also not sure I’m ready for a whole day commitment. We’ve strayed over the years, and though I’m working on closing up the rift, patching the holes and making it so we can float again together, I’m not quite there yet. I can’t handle being a disappointment because I haven’t been the best daughter, and I don’t like the same things she does. But soon. Soon, I tell myself. We’ll get there.
I pick at the muffin. It crumbles onto the paper towel and stains my fingers purple. “Maybe some other time,” I sigh. Taking a final sip of coffee, I push the mug away. “I’ve gotta go.”
“Okay, have fun.”
As I get up from the island and head to the door, she doesn’t even look up. A twinge of guilt hits me in the stomach. My stomach’s getting quite the work out these days. I sigh.
I park the Mustang in a random spot on Main Street. It’s the first I saw, so I took it. In L.A. that’s what you did. Parking is a hot commodity. But now, as I make my way down the street, it’s apparent that this really isn’t LA. I pass by dozens of empty spots. A good walk never killed anyone. Besides, I have no idea where the library is. I assume Willard Grove has one, and I assume it’s somewhere in the vicinity. I can’t wait until the cable and Internet gets hooked up. Google Maps would have made this endeavor much easier.
I turn onto another street, walk by the donut shop I noticed the other day, a thrift store I make note to come back to later and an appliance store. At the end of the street, lo and behold, a tall, almost church like building—complete with a steeple but no cross—grabs my attention like a beacon. In thick blue lettering Community Library hangs on a sign just above the entrance. I wonder how I missed that earlier.
My easy stride picks up pace as the finish line is in sight. But I’m forced to stop when loud thumping footsteps and a voice calls out, “Alex? Alex, wait up!” Slowly, I turn on my heels. Allison, the grocery store clerk, is bustling up the street towards me. Her face is flushed, and she’s huffing and puffing as she draws nearer. I’m not surprised she’s out of breath. Slung over her shoulder is a very large, very heavy looking designer bag. Is that thing filled with rocks?
I lift up my hand and give her a small wave. “Uh hi, Allison.”
Just as Allison reaches me, the bag falls from her shoulder. She grabs the straps and hoists it back up. “I thought that was you.” She smiles.
I look over my shoulder, at the library. I can almost feel my body being pulled in that direction.
“Are you busy? We could grab a coffee?”
I give her a once over. I can’t help it. The designer bag of bricks isn’t her only fashion statement. She’s got on a very slim pair of black skinny jeans, making her legs look long and lean and a cute pair of red heeled strappy sandals. This girl is way too perfect. Her shirt, though stylish, is a little off-putting considering the warm spring heat. Can we say pit stains? Cause that’s totally going to happen. It’s a thick long sleeved v-neck. It really hugs her in all the right places so maybe it’s a style over comfort thing. And the big splash of color in the form of a vintage-style rose attracts your attention to her ample chest. Even her hair is perfectly smooth, cut just so the angle in the front delicately frames her oval face. Her make-up is simple and clean. The entire package forces me to look down at my own tattered, plain jeans and T-shirt. I doubt I’ll fit in with her clique.
I want to say no—about the coffee. I really do. I look again at the library. It’ll have to wait . Besides, there’s a good chance Allison might be able to help me out. What’s that old saying? Something about the locals knowing everything? “Sure.”
I fall into step with Allison as we backtrack to the donut shop I passed earlier. She opens the door and ushers me inside. The aroma of sugar and yeast fills my nose as a waft of warm air
I pick at the muffin. It crumbles onto the paper towel and stains my fingers purple. “Maybe some other time,” I sigh. Taking a final sip of coffee, I push the mug away. “I’ve gotta go.”
“Okay, have fun.”
As I get up from the island and head to the door, she doesn’t even look up. A twinge of guilt hits me in the stomach. My stomach’s getting quite the work out these days. I sigh.
I park the Mustang in a random spot on Main Street. It’s the first I saw, so I took it. In L.A. that’s what you did. Parking is a hot commodity. But now, as I make my way down the street, it’s apparent that this really isn’t LA. I pass by dozens of empty spots. A good walk never killed anyone. Besides, I have no idea where the library is. I assume Willard Grove has one, and I assume it’s somewhere in the vicinity. I can’t wait until the cable and Internet gets hooked up. Google Maps would have made this endeavor much easier.
I turn onto another street, walk by the donut shop I noticed the other day, a thrift store I make note to come back to later and an appliance store. At the end of the street, lo and behold, a tall, almost church like building—complete with a steeple but no cross—grabs my attention like a beacon. In thick blue lettering Community Library hangs on a sign just above the entrance. I wonder how I missed that earlier.
My easy stride picks up pace as the finish line is in sight. But I’m forced to stop when loud thumping footsteps and a voice calls out, “Alex? Alex, wait up!” Slowly, I turn on my heels. Allison, the grocery store clerk, is bustling up the street towards me. Her face is flushed, and she’s huffing and puffing as she draws nearer. I’m not surprised she’s out of breath. Slung over her shoulder is a very large, very heavy looking designer bag. Is that thing filled with rocks?
I lift up my hand and give her a small wave. “Uh hi, Allison.”
Just as Allison reaches me, the bag falls from her shoulder. She grabs the straps and hoists it back up. “I thought that was you.” She smiles.
I look over my shoulder, at the library. I can almost feel my body being pulled in that direction.
“Are you busy? We could grab a coffee?”
I give her a once over. I can’t help it. The designer bag of bricks isn’t her only fashion statement. She’s got on a very slim pair of black skinny jeans, making her legs look long and lean and a cute pair of red heeled strappy sandals. This girl is way too perfect. Her shirt, though stylish, is a little off-putting considering the warm spring heat. Can we say pit stains? Cause that’s totally going to happen. It’s a thick long sleeved v-neck. It really hugs her in all the right places so maybe it’s a style over comfort thing. And the big splash of color in the form of a vintage-style rose attracts your attention to her ample chest. Even her hair is perfectly smooth, cut just so the angle in the front delicately frames her oval face. Her make-up is simple and clean. The entire package forces me to look down at my own tattered, plain jeans and T-shirt. I doubt I’ll fit in with her clique.
I want to say no—about the coffee. I really do. I look again at the library. It’ll have to wait . Besides, there’s a good chance Allison might be able to help me out. What’s that old saying? Something about the locals knowing everything? “Sure.”
I fall into step with Allison as we backtrack to the donut shop I passed earlier. She opens the door and ushers me inside. The aroma of sugar and yeast fills my nose as a waft of warm air
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