alone, to have to take care of a house, from leaks in the roof to kinks in the furnace to mowing the lawn, to deal with bad news from family far away and hear good news from the same and have no one to share it with. To long for connection, to want to be a part of the bigger picture and yet to love your solitude, to have time to think and silence to read with no one to answer to or tend to. To hoard privacy, the greatest luxury, knowing that though it’s the very thing that keeps you separate from people, it’s so meaningful and delicious that you don’t care. I know about working hard all week and being so busy that weekends aren’t weekends, just two extra days to be useful. I know what she is feeling, and I want her to know that.
“I understand. I was alone in this town for a long time,” I tell her.
“Then you know.”
“Yes ma’am, I do.”
Kate puts her hand on the door, signaling that she is done opening up to me. I turn to go down the steps. She stops me.
“What’s a ferriner?” she asks quietly.
“Someone who moves to these parts from the outside. A foreigner. Why do you ask?” But I have a sick feeling I know the answer.
“I was just wondering. One of the kids called me that.”
“We’ll get the coal cleaned up and the sod replaced,” I promise her.
She closes the screen door.
I feel so bad for Kate Benton. She might feel like a ferriner, but now she knows that is exactly how she is perceived. Every time we attract talented people to this area, we end up driving them away when they dare to do things differently or take a firm stand with our children. Ferriners are outsiders, but we make them outcasts. Why should she stay here? What is here for her? At least I had Theodore to share things with, to go places, to have a life outside my work. We loved all the same things—good books, good food, and the theater. I hardly noticed time passing in the ten years that Theodore lived here, I was so happy to have a like-minded friend. We’d go and climb around caves and see movies in Kingsport and go to the mall. When one of us needed an escort to some party or event, we’d always go together. Kate Benton doesn’t have a Theodore. I don’t know how long she’ll last around here without one.
Fleeta is locking up when I stop by the Pharmacy on my way home.
“How bad was it?” she asks as she sorts through the keys on a large brass ring.
“It’s terrible.”
“Yeah, Misty confessed the whole thing to her mama, who told Iva Lou at the li-berry.” Fleeta pauses, waiting for me to respond. When I don’t, she continues, “Yeah, it’s a bad thing them kids did. But at least Etta made the group confess to the principal. That ought to make you feel better.” Fleeta lights up one of the two cigarettes she’s smoking per day now.
It should make me feel better, but it doesn’t. “I don’t want to talk about it, Fleeta.”
“All youngins git into messes one time or another. You know what I went through with Pavis.” Fleeta exhales so deeply, it’s as if she blows out an additional pocket of old smoke from deep within her lungs.
How could I forget Pavis? When he was in high school, I had to advance Fleeta her paycheck several times so she could bail him out of the town jail for infractions that varied from public drunkenness to selling illegal fireworks to minors.
“Poor pitiful Pavis,” Fleeta says as though it’s his given name. She continues, “When the police picked him up the first time, they come by my house to let me know they had him. And I don’t even remember the charges, I just remember I took a fit of cryin’. I said to the cop, ‘Why? Why do I have two normal youngins who act right and one Pavis who’s forever in a mess? How could one child turn out so badly?’ And he said, ‘Ma’am, there’s an old saw, and it’s true: You plant corn, you git corn.’ ” Fleeta sighs and goes to lock up the Soda Fountain.
My hands begin to shake on the steering wheel as I
“I understand. I was alone in this town for a long time,” I tell her.
“Then you know.”
“Yes ma’am, I do.”
Kate puts her hand on the door, signaling that she is done opening up to me. I turn to go down the steps. She stops me.
“What’s a ferriner?” she asks quietly.
“Someone who moves to these parts from the outside. A foreigner. Why do you ask?” But I have a sick feeling I know the answer.
“I was just wondering. One of the kids called me that.”
“We’ll get the coal cleaned up and the sod replaced,” I promise her.
She closes the screen door.
I feel so bad for Kate Benton. She might feel like a ferriner, but now she knows that is exactly how she is perceived. Every time we attract talented people to this area, we end up driving them away when they dare to do things differently or take a firm stand with our children. Ferriners are outsiders, but we make them outcasts. Why should she stay here? What is here for her? At least I had Theodore to share things with, to go places, to have a life outside my work. We loved all the same things—good books, good food, and the theater. I hardly noticed time passing in the ten years that Theodore lived here, I was so happy to have a like-minded friend. We’d go and climb around caves and see movies in Kingsport and go to the mall. When one of us needed an escort to some party or event, we’d always go together. Kate Benton doesn’t have a Theodore. I don’t know how long she’ll last around here without one.
Fleeta is locking up when I stop by the Pharmacy on my way home.
“How bad was it?” she asks as she sorts through the keys on a large brass ring.
“It’s terrible.”
“Yeah, Misty confessed the whole thing to her mama, who told Iva Lou at the li-berry.” Fleeta pauses, waiting for me to respond. When I don’t, she continues, “Yeah, it’s a bad thing them kids did. But at least Etta made the group confess to the principal. That ought to make you feel better.” Fleeta lights up one of the two cigarettes she’s smoking per day now.
It should make me feel better, but it doesn’t. “I don’t want to talk about it, Fleeta.”
“All youngins git into messes one time or another. You know what I went through with Pavis.” Fleeta exhales so deeply, it’s as if she blows out an additional pocket of old smoke from deep within her lungs.
How could I forget Pavis? When he was in high school, I had to advance Fleeta her paycheck several times so she could bail him out of the town jail for infractions that varied from public drunkenness to selling illegal fireworks to minors.
“Poor pitiful Pavis,” Fleeta says as though it’s his given name. She continues, “When the police picked him up the first time, they come by my house to let me know they had him. And I don’t even remember the charges, I just remember I took a fit of cryin’. I said to the cop, ‘Why? Why do I have two normal youngins who act right and one Pavis who’s forever in a mess? How could one child turn out so badly?’ And he said, ‘Ma’am, there’s an old saw, and it’s true: You plant corn, you git corn.’ ” Fleeta sighs and goes to lock up the Soda Fountain.
My hands begin to shake on the steering wheel as I
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