After living next door to my neighbor Helen and John for many years, I discovered that Helen had a sister, Olive, in the small town of Little Washington where I spent a few years in my youth. Olive and her husband ran the local drive-in and I had spent many an evening at that drive-in.
One summer John, I, and my 15-year-old son took a boat trip south with an invitation to stay at Olive's house. It took us two days by boat to get there and Olive's son Charles picked us up at the boat ramp.
Olive instantly became fond of my son and cooked him his favorite meal at 11 o'clock that night. In the coming years, I would drop him off at her house for visits of a week of more. He remembers those visits with her and her husband fondly. I found it funny that he never complained about his chores at Olive's house.
The following day after our arrival by boat, Sunday, all of the family came over to Olive's house for lunch, her two sons and two daughters, Faye, Joe (Josephine) and an assortment of wives, husbands and grand-children spread out among the four.
Joe and I, she a year older than myself, immediately became fast friends and spent much of the afternoon talking together. She, of course, had spent her life in Little Washington and we spent a good deal of time talking about the days of our youth in the small town
Over the next 35 years, I would attend funerals, with Helen and John, for Olive's family and eventually Olive's funeral. After Charles passed away, she just seemed to lose the will to live. Charles drove her everywhere she ever wanted to go. The only ones left were one grandson, Ben, Faye, Joe and of course the children.
Seeing Joe was a delight on these sad occasions and she seemed to feel the same towards me.
The two girls would visit Helen occasionally, sometimes together, sometimes one or the other. Faye owned a maroon van while Joe owned a white van and whenever Joe visited I made sure that I ran into her. If I saw Helen and Joe out in the backyard, I made a bee-line out the back door.
Whenever I saw Helen, I always asked about Joe and Helen always told me that Joe always asked about me. I always hoped that Helen was telling Joe the same.
Now, the other day I was checking the mail. Studying the mail, as I walked towards the back door, I looked up to see Joe approaching the fence. I walked up to the fence holding the mail in my right hand, placing my left hand on the fence.
"Hey, stranger!" I said to her with a smile on my face.
"Hello yourself!" She returned. "Press, how have you been?"
"I've been fine, Joe." I replied. "Helen told me about Harvey. I'm so very sorry for your loss."
"It's been four months now. I cried a lot at first, but each day is a little easier. He saw the doctor one day and two weeks later he was gone!" She explained. "I was afraid I would not see you this visit. I feel uncomfortable about just knocking on your door. I was just getting ready to leave."
With those last words, she placed her hand on top of mind.
"I didn't know you were here! I suppose, Faye drove? I usually look for your white van." I offered.
"Faye dropped me off last night." Joe explained. "She'll be here any minute to pick me up and head back down south."
"I think about you often, Joe." I said affectionately.
"I think about you too, Press. A lot here lately." She said, looking down at the pavement. I could tell she seemed to be thinking and there was more to come.
"I hope you will forgive me for my forwardness." She began, her voice and tone almost secretive. "But I would be very pleased if you could find some way of visiting me in the near future."
"How about Monday?" I immediately responded.
"You could do that?" She queried excitedly.
She noticed that I looked up past her shoulder and she turned to see Faye's van coming down the street. I gave her my email address, it was very easy to remember, and told her to email me the directions to her house.
In the four days before Monday, we passed several emails. I told her I would drop my wife off at work about 7:00 and I should be there between 9:00 and 9:15. She asked me to call her when I made the left-hand turn in Williamston and she would begin a light breakfast for us.
I followed her directions through the business district of Little Washington down the waterfront to Brown Street. I saw her van and did not have to follow the numbers of the houses. I parked behind her band and got out, looking around at the neighborhood that had not changed hardly at all. I noticed one change with dismay. They had torn down the house on the corner of Brown and Main that I had once lived in, and the country store that was next to it that had belonged to my stepmother's sister.
"Good morning, Press!" She greeted me at the door.
"Good morning, Joe." I replied in greeting.
After closing the door, she turned and gave me a very long, warm hug. She had the scent of someone fresh out of a shower.
I then followed her down the hall to the kitchen. She motioned me to a chair at the kitchen table and I sat down. In moments, I had a cup of coffee in front of me.
"I can't remember the last time I saw you in a dress, Joe." I said, watching her at the stove.
"I was thinking the same thing this morning." She replied. "How you like me in a dress?
"Very much!" I replied. "A dress lends a bit of mystery to a woman."
Not for the first time, I appraised Joe as a woman rather than just a friend.
The dress Joe was wearing was rather simple, dark blue with straps over her shoulders. None of her lower figure was discernible beneath the dress. Her chest appeared much smaller than I remembered from the shirts she wore tucked into her usual jeans. She wore a white cotton short-sleeved shirt underneath.
My wife, Becky, stood 5'9" and weighed 139lb., a slim and trim gal. I would guess Joe weighed about 150lbs. Joe appeared a more substantial gal, I suppose, due to her slightly larger hips and posterior. I could see her arms were a bit more beefy from her shoulders to her elbows.
She appeared to be a physically fit person who moved seemingly unhindered by any aging pain. She was 64 years old. Through the years, I had watched her hair turn from a light brown to a multi-shaded color of white and gray.
She had watched my hair turn completely white and she had often said she adored the color.
She kept her hair cut rather short, had hazel eyes and her skin that was visible to me on her face, arms, and legs, the dress dropping 6 or 8 inches below her knees, was of light complexion, unblemished and seemingly untouched by the sun.
I would not have attached the term "pretty" or "cute" to Joe. She was your typical Southern gal with a face of soft features who liked to smile.
