no fuss. All the same-coloured green work clothes. This morning he took time, and picked the best and newest set of his shirts and trousers, from a rack of clean and lovingly ironed work clothes; pressed and in their place. Each one lovingly placed like a piece of art. Hanging and resting in the place that it should. That it had, rested in so many times, or a place on that hanging rod that was merely inches away the week before.

There was no dust in that old wardrobe. It was his father’s and who knows where his dad got it. It always had a odour, for as long as he could remember like lemon oil; it had been rubbed so many times with it.

And Jessy, his wife had treated it the same as his mother did for his father, both men were honoured in such a way, tradition and by their wives for their dedicated work ethic and get it done defiance and old fashioned idea about a real man. Patient and spiritually centered, practical and easy to love, and non judgmental in most cases.

Harley walked down the same staircase, and entered his same kitchen, strut across the kitchen floor to the stove were his wife Jessy stood frying his eggs, as she had fried so many of them; the synchronicity of that one real moment in time, at the same hour at the same few minutes on the hour of six o’clock. A synchronicity that out performed any real chaos. Discipline to life, real life.

Between her cracking an egg on the edge of the pan, to the flip of the second egg to make them easy…. over, over it happened and was actually quite remarkable over the course of thirty some odd years, that Harley had worked at that mill. This was their morning ritual. It was a prayer they preyed to God. They lived by it and understood some greater purpose. They were use to it and had only one child, and they called her Anne, she was away at college and Harley wished he could talk to her today of all days. But he knew every-time he called she worried in some way.

He would kiss his wife, Jessy, on the cheek as she moved her face ever so gracefully towards him, a split second glance away from the pan in intense acknowledgement, showed all that she felt for him, but quickly back to the contents, and the importance of the frying pan…and Harley’s eggs.

Jessica Waters; Jessy, as Harley loved to call her, was the simple wife of mill worker. She asked no more for herself, than was fair and excepted no less. She was getting old now and getting tired of all this, but always found enough of herself to put in that pan with those eggs. Always found enough for the day and her tasks.

Dedicated to her husband and his job, the job she knew he hated, but that they both needed to keep the wolves away from their simple and quiet door.
She took to this morning chore like a monk, a meditation practiced as that prayer to some unknown God of working people. And as sacred. Week after week she fried two eggs and bacon and buttered toast washed down with two cups of black coffee. When fruit was in season, then it differed.
The same old way, at the same time; quiet, simple and a beauty in the uncomplicated. Was it pleasure, was their life pleasure? It was an act of love on both sides. And so loved each other. Their tender moments were quiet and unspoken about, natural and never sullied. Their few friends would say they were the perfect couple, it was exciting to see them hold hands at some gathering or event. they were respected. And trusted.

Harley would sit down at the table, and Frankie, sat across and watched quietly, her elbows on the table, cupped in her hands a mug of coffee close to her mouth, leaning in drinking the coffee in short sips, and watching Harley eat.

Frankie was Jessy’s nick-name when he wanted to show his affection for her, it was a name he gave her because she liked Frank Sinatra. And a song Sinatra sang that she liked and that Harley would sing to her on the odd Saturday night that they would have a glass, after long conversation in their kitchen. He would ask her after the moment held itself up, for a slow dance and then Harley would sing the love-song to Frankie. And Frankie heart would blush with love. 

I’ll be seeing you

In the old, familiar places

That this heart of mine embraces

All day through…

Watching him eat, watching his eyes was pleasure for her, a pleasure in seeing him eat the eggs like he had so many yesterdays eggs. He was her world and she adored him, as he did her. She would smile as he ate the white from around the yolk first, ever so careful, like he was fixing a watch. Nipping at edges and then wait a second, like he was waiting for the world to breathe, and quickly scoop up the yellow sun from his plate, and put it in his mouth. She would smile as his face would light at his success. It was the boy in him, noticeable at corners of those old eyes of his… she never told him about her great satisfaction and pleasure she felt on seeing him do this day after day. It made her smile inside. This singular pleasure he got from such a thing. The immense satisfaction with himself as he succeeded.

Waiting for the occasional glance up to her, and his smile. Or his wink. Sometimes a word or two, as the morning was allowed to take its time. He would say something about fixing something, or she would talk about her sister was coming over this afternoon. But she was always enjoying those eggs more than he did.

