Much gratitude and praise to Aaroneous for his ideas, help, support, and editing expertise.
Small town girls...
The hinges on the door of the moving van needed a shot of WD-40. They screeched as they swung. The fiberglass and metal doors slammed with a bang as they closed. The telltale signs a move had just started or was over. In this case, it was over. My old life was behind me. It was time for a new and fresh start.
The "fresh start". The divorcee's American dream. New town, new house, and new beginning.
It was never my intention to leave my hometown. I was born and raised there. My ex-wife and I met in high school. Went to college together in the Northeast. Married and bought a home. It was her dream house. Brown wood siding. Cedar shaker shingles. Crabapple tree in the front yard. White picket fence. Everything she wanted. A home just three blocks from where her parents lived. The area where she grew up. But once our divorce finalized, there was nothing left to keep me there. Not a thing. My parents sold everything and moved to Arizona. My older sister married a guy from California and she and her family had moved there. So, I was alone and abandoned in a city that no longer felt any love for me.
In many ways, it was time to move on.
*****
Turning onto the street, my new place was the third on the right. A cul-de-sac of a dozen houses. A street where I knew no one and no one knew me. There would be no stories or questions for me to answer about my ex-wife and her infidelity.
This was a small town with a direct link to a major city. A bedroom community. A place where a tradesman like me could continue to thrive. New homes and buildings, as well as the old, need stonework. Bricks, blocks, and stonework are my thing.
The new house was twice the place I could afford where I used to live. But that's what happens when you leave a bigger city with no area for expansion and move to a more rural locale.
What sold me on this place was the large lot, the huge garage, and the tree lined street. The house itself was almost thirty years old and in need of some TLC, but it was livable until I could complete my long list of renovation work.
It felt good to walk the perimeter of my property. The grass was far too long and in need of a cut. I could see some boards that needed replacing on the fence. An old apple tree was in dire need of a good pruning. But the deck and BBQ were solid, as was the overall general condition of the house. The only thing that needed immediate attention was the garage. The movers placed every big piece of furniture where it was supposed to go. They moved the appliances into place and even plugged them in. But the garage was a mess. It was covered, floor to ceiling, with boxes. Boxes I wished I'd taken the time to write on, to inform me of their contents.
*****
"Hey. Welcome to the neighborhood," a guy said as he walked up my driveway with his arm and hand extended for a shake.
"Thanks."
"Angus. Angus Shaw. Live in that one over there." He pointed at a home on the other side of the court. "It's me and Chloe. The wife. Plus, a couple of kids. You?"
"Reid Goodwin. And it's just me."
"Shit. My kids will be so disappointed. They were hoping for some more kids their age when they saw the "SOLD" sign go up."
"Tell them I'm sorry I let them down."
"Don't be sorry. Anyway. I won't keep you. This moving shit always finds a way to keep you busy. Welcome again. If you need anything or any help moving the heavy shit, give a yell."
"Thanks. I appreciate it."
Angus walked halfway across the court before he stopped. Turning, he yelled over a suggestion.
"Reid. Just a safety tip. Lots of kids running around here. It's always a safe practice to back into your driveway. It saves running over errant bicycles, skateboards, and kids."
"Thanks for the tip."
Sure enough, almost every car or truck parked in a driveway on the cul-de-sac had been backed into place. My F350 was the exception.
*****
The Walmart Supercenter was only 15 minutes away. It was strange for me to go into a store so large. I was used to the small shop near my old home. A place where it cost me as much for six beers as the 30 pack I bought at Walmart.
With a cart full of fresh stuff loaded into the backseat, I pulled off and topped up the tank with fuel. In the 45 minutes I had been away from home, no less than six people said "hello" to me. And even though I didn't know one of them, I surprised myself when I responded in kind. Life in a small town was very different to what I was used to.
Daydreaming about my new life helped the hours go by. It eased the pain of unpacking. So, emptying the boxes didn't take nearly as long as organizing their contents. Toolboxes. Shelves. Pegboards. You name it. They were set up and filled. By the end of the week, I opened a beer from my garage fridge and looked on with pride. It was a job well done and it didn't take long before I had to put the tools to use.
*****
The "hurry up" cries filled the air in the court. Children were playing and screaming. Most were on scooters, skateboards, bicycles, or some other kind of wheeled mode of transportation. And while most garage doors were open, the kid standing in my driveway had chosen mine.
