The All-Girl Filling Station's Last Reunion (17 page)

“I see. And are you still living at home with your parents?”

“Oh, no. I’m a fifty … uh … sixty-year-old woman with a husband and four grown children.”

“I’m sorry. You sounded younger. Well, could you go into a little more detail?”

“This phone call isn’t being recorded, is it?”

“No.”

“Well, I’ve just had a terrible shock. I just found out I could be the daughter of a Polish nun from Wisconsin and that I am not who I thought I was at all. Dena, my friend, said I need professional help. She’s married to a psychiatrist. Then today, when I wanted to strangle my mother, I realized she was right. Dena had already suggested that I call you, but I didn’t. But now I’m worried that I could be having a nervous breakdown. I might need medication, but I’m not sure. Can you prescribe something over the phone?”

“No, I would need to see you first.”

“Oh … darn.”

“But I guess I could see you at your house, if you’d like.”

“You could?”

“Yes.”

“Wonderful. When?”

“Just a second … uh … I have an hour open at four o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Would that work?”

“Absolutely. Let me give you my address. It’s … oh … you know, Dr. Shapiro, on second thought, that might not be a good idea. My mother lives just one house down from me, and she could just pop in any minute. And she never knocks. I know it’s a lot to ask, but could we possibly meet somewhere else?”

“All right. If that would make you more comfortable. Where?”

“Uh, let’s see—oh I know. How about the Waffle House on Highway 98?”

“Fine. And could you give me your name?”

There was a pause. “I’d really rather not … if you don’t mind. I would prefer it not get around that I was seeing a psychiatrist.”

“Okay, then. But how will I recognize you?”

“Oh, dear. Well, I’ll tell you what. I’ll be wearing a hat—and pink sneakers with pom-poms. Is that all right?”

“Okay.”

“Oh, and how much will it be?”

“Well, let’s just meet first and see where we need to go from there.”

After Dr. Shapiro hung up, he was a little apprehensive. He had never met a patient outside of his office before and certainly never at a Waffle House, but the poor lady on the phone was either a paranoid schizophrenic or one of the craziest people he had ever talked to. Either way, she obviously needed help.

M
AY
1941

W
INK HAD GRADUATED FROM HIGH SCHOOL AND WAS NOW WORKING
full-time at the filling station with his cousin Florian. He knew his parents needed him at home. His father was slowing down a bit and was not as strong as he used to be. Years of sleeping on a cot in the back of the filling station, being up and down all night, and going out in the freezing cold had started to take its toll. But secretly, Wink, who had his pilot’s license, was chomping at the bit to get into the fight overseas. A few of his friends had snuck into Canada and joined the RAF and had been sent to England and were already in the thick of the fighting. But he had promised his girlfriend, Angie, who was two years younger, that he would take her to the senior prom, and at this point, anything Angie wanted, she got, and he didn’t want to go off and leave her still single in a town full of bohunks like himself. He was not sure what to do, so he called Fritzi and asked her what she thought. She said, “Well, Wink-a-Dink, the old ball-and-chain bit’s not for me, but if that’s what you want, you’ve got yourself a great gal. You know I’ve always liked Angie, so I say full speed ahead.”

“Okay! Thanks, Fritzi.”

“Hey, do you have enough to buy a ring?”

“Oh … I forgot about that.”

“Well, don’t worry. I happen to be a little flush right now. Had some luck at a poker game up in Des Moines last week, so I’ll send you a little when she says yes—and she will.”

“Oh, thanks, Fritzi. But I don’t know. I may have waited too long. She’s been getting pretty popular lately.”

“Well, get off the phone, knucklehead, and get over there.”

W
INK NEEDN
’
T HAVE WORRIED
. Angie Broukowski had been madly in love with him since she was in the eighth grade. To her, Wink was the most handsome, most wonderful, sweetest boy in the world. She had only one goal in life: to become Mrs. Wencent Jurdabralinski, so of course she said yes, and they set a date in June. Between both families, there were to be more than two hundred relatives at the actual wedding, and the number of people coming to the reception afterward was so large that it had to be held at Zeilinski’s Ballroom outside of town.

F
RITZI CAME HOME A
few days before the ceremony to help out with the festivities, and everybody in town was glad to see her. Since she’d started flying with the Billy Bevins Flying Circus, she’d had several write-ups in the local paper, and everybody was so proud of her. They felt like she was their very own Polish movie star. Her younger sisters, who had never been out of Pulaski and had grown up wearing mostly handmade dresses that Momma made, could hardly believe they had such a glamorous sister who had actually been to Chicago.

They sat in her room and stared at her in awe as she put on clothes that they had seen only in magazines. Fritzi even wore a tiny gold ankle bracelet, the height of sophistication, they thought, and just when they thought they had seen it all, the little white frilly cocktail hat she pulled out of a box was so elegant and saucy, they all screamed.

The next morning, Wink came into the kitchen and asked where Fritzi was, and Momma said, “Oh, you know your sister. She and your dad are already out walking around town, big-shotting it.” Momma said it like she didn’t approve, but she was really glad about it. She hadn’t seen Poppa this happy in a long time.

Fritzi had tried to get Billy to come home for the wedding with her, but he’d refused. He said he was allergic to anything that involved church or him having to wear a tie.