He would rise and take his cup and plate, and rinse them in a quiet charity so as not to allow the breakfast to dry to the plate and cause Jesse anymore work, he felt she had enough in keeping their house in respectable order. As she did and he had admired and was impressed by her diligence for the details. They both were in the habit of placing love in everything they did for each other. They were deeply devoted to each other and timeless. And now in the present, just old fashioned and mainly ignored.

When he finished he would go to the back door and put his boots and coat on, look carefully at Jessy, and tell her how much he loved her, always and forever, and then pick up the cooler with a good lunch inside and leave through the back door, with a clatter of a screen door.

Today was like any other day, no difference than the day before, except he was another day older. And now it was taking its toll on his body. He felt tired, and achy and something was amiss in his gut, at his core, he could feel it. It had gone on for at least a year now. It felt fatal, it felt like it was never going to leave. It had moved in there, and he knew in his heart, it was final.
He had hidden it and knew deep inside of himself that it would cost him dearly. One of those things that comes along and would take everything that he had worked for all his life away from him and Jessy. A few months of illness and without any real medical benefits, it would break them like dry tinder. He wasn’t going to let that happen.

He crossed the back lawn to his truck, looked up at the sun and squinted and slid his ass onto the front seat. It was cool this morning, and the truck groaned into life. He allowed it a few moments to warm up. It was old like him, he had bought it brand new and took care of it as he was taught he should. He looked towards the back kitchen window of the house, and there she was looking at him. As always. He smiled and waved, she waved back, he blew a kiss and he turned his head and put his arm behind the passenger seat and backed out of the drive and into the alley. A glance back at the window to Jessy, and he blew her another kiss.
A few minutes later and he was on the highway heading north to the Big Joannie River Mill.

The drive was quiet at this time of the morning, no traffic, just the occasional deer, or coyote in the ditch. The crows gobbling up the insects that bounced of the passing vehicles. Careful to stay behind the lines and not get hit. Smart bastards knew just how far to stay back without losing the bug. They knew exactly were to stand, and timed jumping out-of-the-way perfectly, when it came to rushing out into the driving lane after an injured dragonfly. Harley loved to watch them, he thought them wise beyond their making. It was a lesson in adapting to a real need.

Harley liked this time of the morning it was the only peace and quiet he’d get all day, until shift-end at four o’clock, when he made the return trip back home to Jessy Waters and the surprise of what she had cooked and was baking during the day. She told him when he asked, and it was never the same and never on a schedule of certain things to eat in week. They grew a garden and she canned and pickled, she baked  and was a fine cook, and he made a deal for half a calf every fall, and went hunting when he could. They ate well and were generous of themselves and to others. When they hosted a meal with friends, Jessy Waters could cook a snake and you’d remember it forever. She had that special touch for cooking food the old way.

He thought about her again, as the white lines flicked by him. She was his life. What would happen to her if he got sick, real sick and died. This pain he had, was never gonna leave.
He couldn’t see an illness and doctors and tests steal what they had built together. He had an insurance policy that covered him at work against accidental death. It paid of the mortgage and his debts and he had bumped up the coverage over the years and so she would stand to make upwards of $400,000 upon accidental death… They had saved a little bit for years, and she would get a modest pension from his thirty years. There were no real debts to worry about, he had kept on top of that, never allowing it to slide more than a few dollars.

Harley Waters never smoked or drank much. Saturday night and the the odd shot of good whiskey, here and there, or at the holidays. His pocket-money went into a saving account, he never spent it; and he had roughly $18,000 saved now. He was not into buying much, he had no need of anything or desired anything for that fact. Although Jessy always tried to encouraged him to spend on himself he never did.

The miles clicked by, and Harley reached to his truck radio and turned it on. A country music song twanged on to its ending and the voice of the broadcaster broke the air, “And now for the KSPX early morning weather and news folks, looks like a sun filled day…

Harley listen to the weather as white lines fled behind him. He grabbed his side again, as that stabbing pain broke into his quiet time. It subsided, in time for him to glance in the mirror an see Skinny’s truck close the distance behind him. That dam kid he thought, always in a rush. He looked to his left a moment later to see skinny roar past him, with the snotty kid’s usual morning salute. Harley smiled, and relaxed back into the seat for that last few miles of his trip, seeing skinny’s truck fade into the distance in front of him. “The old bull.” he thought…

Five miles on and the noise and traffic, jump up out of everywhere. The image of the mill suddenly loomed high up and above him, dominate the whole scene; the smell, exhaust, trucks, his windshield was filled with employees entering the parking lots, and semi’s leaving full of milled lumber for distance places. Logging trucks and cacophony of noise and horns.

