FIRED BONDS

Thwap!

The wet clay made a satisfying sound as he threw it onto the wheel. He dipped his hands into the bucket to get them wet and gently began to apply pressure in as the wheel slowly spun. He cupped his hands over the clay and then when it “felt” right, applied pressure down with his thumbs. The feel of the wet mass taking form was always a sensuous experience and filled him with a sense of wonder and potential. The blank form that he needed was quickly centered and ready for him. He set the image of what he wanted it to look like firmly in his head and began to work the clay. He periodically dipped his hands into the bucket to maintain just the right wet surface to the clay as the wheel revolved. Once he had the general squat cone-shape he wanted to the form, he grabbed the hard rubber tool and started to bring the sides up higher by applying just the right pressure from the inside with the tool in his left hand as his right hand applied pressure on the outside of the form, in. He repeated this several times until it looked about right. He put the tool down and picked up the sponge and squeezed water over the clay. He repeated this several times, soaking up the excess that accumulated on the inside. He sat back, giving it a critical eye.

“Good. Good,” he murmured.

He once again grabbed a rubber tool and started to broaden out the mouth of the cone, methodically starting in the bottom of the form and applying more and more pressure as he pulled up to the mouth. He continued to work in silence but his workshop area was anything but quiet -- the radio was playing from a ‘50’s station that could only just be heard over the electric wheel.

Finally satisfied with his results, he gradually slowed the wheel until he could turn it off. He rotated it this way and that and then nodded his head in satisfaction. He ran the piano wire underneath the piece in preparation to moving it. He dipped his hands in the bucket again and then grabbed a rag; wiping his hands relatively clean of clay. He stood up and stretched stiff muscles. He had been sitting there in the “throwing” position for too long, he thought. He walked over to the workbench and reached for his thermos, pouring himself a nice cup of coffee and then stared off into the middle distance as he sipped it. He made a mental inventory of what colors he would need to get the piece exactly right. He frowned when he thought about his decision to use red. Red was such a chancy color and he didn’t want to risk ruining the gift. Maybe he should rethink the color scheme.

Yes, rethink the color scheme. Red wasn’t going to do it.

Red.

He shuddered when an image flashed into his mind. He sighed in acceptance. Well, I managed to keep it at bay for a little while. He looked at his clock and was surprised that so much time had passed. He picked up the sheet of paper with his design off of the workbench and went back over to the wheel. He checked to see if he could work with the piece yet. It seemed fine so he picked up one of his wire tools and started with the simple design on the outside. When he had finished everything to his satisfaction, he inscribed it. He then transferred it over to his drying shelf next to a couple of other pieces. Well, I guess I’m done for the day, better start the clean up. He dug into the mess he had made trying to just concentrate on that but to no avail. His mind kept drifting to when the shift ended this morning.

* * *

As Johnny was dressing, Roy leaned over and asked, “You want to come over and have breakfast? Joanne’s cooking.”

“I never turn down a meal from Joanne. You’re on.” He was more than ready to eat despite being bone-tired. He needed fuel before he could get some much needed rest. And, he just wasn’t ready to let go yet with this last shift. Too much had happened in the last 24 hours.

The trip to Roy’s was hard. He had to concentrate on his driving, to focus on each shift of the gears to keep from hearing the soft words of the psalm spoken calmly. To keep from seeing the face of the dead woman – her eyes frozen open. The blood. Yeah, it had been a rough rescue.

Johnny pulled into the driveway and parked behind Roy opening his door just a few seconds before Roy opened his own. He looked up the drive and saw the side door’s screen push open and Joanne step out to stand at the top of the concrete porch. She had a kitchen towel in her hands and was methodically drying them. Johnny followed behind Roy as he quickly took the three steps up to his waiting wife. Johnny knew what was coming next so he stopped at the bottom of the stairs and leaned against the house shamelessly watching as his partner took his wife into his arms and gave her a long kiss.

“You guys going to come up for air soon? I’m starving,” said Johnny in mock outrage after a few moments had passed.

Joanne started laughing, her lips still pressed to Roy’s. “I see you brought your partner with you,” she said as she talked around her husband’s lips. Roy pulled back and said, “I did?” He looked down at his partner. “Naw, he just followed me home on his own.”

“Oh, now I’m being compared to a stray cat?”

“I feed those, too,” she said without batting an eyelash. She broke from her husband’s embrace. “Come on you two. How does bacon and eggs sound?”

“Great!” said Johnny enthusiastically. He followed his two friends into the kitchen.

* * *

“I keep telling you, marriage is a good thing.”

Breakfast was done and the two where out on Roy’s back porch.

“Yeah. That you do. That you do,” affirmed Johnny quietly. He was staring off into Roy’s backyard, not really seeing it. He took a sip of fresh coffee from his mug then decided the depths of the black liquid was of sudden interest when he quietly stated, “That’s how you do it, isn’t it?”

“Do what?” asked Roy looking at Johnny.

Johnny took in a deep breath and let it out slowly before responding. He turned his gaze to Roy, his eyes dark and serious. “That’s how you keep it together. How you survive the job.” It was more a statement then a question.

