Once you turn off Highway 1 onto the winding, downhill slope of Henry Road, your run into Chemainus gathers momentum, and you don't have to think anymore. There can be no other destination. The drive in seemed rote to Buddy, the Matrix having an inbred sense of the road's dips and curves, the extravagantly landscaped traffic circle that swung by the Horseshoe Pub, the Best Western Hotel and the historic MacMillan Bloedel Locomotive No. 1044, trapped on its bit of track.
I've been here before, Buddy remembered, a family trip? He put the memory back in its box, pulling over opposite an ACE Hardware store, then jogged across the road through a break in the traffic.
"Can I help you?" a young man asked cheerfully from behind the counter.
"Yeah," Buddy felt it would be churlish not to take advantage of the clerk's expertise. "Do you have any flexible drain pipe?"
"Plumbing's over there," the clerk nodded to an aisle behind Buddy. "Longer sections are out front in the yard. Need a hand?"
"Naw. Just picking up a few things for a small job. I'll be okay."
The shortest length of hose he could find was eight feet, for $12.99. That's okay, he reasoned. If it's too long, just cut off what you need - maybe five feet - and chuck the rest. In the Heating, Cooling and Ventilation section, he picked a 27 metre roll of duct tape for $6.49. That ought to do.
"Find everything you needed?" the clerk asked, when Buddy got back to the counter.
"Yeah."
"Duct tape, the handyman's best friend, eh?"
"Just a small job," Buddy repeated, unnerved by his own evasiveness. "A temporary fix."
The clerk eyed him with what looked like suspicion, then rang the items in. "Comes to $13.77, with tax," he said.
Buddy tapped, refused a bag, and said he didn't need a receipt. "Know a good coffee shop in town?" he asked, heading for the door.
"The Willow. Take your first right, then your first left, and look for a big yellow building on the right-hand side of the street. Can't miss it."
"Thanks," Buddy said curtly, annoyed at the clerk's vaguely accusatory attitude.
Continuing down Chemainus Road, he followed the directions to The Willow, wedged the Matrix into a parking spot in front of the café, made his way up the steps and across the verandah. It was too cold for patrons outside, so the tables were empty, the umbrellas furled. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "Medium coffee, for here" he said at the counter. The server took his money, gave him a cup, and pointed to a bank of thermoses against the side wall. Buddy filled it, doctored his coffee up, then took a window seat. Ten messages and fifteen texts had been logged onto his mobile since he'd hit the road. Later, he sighed.
In that moment of malaise I noticed a newspaper, discarded on the table next to mine. Later, Buddy would claim an enhanced sense of destiny guided his distracted glance, and locked his focus onto the front page of The Chemainus Valley Courier. He normally would have ignored it, But something provoked me, urged me to flip through as if there might be an item of interest in there for me, as if Chemainus might somehow be more than a place I was just passing through.
He scanned the headlines listlessly: Penelakut purchases 49th Parallel; More than $1,300 raised by Wildwood Collective's hair-cutting fundraiser; Striking workers in Chemainus expect the end isn't near... To Buddy that might as well have been news from another planet, but he continued.
Why am I reading this stuff? he wondered. No answer pinged back to him. Again, the sensation of moving forward by rote impelled him, the pages folding back like drawn curtains, one abstraction giving way to another: next, next, next, until he hit the minuscule classifieds section, and there it was, what I must have been been looking for!
Help Wanted - Elderly couple seeks caring handyman-companion. Light chores, and none-medical support. Quiet, seaside setting. Flexible, part-time hours. In exchange for room & board in private, fully equipped RV-suite. Contact BerniceAndHarrySand@***
This is crazy! But he tapped the Mail icon at the bottom of his iPad screen anyway, and his inbox popped open. For Christ-sake no! His index finger pecked again and a new message template opened. He typed the email address into the 'To' field, then, 'Caring Tenant Help Wanted' in the subject line then...
I'm a 61 year-old, newly-homeless man, passing through Chemainus with no-place in particular to go, and no timeline to adhere to. Can't promise how long I might stay, or claim any training or experience as a 'handyman-companion', but if you want someone to take up the position on a trial basis, I'd be happy to meet with you. Regards, Buddy Hope.
He tapped send, then got up to go. They possibly agree to that? he chuckled, heading out the door, relieved to be on his way.
YOU ARE READING
The Mural Gazer
HumorEn route to perdition, Buddy Hope takes a detour into Chemainus, British Columbia, (Mural Town) and ends up camping in the driveway of Bernice Sanderson and her husband Harry, known to most locals as the Mural Gazer. Buddy's going to discover that...