Harley pulled slowly into his usual spot abruptly stopping and throwing the shifter into park. He put on the parking brake. His truck went silent and he waited a bit, collecting his thoughts as the metal shrank and made that sound that it makes as it cools; and he sighed and took a breath…. opened the truck door and walked the small walk to the employee entrance, to the noise of the morning. Of to the edge of the parking lot he could see Skinny and his mate sucking on a pipe.

On entering, men were standing in the long hallway, chatting and drinking coffee. He was half an hour early as always, and walked up and plugged five quarters into a coffee machine, and pushed the black only button. He stood there watching the cup fill, looking up he saw the approaching shift supervisor, Mel Thompson.

“Morning Harley, how you feeling man.”

“Fine Mel, and yer self?”

“Good, yeah, I’m good Harley.”, coming closer and lowering his tone and breath he said, “Listen Harley, ah…”

At that Harley winched and Mel caught it and said, “You okay?”

Harley said “Yeah, eggs or bacon must have been off a bit, gas cramp.”

Mel replied, “Yeah I get those, a good fart and it will be gone later. Listen…”, he said lowering his voice again, “We’re looking at a possible lay-off at the end of the month. Not to worry though, your job is secure Harley. You being one of our best boys. Skinny’s gone, an Moyd Samson…Elmer Strabner and that whole afternoon shift. Those boys have it comin, always smokin dope and not doin a stitch. When they all come back on the freeze-up, I’ll be moving upstairs to management. Finished my grade three, ya know, materials handling, and got my grade higher for first aid. I can save your life now, learned how to work the defibrillator. Listen, I recommended you as shift supervisor, that would be another fifty-four cents an hour Harley, you and Jessy could use that…plus it’d getcha of that fuckin planer. Noisy fucking thing, eh. How thad be Harley. And  a white hat and clipboard?”

Speaking at a lowered tone he said, “Yeah, I’d have to speak to Jessy about it…so for sure the lay-off huh Mel?

Skinny Lawrence slapped Harley on the back at that moment, on his way to chipping-on-shift, “Your getting slower every morning old man, how old is that fuckin ole truck of yours anyway?”

Mel stared at skinny passing by saying, “Yeah, Harley. That’s a fucking definite…he’s gone fer fucking sure Harley, goddamn brain dead idiot. Anyway, have a good one buddy, later.”

Mel looked up as Harley moved on down the hall to another check-in.

Mel was hated, but Harley had no bitch with him. Mel was brown noser and company man that others made fun of when he wasn’t looking. Skinny in particular; but Skinny gave everybody a hard time. Harley had gave everybody a chance. He understood Mel had a young family and he didn’t have real education like the boys in the top office where nobody went unless it was of real importance, and the company had given Mel a chance, because of his disposition. He was trapped in a condition like we all are in this world.

Harley got his name from an old bike he got from his dad; when his dad died, and he had fixed it up over a couple years and took his time at; it was old Indian and he kept it as he had found it, the original paint and the rest. Even the saddle seat which he rubbed with leather oil and cleaned and brought it back to new with old chrome springs Many had asked to buy the bike for big money, but it was like so kind of talisman to Harley.

During his conversation with Mel, Harley had felt the pain in his side rise to the unbearable again, he had difficulty making it not known to Mel that he was in pain. Mel was stickler for details. Harley hid it from everyone, and the tough test was keeping it from Jessy Waters. The bouts were coming more often now, he knew that tomorrow or the next day the pain would come and stay for good and not leave. He opened his lunch bucket and took out some pain killers and swallowed three. He moved to the time-punch and pick the chip hanging on the board with his name on it, and waved in front of the machine. The high-pitched wee-luu sound signalled he was on shift. Placing the chip back on the board he entered the main door to a wall of sound, while putting his ear protection on, and strode towards the large industrial planer at the end of the building. Waving to fellow employees coming off shift, on his morning walk, the mouthed hellos deafened by the loudness of the plant. Whining saws, and clacking conveyors, the beeping of forklifts and sound of planking falling off the fresh sawn logs. Sign language was invented to each in his own way.

The smell of spruce sap was always satisfying, it calmed him. Made him think of the forests where all that wood came from. He didn’t like the destruction of forests, wood is a good thing, better than plastic and it held a beauty in its own right.

