Chapter 9: Michelle's Story

February 22, 1961

My name is Michelle Dawson and up until recently, I had no hope of living a perfect life. According to my driver's license, I'm five foot six and weight one hundred and forty pounds. I am the daughter of Florence Toews and Walter Dawson, and I was an accident. My parents married when Florence discovered she was pregnant at age seventeen. Walter, a handyman with some useful skills, made a scrape-by living. We lived in a small rented house on the outskirts of Sedro Woolley, in Skagit County.

I guess the marriage was a mistake from the beginning. My ma was too immature to raise a child and manage a home, and Dad wasn't ready to be a father himself. He spent his time working and drinking at the local tavern while Ma was left to tend to me.

The marriage ended when she finally got fed up with doing all the looking-after and left, taking nothing more than her clothes and our little bit of savings. I was five at the time. My father was completely amazed that Ma would not only leave him, but leave me behind. It was a life-changing experience, and for the next ten years he did the best he could to provide for us.

I had no idea why my mother left, but I grew to hate her and my memories of her. I had been abandoned by the one person I relied on to help me. My father did his best, but it wasn't the same. My teenage years were hell. With few friends and struggles at school, I saw my father sink further and further into depression and alcoholism. By the time I was fifteen, I was running the house by myself.

I was interested in my father's work. He was a fixer. He could repair almost anything if he could understand it and was sober. It was interesting for me to watch him work on appliances, cars, farm equipment — almost anything mechanical. He was naturally good at problem solving, something he passed along to me. By the time I reached my teens, I was good at a lot of my father's skills. I think what helped me most was my curiosity about how things worked.

If I had a hobby in the little free time I had to myself, it was to read manuals for the equipment my father would be fixing. As Dad's drinking made him more unreliable, it was left to me to finish some of his work to earn enough money to get by on. I took pride in my talent, but I wasn't kidding myself that I could turn it into a career.

One cold, wet February day, Walter Dawson, my father, dragged himself into our house, drunk again. The clock said it was almost six o'clock and there was no supper on the table. He bellowed my name as he staggered around. A few seconds later, I opened front door and stepped in, carrying my school books. I could hear his hollering from across the yard.

"Where the hell have you been?"

"School. Had some extra work," I said, getting past him.

He grabbed the arm of my coat and yanked me back.

"Where's my supper? You know it's supposed to ready now."

"You'll have to wait. It's not ready yet." I'd had about enough of this.

Smack! He backhanded me across the face. Luckily, as drunk as he was, he hit just a partial blow along my jaw, but just the same, it hurt. I looked at him but didn't say anything. He had never hit me before. Never! I turned and went to my room, putting my books on the little night table and took off my coat. There were tears now. Tears for all the frustrations of the last twelve years. All the pain I had bottled up inside.

I dried my eyes and walked to the kitchen and began to make the supper. My father, slumped in his chair, watched me. Even in his drunken state, he must have figured out that something had changed. Something had happened when he hit me. He was too drunk to know why he had done that. I was a good daughter and had done my best to look after him. If that damn floozy he married hadn't run off...

When my father slowly climbed out of bed the next morning, he would have stumbled to the kitchen, looking for the coffee that should be made. There wouldn't be any. The pot would be sitting empty and cold. If he took the trouble to look for me in my room, he would find the bed made, but I wouldn't be there. I doubt he would think much more of it. I had probably gone to school, he would suppose. No doubt he'd be pissed off that I hadn't made the coffee like usual.

When he arrived home that night, there would still be no sign of me. This time it was going to be different. This time I would not come home. This time I was never coming back to that tiny house again. Walter Dawson was now on his own, left to care for himself. I had broken free, and at age seventeen, I would never return.

I had no relatives that I knew of. There was little point in returning to school. It had been my escape place, but now, with no place to live, I would have to make it on my own. I had a little money from babysitting jobs and other sources, but it wouldn't go far. One thing was stuck in my mind. I was leaving Sedro Woolley. I would make my way someplace else.

I got a job as a waitress in a truckstop along the Interstate 5 in Ferndale. Midge, the dayshift head waitress, helped me find a place to stay with an elderly farm couple not far from the diner. I had never waited tables before, but it didn't require much more than a good memory and a thick hide. With my body, I got plenty of rude comments and more than a few gropes. Midge taught me to ignore them unless they got too personal, then Midge would handle it.

A couple of months after I started, the big toaster died suddenly one morning, right in the middle of the breakfast rush. Midge was swearing like a trooper under her breath as she tried to handle the problem. Curious, I went to the machine and turned it over. I opened the bottom hatch and looked at the connection from the cord to the control panel. It was a simple problem. A wire had come loose. Within five minutes I had secured the wire using a knife blade and the toaster was back in business.

"Where the hell did you learn to do that?" Midge said with a big smile.

"I learned to fix a lot of stuff with my dad. I'm just happy it was that simple and not a burned-out element."

"Well, girl, you just saved me a lot of grief. Thank you."

