APPALACHIAN CONFESSIONS - Part 2
I tried to suppress that disturbing albeit totally erotic shower experience from my mind. "What's wrong with me," I wondered, although I already knew the answer. It had only been two days since the amazing rain-interrupted make-out session with Beth, yet it felt like months. It took everything in my power NOT to meet up too soon with Beth at the grocery store, despite my longing for her touch. I didn't want to come across as desperate or clingy, although in hindsight that's exactly what I was. Fortunately, it was much easier to avoid people thirty years ago with no cell phones, internet or social media as temptations. Landlines, snail mail or actually seeing the person were really the only ways to get in touch.
I finally broke down and called Beth on Tuesday night, hoping it would be okay to meet at the store on Wednesday. Just hearing her voice took me back to our brief get-together in the thicket, but I didn't feel the warmth in her tone that I had hoped for. She gave me a lukewarm okay to stop by the following day for my bike, but warned that she may not be able to take time off for lunch. Still, my heart skipped a beat with the thought of seeing her again.
I immediately began to formulate my plan. What would I wear? My options were limited. I knew that whatever I chose would be second and third-guessed by myself, so I decided to go with what made me feel the most confident - my white cut-off shorts and red/white checkered blouse with a pair of relatively clean tennis shoes. On the off-chance that it would get that far, I chose my only pair of sheer panties and felt a familiar warmth at the thought of her seeing them with my generous mound showing through. I did a slight bit of manicuring to avoid having pubic hair peeking out the sides and (embarrassingly) out of the waistband of my low-cut panties. At this point there was really nothing I could do about the hint of hair from my navel down to my panty line. I knew girls who waxed, but until now I didn't really understand the need to do that. Now I regretted it and made a mental note to try to learn more about the process.
My brothers shared an old Chevy sedan, and I decided to ask for a ride. Paranoia set in, so to avoid suspicion I asked them to drop me off at the craft show that was just down the street from Beth and the Piggly Wiggly. As I sat in the car and we bounced down the bumpy gravel road toward the show, I began to panic. I told myself not to expect too much. This is NOT a date after all. I'm just going to pick up my bike - but I knew that was a lie. I couldn't care less about the bike, which was my only mode of transportation. I needed to see her again. We rounded the bend and I instinctively slouched down in my seat, nearing the location where the pickup truck had been abandoned just a few days before, but to my surprise it was no longer there. I wondered if they had already fixed it, and the fear built up inside of me again as I tried not to consider the consequences if they would ever find out what happened.
My heart raced and I actually felt myself becoming lightheaded when we finally reached Main Street with the grocery store now in sight. My elation turned to horror as we passed the store. In the parking lot sat the rusty old Silverado. Initially I thought it could have been a different truck until I saw the unmistakable rebel flag in the back window. My old bike was propped up against the bike rack beside the building, just a few yards from Jed's truck.
"Shit," I muttered under my breath.
My brother laughed, confused.
"What's wrong?"
"Oh, um... nothing. I thought I forgot my money but it's in my other pocket," I lied.
My naïve self was concerned about Beth's safety. Had Jed found out about our prank or was it just a coincidence that he was parked in front of the store? After all, if you needed groceries in our little town, there weren't many options. We reached the farmer's market down the street from the grocery store and I was forced to follow through on my ruse, despite now having no real plan. My brother pulled over and I jumped out of the car, again feeling a twinge of pain when I put my weight on my right leg.
"Thanks bro. I owe ya."
"Yeah, that's a debt that will never get repaid, but okay," he smirked, and we both laughed.
"No - Prob'ly not. See ya at home later, maybe."
He turned the car around and headed down the road. I took a deep breath and decided to explore the craft show, killing time as I gathered my thoughts. Could Jed have found out? Was Beth in trouble? I entered the pole building and wandered down the aisles. Although I was physically there, I was mentally in an entirely different place - caught somewhere between panic and confusion.
"Watcha lookin' for, hon?"
I snapped back to reality and found myself staring into the eyes of a middle-aged farmer in bib overalls. In front of him was an assortment of knives with carved wooden handles.
"Um, not sure. Just browsing I guess."
"Okay then. Take your time."
I nodded as I weighed my options. I wasn't sure how much time had passed, but my nerves got the better of me. I HAD to know what was going on over at the Piggly Wiggly. I pretended to look at the crafts for a few minutes more as I made my way to the exit. For a split-second I considered returning to the old farmer's table and picking out one of the knives for protection, but I dismissed the thought. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open and tried to regain my composure as I shuffled out of the building, oblivious to the intense humidity. Although the Piggly Wiggly was only a few minutes down the road, I felt every step, and I realized that my sore ankle was throbbing. In my mind it felt as if I was a death-row convict being led to the electric chair; however, unlike that death walk, I wasn't even afforded a last supper. If something bad was to happen at the grocery store, my final meal would have consisted of instant grits and nearly spoiled orange juice. What a way to end it, I thought, then realized I was being overly dramatic. After all, what was the worst that could happen, I wondered.