He reached the planer room and entered and gently touched the shoulder of the man he came to replace. Sam Woodson turned and smiled and said “Harley. morning man!” The sound never reached Harley’s ears, it was swallowed by the dull ache and the thoughts of this morning at the mill and the obvious ear protection. Sam said the same thing everyday, and Harley failed to hear it a long time ago. He pointed to his ear and then to the booth at the side of the planer, as a signal he wished to speak with Sam. Sam nodded and stuck one finger in the air and mouth “One minute.” Harley walk over to the small control room and entered and sat down at the control panel table, the automatic door closed behind him, and the sound dropped to become a vibration on the metal floor. He took off he ear protection and dropped it in front of himself and sighed. He was beginning to hurt this morning. He looked around at the centrefold nudes pinned and taped to the walls. Black felt marker penises drawn beside mouths agape in the sexual vogue of the models in the pictures. Oversized dicks drawn close to exposed vaginas. Harley looked back to the door and saw Sam open the booth door. The rush of noise like water quickly filling the room and the quiet filling just as quick when the door closed. It was like some strange kind of machine breath.

Sam Wisen slipped his ear protection down on his neck and said, “Morning Harley, how are ya man?”

Harley said “I good Sammy, how was it?”

“Well, they put twenty-thousand board feet through… we had a jam up at about nine thousand. I went up on the widow’s peak and checked to see, it’s clogging up that exit door to the burners. Watch the safety rail, the bolt is real loose Harley. As you know I told the safety officer again for the 30th time this month, he said someone will get to it on your shift. Be careful though. They won’t. Why is it again we are not allowed to fix it?”

Harley looked at Sam, and said “That dam rail has been broke for months, I have told them a couple of time about it. Twenty-thousand eh. Are the kilns loaded?”

“I don’t know, I think so. I don’t know what they’re pushing for…”

Harley interrupted him “I do, they gonna be a lay-off at the end of the month Sam. I’m trusting you keep it to yourself.”

“What, again? There’s always a lay off after the rush. That kinda short notice, isn’t it. We need to organize, get a fucking Union. This is ridiculous, a big rush all the fucking time and then a lay-off. Fucking ass-holes are doing this all the time. The cheap son of bitches don’t want anybody to make money but them.”

Harley said. “I know Sam…”, Mel said I would be okay. I don’t know about you story Sammy. Skinny, and Elmer Strabner and all that afternoon crowd are gone. Keep it under your hat though. They will keep you, you’re a good worker. You, got no worries, Mel has always had a kind word about ya. Anything I need to know?”

Sam said, “No, it’s all good. You might run up the cat-walk and check that top conveyor, before start-up.  I greased everything about an hour ago. Moisture is up, so it is building up a bit around things. Be careful man its slippery! Okay I’m outta here Harley. Ya know what Harley, I heard that they are gonna replace the whole bunch of us in a one year, a shut down with new robotics and a few geeky technicians. And then run this fucking place 24/7, all-year-long, no labour cost and no talk of union! And no shut down. Remember those bastards in the whites hats some months back measuring and checking the machinery heads and all that squat, And talkin to electrical?”

The both men rose and exited the booth, putting on their ear protection into the noise, and the dust and the heat. Harley stopped at the control panel and pushed the large green button on the feed. The conveyor started and the wood moved slowly to the planer mouth. He watched for a few seconds and looked back in the direction of Sam and moved towards the stairs leading to the cat walk. He knew his moment had arrived, he wouldn’t get a second chance, everything fit into place, it was now. It was perfect. He didn’t like what he thought, but… He hesitated a moment and then climbed the steep stairs, he reached the cat-walk and moved slowly towards the end. Towards the exit door to the burners and the faulty guard rail. The cat-walk was steep and the hand rails on the side were needed to help in the climbing. After a few moments Harley reached the end of the cat-walk. Grabbing the faulty rail he shook it a bit, the main three-quarter inch bolt was loosen almost completely. This was his chance, a golden opportunity, it wouldn’t come again. He unscrewed the nut the last few threads, the bolt popped out into his hand. He looked down at the work floor far below him he could see Sam Wisen, a small figure exit the main doors on his way to punch off shift. Harley looked out ahead of himself, and saw the men at work head down below him, he felt the familiar twinge and then the stab at his side. He thought about Jessy, her face lit up in his mind; he pushed the safety rail and it swung open exposing him to the danger. He looked to the plant floor far below again, he let go of the nut and bolt in his hand, Harley took a step and dropped hard and fast. He heard the sound of Jessy’s voice above the noise, he saw her face, she smiled that tremendous smile of hers and then there was black silence.