I nodded, smiling at how much that little repair had meant to the girls. It reminded me of how much I enjoyed fixing things. The satisfaction was my reward. For the next few months, I was consulted on anything that wasn't working properly. My opinion usually was the decision-maker on what should be done. More often than not, the other girls covered for me while I worked on the repair. They also split the tips, not wanting me to be short-changed by volunteering my talent.

As I lay in bed at night, I had dreams about my future. Or maybe they were nightmares. Would I end up like my mother, tied to a loveless marriage, kids underfoot in some dingy trailer park? I had preserved my virginity despite all the attempts of the young guys who chased after me. I knew what they wanted. I was damned if I was going to make my mother's mistake. I would only give myself to a man I could count on. Someone I cared about. Perhaps even loved.

I didn't see it in myself, but others did. Midge often remarked in conversation how tough I was. Mentally tough, she meant. I had lived a miserable existence and yet I survived; an optimist without much to be optimistic about. Most of the guys thought I was attractive in a way, but not a beauty. Midge said it crossed her mind more than once that I would make the right guy a very happy man, but he'd better not cross me.

I broke down and accepted some dates from a few of the regular customers I knew weren't married. It usually involved a movie or occasionally even a dance at the local tavern, but almost always ended up in the back seat of some car. When I finally surrendered my virginity, it was almost like I was giving up. I handed my date a condom and made sure he used it.

It was painful and pointless. I had no personal tie to the guy, and today I couldn't recall his name. The sex wasn't scary, but didn't feel like what I expected or wanted. Disappointing, I guess you could call it.

I tried with a few other dates, but again, never had any real enjoyment from the sex. It was just ... sex. It was often over with before I was even ready to enjoy it. After a while, I just quit worrying about it and would decide whether or not to allow the guy to finish the date that way or not. It really didn't matter to me very much.

I guess Midge was watching what was going on with me. She had taken an interest in me, keeping me on the dayshift to make sure that my repair skills were always available when needed most. But she also watched the parade of guys I dated, knowing full well they weren't all gentlemen. She decided to talk to me one afternoon when there was a lull at the diner.

"Shelly, you know I care about you and I think you're the best thing that's happened to this diner since I got here," Midge began.

I looked at her, a bit worried. "Are you going to fire me?"

"No ... or course not. It's just ... these guys ... the ones you've been goin' out with. I don't think they're right for you. You're too good for them. You need to find a guy that you care about."

"Yeah ... I know. But those kinds of guys don't grow on trees. I guess I just have to bide my time. But you're right. I'm tired of just goin' out with some guy just have a date. Most of them just want one thing anyway. About all I get out of it is a free movie," I complained.

"Well, if I see a likely candidate, I'll let you know," Midge smiled. "In the meantime ... just be careful ... OK?"

I grinned and nodded. Midge was in her middle thirties, but acted older. I respected the woman because she respected me. We were fast friends at work, but Midge had a husband and a couple of kids in school, so we didn't see much of each other beyond work.

Bart Towsley was a sometime regular at the diner and friendly with Midge. I'd heard her mention my repair skills more than once when Bart commented he was looking for a mechanic to work at his station in Bellingham. He admitted it wasn't a great place like the ones up on the interstate, but he had a steady trade and needed a second mechanic to do the usual service station jobs. When I heard that, I was almost afraid to say anything, but sucked up my courage one afternoon.

"Bart, I can do that job. I know how to lube and do oil changes and change tires. I'm strong enough to work in the shop." I tried to sound as confident as I could.

Bart looked up in surprise. "Where'd you learn to do all that?"

"My daddy taught me. You'd be surprised what I can do. Just ask Midge."

"Well, I don't know. You don't have any papers, I s'pose?"

"Nope. But I can do the work and you don't have to pay me trade wages 'til I can prove it to you." I was gaining some confidence.

"I don't know, Shelly." He looked doubtful.

"Is it because I'm a girl?"

Bart looked at me for a moment, then nodded.

"I ain't never heard of a girl mechanic."

"What you got to lose by givin' me a try?"

"Nothin' I suppose," he said, nodding slightly. "Alright ... I'll give you a try."

"Well, I'm not quittin' this job on a hope, so since I get Tuesday and Wednesday off, I'll come down there and you can decide."

Bart smiled. "Fair enough. See you then."

That was over five years ago. It hasn't been easy and more than once I thought about going back to Ferndale and the diner. I was forced to leave the farm and move to Bellingham. All I could afford was a basement suite in an older home on the north side of town. I kept hoping that Bart's job would amount to something more, but after a couple of years, I could see it was never going to get any better.

I liked the job and Bart was fair enough, but the place was a mess. I had my application in all over town. There had to be something better. Jurgen had come along, but he was in no better situation than I was. I had just about given up hope when the Williamses showed up.

It's funny how things can change in a hurry. I was lubing Mr. Waterford's old Pontiac when this good-looking young guy wanders into the shop. He had sort of a swagger, I guess you'd call it. Not cocky-like, but confident. I wandered over to see if he wanted something but he said he was just looking around. I noticed him because his truck had Montana plates and ... well ... he was good-looking.

