Burned by Ellen Hopkins

park, a couple of motels, a restaurant or two, a tavern, and a hardware störe, which carried
    shoes and a few stitches of clothing.
    Smallish houses sat in neat little rows, defending a little park, two churches, and the Mormon stake house-- the fandest building in town.
    On the outskirts was a roping arena.
    Dad made me sit in the car
    while he ran into a little market.
    He bought flowers for Aunt Jeanette, a soda for me and, I'm pretty
    sure, a bottle of Johnnie WB.
    As I waited, a Union Pacific roared
    by. The tracks in Caliente are a major
    thoroughfare for freight trains, moving goods north to south
    and, of course, back again.
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    The Windows rattled tili I thought
    they just might shatter. I considered
    catching a lapful of glass, as a shiny blue pickup parked in the adjoining space.
    A guy climbed out, and he was to die
    for. Who knew they made them so killer cute, out there in the sticks?
    He noticed me noticing him and flashed a smile that could melt lead.
    Furnace Lips strutted toward the störe,
    Turned at the door, and gave me another
    olid once-over. It was my first hint
    that life out there in Nowhereville
    might not be so bad after all.
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    A unt Jeanette Lived
    Several miles
    out of town, way back up a wide ravine.
    We paralleled the train
    tracks past lush
    pastureland, verdant meadows, shady ranches, and the most
    awesome rock
    formations
    I'd ever seen.
    The farther
    we drove, the more
    I feil in love with rural Nevadas
    raw beauty.
    No neon.
    No walls.
    No traffic.
    No row after row
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    of identical cracker-
    box houses.
    This wasn't punishment.
    It was freedom.
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    I' m Not Sure Why
    I knew that then.
    Call it intuition.
    Whatever it was, my mind
    swayed from fear and uncertainty; my heart
    veered from hurt and bitterness toward the unlikely idea
    that, away from home, my
    future
    might
    blossom with hope.
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    Aunt Teanette's Ranch
    Was 160 water-fed acres--lush, untamed.
    We pulled into her cottonwood-shaded
    driveway. A mule brayed and two tricolored d
    ogs came to greet us, tail stumps wagging.
    Next came a parade of cats, all colors, all sizes. Strangers demanded investigation.
    Even fhe geese had to check us out.
    A nasty gander approached, hissing.
    Aunt Jeanette appeared suddenly.
    You scat on outta here, Grady Goose!
    The gander scrambled out of sight, protesting loudly the entire way.
    Aunt Jeanette gave me a once-over.
    Dänin, girl, you have grown.
    W r e'd last seen each other six
    Christmases ago, at Grandpa Pauls.
    It's about time you came for a visit.
    This oV place can get pretty lonely.
    No doubt, with no company but animals.
    "How have you been, Aunt Jeanette?"
    Call me Aunt J. Keep saying "Aunt
    Jeanette," we'll be here all day.
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    I smiled. "Okay, then, Aunt J."
    Dad grunted something like hello.
    Welcome, Stephen. Lets all go inside.
    Supper will he ready 'fore you know it.
    I really can't stay, Dad tried to say. Janice is expecting me.
    Too late to start hack now. Call your wife, tell her you'll he home tomorrow.
    A woman who took no erap from Dad?
    She and I would get along just fine.
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    W e Followed Her Inside
    Dad carried my Single suitcase, stuffed to the brirn with homemade clothes.
    I carried my backpack, stuffed to the brim with begged and borrowed books.
    Aunt J kept a clipped, measured
    pace. I watched the hitch of her narrow
    hips, the swish of her Single, long braid, bronze shot through with silver.
    In her day, she must have been very
    beautiful. She had married once, but I'd never heard details, only
    that her husband, Stan, had died.
    The outside of the long, low house
    wore a fresh coat of white, with a pale
    blue colonnade and shutters to add a bit of color to the tidy porch.
    Inside, simple antique furniture graced
    polished hardwood floors. Wreaths and quilts and afghans brightened every room.
    I saw no photographs at all.
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    One wall of the Irving room housed a gun cabinet, filled with deadly treasures.
    Aunt Jeanette was a cross between
    Annie