Small Town Girls 1

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.

*****

It was on the following Wednesday that I met Ella's mother for the first time. And when I say first time, I mean it was the first time we spoke.

I returned home at a reasonable hour. Backed the truck into my driveway and climbed out. I barely had enough time to lock it up before Ella was standing by the garage door. Tears in her eyes, her bike was at her side.

"Hey kid, what's wrong?"

"Flat tire," she said, pointing at the front tire on her bicycle.

"Come on. Cheer up. Fixing a flat tire won't be a problem."

Her frown still sitting squarely on her face, she guided the bike to my garage.

She put her trust in me, but fixing the flat might have been a lie. I didn't have a true "Bicycle Flat Tire Repair Kit", but I did have some extremely wild bonding rubber glue and I was sure I could find some kind of rubber to put over the leak. With a hope and a prayer, I could have her riding down the street in a few minutes.

"Watch this," I said as I flipped the bike upside down. There was a hint of a smile on her cute little face. "You should look in the fridge. I got you some beer." The hint was now a full-blown grin.

With wheels in the air, my 9/16 wrench loosened the wheel and minutes later the tire, tube, and Ella were all seated on my workbench. I found some rubber and was cutting a patch. Ella was talking my ear off as I prepped the tube for repair.

"Excuse me young lady. What may I ask, are you doing in a stranger's garage without permission?"

Ella's mother stood in the doorway of the garage, and she looked pissed. Beautiful and pissed.

"Well..." she asked when neither of us replied to her first question.

"Mister...is fixing my bicycle again."

"Again? How many times have you been here?"

Ella put the juice box to her lips, took a pull off of the straw, and held her fingers up like a "Peace" sign. She obviously meant "two".

"Twice? Are you kiddi..."

Turning from the bench, I moved toward Ella's mom and extended my hand.

"Sorry. I'm Reid. Ella came to me with a chain off the first weekend I moved in. Today she has a flat tire. Seems she hangs out with an impatient crowd, so she couldn't wait until your husband got home to fix it."

"He wouldn't fix it. He only breaks stuff."

Both of us adults turned and looked Ella's way. She was uncaring about what she said. And without so much as missing a beat, she looked at me.

"Mister. Your name is Read. Like "read" a book?"

"No. R-E-I-D. Different spelling."

"Oh yeah, how many different spellings are there?"

"Three that I know of."

"Three? Oh yeah. What's the other..."

"ELLA. Stop. Explain to me how you think it's okay to be in here with a strange man."

"Mom, he's not strange. He's really cool. He has lived here for a year, and you've met him like four times at other houses."

"He's lived here a month. And we've never really been introduced." She looked my way. Trepidation dripping from her every movement. "Megan. My husband, Brad, and I were at Al and Lisa's."

"Nice to meet you. Reid. Not like the book or the plant."

"Nice to meet you, but she shouldn't be in here."

"My bad. The door was open both times. She was upset. I thought I was helping."

"It's fine. Ella, let's go."

Once again, the straw was in her mouth as Ella pointed to the still upside-down bike. She shrugged her shoulders as if to say, "we're waiting until it's done".

"How long?"

"Putting it back together now. She'll be on her way to the park in a few minutes."

"Yeah mom. Just a few more minutes. Don't worry, you can have dad's dinner ready in time."

"I...I have to...Brad's supper has to be ready..." Megan said with a suddenly nervous tone in her voice.

"Okay. Good. I'll tell Ella that she should clear it with you before she drops by again."

"Thanks. Thank you for taking care my daughter."

Megan walked / ran down the driveway and headed to her house. She was a very attractive woman. Roughly my age. Maybe a few years older. The odd thing about her was how just the mention of her husband sent her running.

"Wow. Your mom seems really concerned about your dad's dinner.

"He yells and calls her names if it isn't ready on time."

What? Ella shocked the hell out of me. The words sent a chill down my spine. Everything flashed through my mind. The bruises I noticed on the backs of Megan's legs. The first time I saw her at a party, I noticed the welts. How did they get there? The bruises on her upper arms. Were they fingertip bruises from someone grabbing her and holding her too tightly? Were they grip marks from a fight? What was once curiously strange, now may have an explanation.