Roy looked away briefly -- Johnny was almost too intense, too hungry to know the answer. Roy leveled his gaze back to Johnny’s. “Yeah. Yeah, it is,” he said simply. “She gets me back in focus.”

They both sat quietly for a moment.

“I sometimes...,” began Roy. He back-peddled a bit and started again. “When we get those calls on a kid where no matter what we do... it’s just not enough?” Johnny nodded. “And, I’m looking down at that little kid and for a moment, I see one of my kids lying there....” He took in a shaky breath then said, “I come home sometimes and practically squeeze the breath out of my family when I give them a hug.... I’m just so... grateful. You know?”

“I know,” said Johnny simply.

“And, when, uh.... When that woman died yesterday and her name was Joanne...,” said Roy with buried emotion, shaking his head.

Johnny looked over at Roy, a damp gleam to his eye. “Roy, I...,” he stopped, unable to continue.

“Yeah?” asked Roy.

“I...,” Johnny began again. He sighed, then said, “I think it’s time for me ta get on home. Get a nap under my belt before I get the laundry done.” He stood up. Roy followed suit.

“Okay, Johnny. I’ll walk you to your car,” he said. “You can just leave the coffee there. I’ll get it.”

Johnny nodded and headed over to the side gate, opening it. Roy walked with him up the driveway to Johnny’s rover -- each man was deep in thought. When Johnny climbed into the drivers seat, Roy closed the door behind him and stood back.

“See you tomorrow,” said Roy.

Johnny started the rover and said, “Okay, see ya. Thanks for breakfast.” He turned to look behind him and backed out the driveway into the street, shifted gears and sped off. Roy watched the vehicle disappear down the street as it made the turn to get back to the boulevard. His face was troubled.

* * *

Johnny walked into the locker room to find it empty, his partner nowhere to be seen. He knew he was here -- his truck was in the parking lot already. He had a lot to tell about what he had done during their four-day cycle off. Lots. He walked over to his locker, opened it and stopped dead in the act of pulling out his shirt from his jeans when he saw a medium sized box sitting on the bottom. He looked around to see if Chet was lurking, but saw no one. He reached out to the box and pulled the folded corners apart and peered in. He gingerly dug his hands into the shredded newspaper feeling for the boxes’ contents and quickly pulled out the round, hard object. He sat back on the bench behind him and held the object out in front of him, slowly turning it around to get a good look at it.

“Wow,” he said simply. It was beautiful. He flipped it over to confirm what he knew would be on the bottom, a simple incised inscription made when the clay was damp, “To John Gage. From Roy DeSoto ’78.”

“Hi,” said Roy as he peeked around the door from the apparatus floor.

“Roy, I don’t know what to say,” replied Johnny as he turned to look at his partner.

“That’s okay. You speechless is thanks enough,” he chuckled. “No, really. You don’t have to say anything. I.... uh....” Now, it was Roy who couldn’t find the words. He tried again. “You remember a couple of weeks ago when you came over for breakfast then we talked... about things?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I, ah...,” Roy still couldn’t get out what he wanted to say. He sighed and plowed on. “Okay, we were talking about my family and how that’s my way of dealing with the job.” Johnny nodded. “At that moment, it struck me, really struck me that you didn’t. Have a family, I mean.”

“Oh,” said Johnny almost wordlessly.

“Anyway, I was over at the college picking up some things I had fired and I was looking through one of the design notebooks.... And, I saw that,” said Roy pointing at the bowl, “under ‘Indian Designs.’ Now, I know it’s not from the right tribe but I thought well....”

“It’s perfect, Roy. It’s perfect,” said Johnny quietly. He held Roy’s gift tightly in his hands for a moment then reached into the bowl and gently traced the incised design. It was a large bear with two smaller bears stylized like art from the Pacific Northwest. He stood up. “The bear is a strong symbol in anyone’s culture.”

Finding his gift accepted, Roy continued to describe the bowl even though it didn’t seem like Johnny was listening to him. He talked about how he had decided to make it look like a piece he had seen from New Mexico that was just a black and white design, but how he didn’t know the technique. So, he had just done it with black and white glaze. He talked about the single white line that circled the bowl on the outside, just below the lip with the feather every couple of inches in it. And, how he thought that a mother and her two cubs could sorta be a “family” for him. Kinda hokey I know…. He would have continued enthusiastically on if it hadn’t been for Johnny doing something that totally caught him by surprise.

Johnny suddenly turned to Roy and in a flash had him clasped in a fierce hug. Just as quickly, Johnny let go and stepped back to his locker, his back to Roy. It happened so fast that Roy didn’t have a chance to respond in turn much less just respond. He was left there with his mouth frozen open, speechless. A silent moment passed as Johnny put the bowl gently back into the box and began to get dressed -- still with his back to Roy.

The moment stretched out longer until finally Johnny stopped what he was doing and said, “Thanks, Roy.” Even then, he did not turn around but Roy could see Johnny reach up a few times to his face as if wiping something away.

“You’re welcome,” he replied. “I’ll see you at roll call.”

Roy slipped quietly out to the apparatus floor.