A soft throat clearing had been intended to get my attention. But I already knew she was there.
"Hi."
"Hi Mister." Her eyes scanned the contents of my garage. "Do you know how to put a chain back on a bike?"
"I do," I told the little girl. I put on my best reassuring smile.
"Could you show me?"
"I could. But it's a dirty job. Your hands will get all greasy."
"You got gloves?"
Someone from the street yelled a name, "Ella". I assumed it was hers when she turned her head, looked at the other kids, and responded. "Give me a minute."
"I have gloves, but none that small. How about I put the chain back on for you."
"Would you?"
"Absolutely. Let's have a look."
The red bike was designed for a girl. It was an older style, but not really any different from any of the bikes I remembered from my days of riding. The chain was off the sprocket and jammed in the side frame. With a few tugs it came free, but with how loose it was it wouldn't take very long for it to come off again.
"Thanks Mister."
"No problem. But I'm not done. We need to tighten it, so it doesn't come off again."
"Ella. We're leaving. Meet us at the park," came another yell came from the street.
"Yeah. Yeah. Go. Jeez, everybody is always in a hurry." The last part was said to me. "How much longer do you think, Mister?"
"A couple minutes and you'll be chasing them down the street."
"Very cool. They ride slow. Maybe I'll pass them on the way."
The little girl seemed wise beyond her years.
"How old are you, Ella?"
"Eight. You?"
"Twenty-eight."
"Nice. Can I have a soda?"
"Sorry. I don't have any."
"It's okay. Can I have a juice box."
"No juice boxes either."
There was a discharge of air from her lungs, like she was disappointed in me.
"Then why do you have such a big fridge? Whaddya keep in it?"
"Mostly water and some beer."
"Fine. Can I have a beer?"
"Will you settle for a water?" I asked, surprised she wanted a beer.
"I guess." Ella walked over to the fridge and pulled out a cold bottle of water. "You know, I'm too young for beer, but I thought I'd test you to see what kind of parent you are."
"You're pretty smart for a kid."
"Thanks, but I'm not a kid. I'm eight."
"So, I've been told."
"Where are your kids. They at the park?"
"No. I'm single. No kids."
"Oh..." she said.
I loosened the wheel nuts, pulled the tire back to tighten the chain, straightened the wheel, and retightened the nuts. It was ready to go. Yet Ella wasn't. She watched every move I made.
"Mister, you got a lotta tools. Why so many?"
"I do a lot of my work with my hands."
"So, does my dad. He works on his laptop all day and most of the night. When we're alone, mom says he's in love with it."
It was the way of the new world. And when an eight-year-old points it out, you can't help but laugh.
Ella's leg swung up and over the seat of her newly repaired bike. Suddenly, she was anxious to catch up with her friends, but I needed to fix one more thing.
Standing in front of her, I reached down and unbuckled her helmet. It was lopsided and crooked on her head. With a couple of small adjustments, it settled in and sat squarely on her head.
"Jeez Mister. You're good at this stuff. You should have some kids of your own."
The sound of a pedal "ticking" as it hit the chain guard on her bike was the last thing I heard as she rode away.
*****
The next few weeks of spring went by quickly. Summer was approaching faster than expected and everyone on my new street started to spend more and more time outside.
Angus introduced me to his group of buddies who also lived on the court. We bonded fairly well. The odd beer in one another's garages on weeknights and occasionally on a weekend. And in early June, I was invited to my very first BBQ.
It was, to say the least, an uncomfortable affair. Married couples and children running wild. Most of the families from our cul-de-sac all in one place. Enjoying the day. Everyone but me.
Instead of enjoying myself, I was the center of attention. The main attraction. The topic of conversation. The only single, childless adult at the party. But, undaunted, I answered every question about my past life. And there were plenty. In the end, the hordes of information seekers seemed to be satisfied.
The only couple at the party who didn't speak to me were Ella's parents. Her mother said "hi" but stayed away. Her father hung with a group I really didn't know and, from where I stood, he looked like one of those guys who "held Court" wherever he went. He commanded attention. A guy who wanted to be the center of attention. Even if what he was saying wasn't all that important. So, it didn't bother me that we didn't speak.
By the end of the night, I was glad it was over. But it was never really over. Turns out that those parties were almost a weekly event. And summer had only just begun.
*****