As I approached the store, I was relieved to see a nearly empty parking lot with Jed's truck nowhere to be found. I knew that it was going to be okay, and my memories of Beth flooded back into my mind. Maybe she could escape for a quick picnic over lunch, I thought. Even if she couldn't get away, I needed to see her. Three days without her felt like three years to me, and my heart overflowed with a warmth yet again. I reached the entrance, took a deep breath and pushed the door open. Now drenched in perspiration, the air conditioning felt overly cool on my skin and I briefly considered retreating to the stifling humidity, but I floated through the store as if on a cloud, no longer feeling the pain in my sore ankle. I tried to suppress my anxiety and controlled my breathing as I wandered through the store, glancing down the aisles - left, right, then left again. I made it to the rear of the store past the usual array of disinterested shoppers before turning around and repeating my search as I returned to the checkout area.
"Can I help you find something," a middle-aged clerk asked.
"Um, I think my friend was supposed to be working today."
She waited for me to say her name, but for some reason I struggled with guilt and I felt myself blushing before blurting it out.
"Beth - is Beth here today? Um...she has my bike. It's around the side of the building, I think."
"Oh. Yeah, she's here but I think she's still on her lunch break. She usually goes down to the park for 'lunch' with her fiancé - if you know what I mean," she said with a wink.
"Oh um... okay, well could you tell her I was here? Destiny?"
"Sure will. You have a good day now."
It amazes me that as I relive that fateful day several decades later, my blood still boils and mixes with the pain in my chest. Anyway, I remember turning to leave the Piggly Wiggly in a trance and walking around the side of the building to retrieve my bike, confused.
Engaged? I began to question if our brief weekend rendezvous ever really happened. I pulled my bike from the rusty old rack as my mind worked overtime, struggling to deny what had become painfully clear. I started pedaling toward the park, but instead decided to turn around, unwilling and unable to accept the obvious. Now my head was throbbing in synch with my sore ankle, of which I was reminded every time I pedaled. As I rode toward the trailer park, the disjointed facts kept spinning around in my brain but slowly began falling into place - Jed's truck in the lot, Beth's lukewarm phone call, her reluctance to help me with the sabotage, and even her lack of shoes or towel at the lake. I guessed that her things were tucked away in Jed's pickup truck. After all, who goes without shoes or a towel at a gravelly swimming spot? What was I to her? What purpose did I serve? Was I just a dare?
To say I was crushed was probably the understatement of the decade. I admit that during that final mile along the shoulder of the road, I almost hoped that I would have been put out of my misery by an inattentive driver, sideswiped and left for dead - not unlike the possums and other roadkill that I had passed along the way. Instead, I pedaled forward - alone again both physically and emotionally. I realized as I reached the trailer park entrance that I had been sobbing, and I stopped by the bank of mailboxes in an effort to compose myself before returning home, not that anyone would have noticed. I wiped my tears and runny nose with my sweaty forearm and pulled the mail from the bin before pedaling down the road, sniffling back the tears. Along with the emotional pain came the sudden realization that Jed would know it was me who damaged his truck. Part of me wondered if Beth could keep that secret, but I knew that I had to prepare for the worst, whatever that may be.
Before I reached home, I stopped and propped my bike up against one of the few trees. I sat down along the side of the road and the tears again formed. I absentmindedly shuffled through what was likely several days' worth of mail. After all, it was easy to ignore the various bills. We rarely if ever received any good mail, so why rush to the box every day? As usual, there were a few pieces of errant mail, including two that were labeled for 'Ms. Lucy Rae ______.' I was actually relieved to have something to take my mind off of Jed and Beth, and my thoughts briefly shifted to Lucy and my recent fantasy. The tears dried up and I sat there on the dirty ground with the mail spread out in front of me. I separated Lucy's mail from ours and mounted the bike, wondering if I had the nerve to hand-deliver it. I could almost hear my heart beating while pedaling the short distance down the gravel road. I propped my bike against the side of the trailer before entering and dropping our mail on our sticky kitchen counter, then made a quick stop in the bathroom to wash my face and brush my hair. I took a reluctant glance in the mirror, afraid of what I might see. The soft, almost cute face that peered back at me looked nothing at all like the cold, hardened and unloved person that I had suddenly become. I smacked myself across my cheeks to snap out of it, faked a smile and gathered Lucy Rae's mail, suddenly confident and now determined to hand-deliver it to her.
One of her younger kids was playing in the dirt as I approached the trailer.
"Is your mom home?"
He just nodded and kept playing.
"Can you get her for me please?"
He rolled his eyes and stood, motioning for me to follow him and not bothering to hold the screen door open for me. I entered the small screened in porch but stopped short of following him into the trailer as he screamed out, "MOM! Some lady's here for ya! MOM!"
Lady? How old did this kid think I am, I wondered? As I waited, I glanced around and was surprised to see an easel propped up near the corner of the small porch, with various widths of charcoal pencils on a table beside it. Curiosity got the better of me, and I took a few steps toward it. On the easel was a rough sketch of a tricycle lying on its side in the weeds, abandoned. Despite it being incomplete, the detail was remarkable, and I felt a sadness welling up in me as I viewed it.
I was snapped back to reality by the sound of the screen door, and the boy mumbled, "Mom's in the shower. She'll be out when she's done."