However, on the day of the wedding, Fritzi figured that he either felt bad because he hadn’t come or else he was drunk or both, because as the bride and groom came out of the church, Billy was flying around up above and had written inside a big heart “Congratulations, Wink and Angie,” and then flew on back to Grand Rapids. As mad as she was at him, Fritzi had to laugh at the fool. He must have hijacked the plane right off the field, because he wasn’t working that weekend. But that was Billy.

D
R
. S
HAPIRO
,
A NICE
-
LOOKING YOUNG MAN IN GLASSES
,
WAS THERE A
few minutes early and now wondered if the lady would even show up. But, suddenly, a woman wearing pink tennis shoes with pom-poms, large white plastic sunglasses in the shape of two hearts, and a man’s fishing hat with lures all over it appeared at the plate glass window and was peering in. She then came in the door and quickly looked around the room, spotted him, hurried back to the booth, and said, “Dr. Shapiro?”

“Yes.”

“It’s me. Your patient.”

He had the urge to say, “I never would have guessed,” but his wife said people in the South didn’t like his New York humor, so he said, “Please sit down.”

She took her seat and slumped way down in the booth. The minute she did so, a large waitress in a pink uniform came over and said cheerfully, “Oh, hi, Mrs. Poole, I haven’t seen you in here in a long time.”

“Well, so much for anonymity,” thought Sookie. “Oh, hello, Jewel,” she said.

Jewel looked at Dr. Shapiro and asked Sookie, “Is this your cute son, the one your mother’s always talking about?”

“No … just a friend.”

“Oh. Well, what y’all gonna have today?”

“Just coffee, please. Decaf,” said Sookie.

Dr. Shapiro added, “Make that two.”

After Jewel walked away, Sookie said, “First of all, thank you so much for meeting me.”

“Of course. How can I help you? You say you have a problem?”

“Yes, I do. And it’s a very long story. Well, let me start at the beginning. A few weeks ago, I was feeding my birds. I have a terrible blue jay problem. I had thought I would try just putting sunflower seeds in the backyard and just the plain Pretty Boy small-bird seed in the front.…”

Thirty minutes and three cups of coffee later, when she finally got around to telling him just who her mother was, he suddenly understood. No wonder this lady was a nervous wreck. He’d met the mother. Who wouldn’t be?

At eight
A
.
M
. the first morning after Dr. Shapiro and his wife had moved into their new house, they were awakened by what he thought sounded like a band of Hare Krishnas jingling up the front stairs. When he opened the door, he was greeted by a large, imposing-looking woman in a cape, holding a huge basket with a ribbon on it, who announced in a loud voice, “Good morning. I am Lenore Simmons Krackenberry, president of the Point Clear Welcome Wagon Committee, and on behalf of the entire committee, I want to say …” and then she sang at the top of her voice to the tune of “Shuffle Off to Buffalo,” “Welcome! Welcome! Welcome! May we help ya, help ya, help ya! With your brand-new move!” Then she shoved the basket at him and said, “The rest of the girls will be along in a minute, but I wanted to get here first.” And with that, she stormed right past him and into the house, calling out, “Oh, Mrs. Shapirooo … put the coffee on. You’ve got company!” He had spent only one hour with her, but it seemed obvious that the mother was the one who needed medication, not this poor woman. But he let Sookie continue to talk, because she seemed to be in such distress.

“So as I told Dena, I just feel all wicky-wacky. One minute, I’m mad at my mother and then I feel guilty and then I get mad at her all over again. So do you think I’m having a nervous breakdown?”

“I think under the circumstances, anger and confusion are perfectly natural.”

“You do? You think it’s
natural
to want to strangle your mother?”

“Under certain circumstances, yes. You feel betrayed and hurt and, naturally, you want to lash out.”

“That’s right. Yes, I do.”

“Nobody likes to be lied to.”

“No, they don’t, do they? Oh, I feel so much better already. Dr. Shapiro, you’re a professional, so you would know if someone was having a breakdown, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“So in your opinion, I’m not getting ready to flip out or anything?”

“I think it’s highly unlikely.”

Sookie sighed a huge sigh of relief. “Well, I just can’t thank you enough. And this wasn’t nearly as scary as I thought it would be. I’m sure you’ve heard this before, but you’re such a good listener.”

“Well, thank you.”

“And you must think I’m very rude. Here I am going on and on about my problems, and I haven’t asked you a thing about yourself.”

“That’s perfectly fine, Mrs. Poole. I’m here to listen to you.”

“Oh, before I forget, how much do I owe you for this? And do you mind if I pay you in cash? I don’t want the people at the bank to know that I had to see a psychiatrist. They might not say anything, but you never know. I’ve enjoyed this so much, could we do it again? Same time next week, same booth?”

To his surprise, Dr. Shapiro found himself agreeing.

After Dr. Shapiro got back to his office, he jotted down a few notes.

P
ULASKI
, W
ISCONSIN

S
UNDAY
, D
ECEMBER
7, 1941

B
EFORE THE
S
UNDAY MASS STARTED
, F
ATHER
S
OBIESKI HAD GONE TO
the side door of the vestry and motioned for Stanislaw Jurdabralinski, who always sat in the first row, to come around to the back of the church. His altar boy had not shown up, and he needed him to fill in. It was kind of funny to see the five-foot-nine-inch priest enter the altar with the six-foot-four Stanislaw, wearing a black-and-white altar boy vestment that, on him, looked more like a blouse, but the mass came off without a hitch. After mass, the Jurdabralinskis walked home together, except for the youngest, Sophie, who always stayed and helped the nuns wash and iron the vestments for the next week’s service.