*****

Sunday afternoons were a busy yet quiet time in my new neighborhood. Everybody seemed to have something on the go, or someplace to be. My project was mowing the lawn and trimming a couple of trees. It took the better part of the morning and when I was edging the curb with my grass trimmer, I noticed Ella's dad driving by. He saw me. He looked right at me. But he didn't take the time to acknowledge or return my wave. It didn't bother me in the least. It just reaffirmed my belief that he was a dick.

Thirty minutes later, Ella was sitting on the very same curb. Tears in her eyes. Bike at her side.

"You okay kid?"

Her head bobbed and nodded.

"If you're okay, why are you crying?"

"I'm not crying..."

"Sorry. Does your bicycle need a tune-up?"

She didn't look my way. But her head swung from side to side.

"Alright then. I'll be in the backyard. You know where the juice boxes are if you need one to help you feel better." Before I could leave, I found out why the young girl was upset.

The "You better watch your fucking mouth. You're a bitch, just like the rest of them," was loud enough for the entire court to hear. It came from the direction of Ella's house. Looking toward the ruckus, I caught sight of Ella running into my garage from the corner of my eye. Her father was just closing the door of his car when he called out a "go fuck yourself". His departure was far too fast for a cul-de-sac full of children.

*****

I found my new pal sitting on the seat of my old riding lawnmower. The tears were now joined by sobs. No one liked to witness their parents fighting. Especially not an eight-year-old child.

"Have you had lunch?"

"No," she told me between sobs.

"You feel like a hamburger and some potato chips? They might fill the void in your belly."

"Yes please." Her head tilted. I knew what was coming before she asked. "What's a 'void'?"

A piece of paper towel did the job. Ella filled it with snot and tears while I went inside to get the frozen patties for the BBQ. She picked out a juice box and set the picnic table in the backyard. With mats, plates, buns, condiments, and chips, she was ready to go. I had the easy job of putting the burgers on the grill.

Ella talked a blue streak as I grilled our lunch. Movement near the edge of my garage caught my eye. It was Megan. She stood back. Out of sight. I continued what I was doing and let on like I had no idea that she was there. Megan listened to our conversation for the longest time. As if trying to get a feel for what we were talking about.

"So, what grade will go be going into when you go back to school?"

"Three. But I don't want to talk about it."

"Really, why's that?"

"Because of Mrs. Dunlop. She's wicked mean. And she gives lots and lots of homework."

"Wow. She sounds mean. But doesn't homework help you learn? And learning helps to make you smarter."

"People tell me I'm too smart already. Mom calls me a smartass sometimes when I make her mad."

"That's understandable. And I can tell that you are plenty smart."

Finally, Megan gathered enough courage to come around the corner.

"There you are Missy. I thought you were at the park with the other girls."

Like her daughter, Megan had redness in her eyes from crying. She also had a mark on her cheek and her lower lip was a bit swollen.

"I was making lunch. Ella was minding her own business curbside when I invited her to join me."

Megan knew the truth. She knew her daughter had run away when the fighting started. So, she sat in a seat beside her daughter and ran her fingers through the younger girls' curls.

"Ella, why don't you get your mom a drink. Something in a can. I'll flip the burgers one more time and we should be good to go."

Ella raced off the deck and was back in seconds. I put out another plate while Ella pulled apart the buns.

"Mom, you can open the bag of chips, if you want."

Megan opened the chips and joined us for lunch. Without her daughter noticing, she put the cold can of soda against the swollen area on her cheek.

"Are you alright?" I asked without drawing attention to her.

Her eyes sparkled with tears as she nodded. It must be a horrible thing to be struck by your spouse. And it must be just as hard to acknowledge that it happened to a stranger you barely know.

The mother and daughter were in no hurry to leave after lunch.

Megan and Ella sat under a tree in my backyard. Out of sight, out of mind. It was a safe zone for them, and I left them alone. The sad duo needed to work things out on their own. They stayed for the longest time. Just sitting and talking while they sipped cold drinks.

"Bye Mister. You cook a good burger." Ella yelled as she and her mother walked by the garage door.

"Thanks for saying so Ella. See yah the next time your bike breaks down."

The young girl ran to her bike and picked it up. "It's working great," she yelled. Soon she was racing across the paved court.

"Thank you for today. She..." Megan looked defeated.