Swain Clatchee Pumps Gas

by Charles C. Cole

Swain Clatchee, late twenties, known to his neighbors as the go-to counselor and lay minister of Weezer Township, was standing at the Lanford Mobil just finishing pumping gas into his black Ford Ranger when Doc Buckle pulled up behind him in his familiar white Jeep. Doc stepped out of his vehicle and approached. Swain screwed closed his gas cap and snapped shut his fuel tank flap.

“Swain Clatchee, I was just thinking of you. And here you are.”

“I tend to hide in plain sight,” joked Swain.

“We need to talk,” said Doc.

“Sounds important.”

“It’s about Miss Mamie.” Miss Mamie was Swain’s landlady. She and Doc had been “going steady” for over ten years. She and Doc were also closer to eighty than seventy.

Swain looked over Doc’s shoulder at the empty parking lot. “Well, since there doesn’t appear to be a line, now’s an okay time. I hope it’s nothing serious.”

“I think it is. I think it’s very serious: I’ve asked Miss Mamie to marry me.”

Swain reached over and shook Doc’s warm hand. “Congratulations! It couldn’t happen to a nicer couple.” Doc seemed a tad tentative, considering the occasion. “I’m assuming she said yes.”

“It was her idea. It’s a little unconventional, I suppose, at our age,” said Doc. “That’s why we’re going to ease into it, continuing to keep our own residences. Funny as it sounds, marriage seems less of an adjustment than moving in together.”

“No one will judge you for putting your own Weezer Township-stamp on a centuries-old tradition,” said Swain. “Good for you. Good for you both.”

Doc just didn’t act as happy as one would expect. “Can we pull to the side, out of the way? I just want to clear the air.”

“Sure, Doc. My time is yours.”

The two parked in the corner of the lot. Doc practically hopped out. Swain intercepted him behind his truck.

“What’s on your mind, friend?” said Swain. “Is there more to this than ‘They lived happily ever after?’”

“Well, I’ve known you since before you started shaving, and you’ve always been aligned with the supreme spiritual forces. If there’s a God — I prefer to think there is — and if He has a say as to what goes on in our little community, you’d be the first person He’d talk to...”

“Thank you for the generous words, kind sir,” said Swain. “To answer your question, I think God’s the real deal, but He lets us live our lives free of his direct influence. It’s a Heavenly paradox that I happen to believe in.”

“Ah, hell, Swain,” said Doc, “what I’m trying to say is: you’re eloquent and churchly. I’ve seen you speaking at funerals and I know some folks want to be holding your hand when death comes knocking—”

“Let me save you some anxiety. I love funerals, remembering how we’ve touched each other, giving a dear friend the send-off they deserve. But weddings have so much optimism. I’d be happy to marry you and Miss Mamie. In fact, I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve daydreamed about it.”

“That’s great, and I knew you’d feel that way,” said Doc. “Our own Mr. Justice of the Peace. But Miss Mamie was thinking about a formal setting to tie the knot, like Lanford Church of Christ. The Reverend Bell has already agreed. Miss Mamie went to high school with his father, you know, not that it’s relevant.”

“Is that what this is about? My feelings? Doc, I couldn’t be happier. You two are made for each other. Love and relationships are more elusive for some of us. You two give me hope that it’s never too late. And Reverend Bell is a great guy.”

“I’m relieved, really. But there’s more,” said Doc. “We’d both like you to be my best man. I know: you’re less than half my age, but I feel we’re a team, the way we take care of the physical and spiritual needs of our community. And you’re practically a son to Miss Mamie, even though you pay her rent for the privilege.”

“Best man?”

“You won’t need to pay for a tux. Just a jacket and tie. And you get to give the toast, opining as you like on our relationship with each other and with the Almighty, no restrictions. Maybe throw in a couple of jokes to keep Sid Sutter and Burt Walz from falling asleep. What do you say?”

Swain smiled and shook his head at some errant thought.

“Is that a no?” asked Doc.

“I was just thinking how glad I am that I decided to get gas and that you saw me.”

“Is that a yes?” asked Doc.

“I would be delighted,” said Swain.

The two hugged. It felt good, not too intrusive at all. Considering that it was their first hug and how long they’d known each other and had supported each other, the public act of affection felt long overdue.