When he came back the next day, he was with an older woman and a short, fat guy I'd seen around the station once or twice. They went into Bart's office and talked for a while before the young guy came out to the garage. Turns out he was thinking of buying the place, and cleaning up the mess it was in. I have to admit, I was excited. If he was going to do what he said, this would be a lot better place to work.

Turns out he spoke German, too. He and Jurgen got along great, but in the end, I told him if he didn't buy this place I was going to head for greener pastures myself. He was dangling that better job in front of me and if it got snatched away, I'd be gone. He told me to hold tight for a bit while he tried to make a deal, and by golly, he did.

Turns out he was a cowboy on his daddy's ranch and the woman he was with was his mother. Eleanor was her name; Eleanor Williams. The handsome cowboy was Rod, but I heard his mom call him Roddy now and then. He spent some time in the Army learning about mechanics and such, so he was well prepared to run a service station.

The first thing he did was call a meeting at his house and his mom cooked the best dinner I'd had in my whole life. The reason for the meeting was to let Jurgen and me know what he was going to do and what he needed us to do. I couldn't wait to get started. It was the best thing that had happened to me since I was hired by Midge.

I don't think I ever worked as hard as I did when we went about cleanin' up that station. But two weeks later, when we were done, it was somethin' to behold. It looked brand new and the special floor that we put in the shop was amazing. You could clean it with a damp cloth. Jurgen had figured out how to make it so it wasn't slippery and Rod had him show us how. That was when I figured the boss was one smart guy. He listened to other people. He didn't pretend he knew everything.

That last Friday when we were almost done cleaning and fixing, I was beyond beat. I remember sitting in the shop floor, leaning against the wall and wondering if I had the energy to stand up. Rod came along and slid right down beside me. He and Jurgen were just as tired as I was. He told me what a great job I'd done and I think that's when I started to fall in love with him.

A couple of days later, Eleanor came to see me. You could have knocked me over with a feather. She was offering room and board at their house. At first, I thought I better say no. I mean, it might not be proper. But she kept after me, telling me it would be better for my health and everything. I guess Rod had told her about my place when he took me home that Friday night. I don't even remember it, I was so tired.

So I said OK, and packed up my stuff and moved into their big mansion in town. At least, it seemed like a mansion to me. It had more rooms on one floor than our whole house did in Sedro Woolley. I had my own private bedroom with a big closet and I only shared the bathroom with Eleanor. Rod had his own bathroom. I'd never heard of a house with more than one bathroom, but this one had three. Two upstairs and one downstairs. The downstairs one didn't have a bathtub.

I was even more surprised when a week later, Jurgen moved in too. Eleanor and Rod said they wanted our place to be like a family, so having us all together like that would make it better. It was fine by me. I pitched in and helped with the cleaning and cooking so that Rod's mom wouldn't be burdened with it all. I know they appreciated my help. It was the least I could do, they being so kind to me. Besides, it would keep me close to Rod.

Things kind of went along well after that. I was working steady and it was a pleasure to walk to the station every day. It looked so good and everybody said so when they came by. After a while, Eleanor started giving me clothes that she said didn't fit her right or didn't look good on her. It was amazing how they seemed to fit me just fine. I finally figured it out that she was trying to help me, but it didn't feel right.

One night when there was just the two of us, I had a long talk with her. She admitted she was buying stuff for me. She said I deserved it and she just wanted to help out. I told her that I felt bad about that, but she wouldn't hear of it. She said something that nearly knocked my socks off. She said she thought of me like the daughter she never had. I was so shocked, I started to cry.

Eleanor gave me a big hug and told me just to let her do what she wanted to. She didn't have anyone else besides Roddy, Jurgen, and me, so she considered it like helping a relative. I didn't know whether I thought of her as a mother or as an older sister. I know one thing for sure. I thought she was one fine lady.

Turns out, she was doing the same thing for Jurgen. He'd get a new sweater or shirt or something on the pretense that it didn't fit Rod or wasn't the right color. It didn't fool anyone, including Jurgen. I think Eleanor had a talk with Jurgen too and it seemed like pretty soon he was OK with her gifts. In fact, I got the idea that they were getting pretty friendly.

We had a nice Christmas and I got gifts from everyone. That was something I had never had before. A real Christmas with a real Christmas tree and a real Christmas dinner. It felt good. Then I heard we were going to some New Year's dance in town that Rod was invited to and the next thing I know, Eleanor is hustling me over to the new Bon Marché and buying a bunch of clothes for me. She just couldn't keep from helping out. Then again, she bought a new dress and shoes for herself, too.

When I tried on the dress, I nearly fainted. You could see almost all my titties hanging out when I bent over. And the dress was real short, too. I told the girl that I couldn't wear this. What would people think? But Eleanor and her said it was what everyone was wearing and I shouldn't worry about it. They said I looked real good in it.