Lyrics of a Small Town by Abbi Glines
One
The gulf breeze was the only relief from the relentless heat. I reached up and adjusted my sun hat before picking up the last box of Gran’s clothing to load in my car. This was number one on her list- take all the clothing in her closet to the church donation center.
When Gran had tested positive for Covid she sat down and made a list. It was the things she wanted me to do for her if she didn’t survive. The list had come in the mail the day after she had been admitted into the hospital. I had been mad about that list. Mad because she had even considered she wouldn’t survive. Mad because I could not lose her too. Mad because this list was another reminder of how precious and fleeting life could be.
Walking down the stairs, I took the box to pack it into my silver Mini Cooper she had given me when I graduated high school. Gran had wanted all her clothing to be taken to her church. They had a program for those in need and it ran solely on the donations of the community. It had been the first thing on Gran’s list. Which did not surprise me in the least. Gran had spent her life volunteering in homeless shelters, nursing homes, and food banks. It had been at one of these volunteer efforts that Gran had contracted Covid. She had been wearing her mask and keeping the proper six-feet distance. I had spoken to her just that morning; she’d called to tell me she had her first vaccine scheduled for that Monday. When Monday came, so had Gran’s fever.
I sat the box down on the sandy grass and opened the car door. I managed to shove the box into the back seat but getting the door to close was another thing. Just as I was leaning on the door about to try using all my body weight to get it closed, an old blue Ford truck slowed and then stopped right in the middle of the road, blocking Gran’s driveway. I paused and stared at the truck, but I was unable to see much with the sun in my eyes. My sun hat had once again been blown back too far on my head with the strong gulf breeze and it was doing little to block the glare.
While squinting, I could make out a tall male, young, dark curly hair, and a nice deep tan that I was envious of standing a few feet away from me.
“Need some help?” he asked and I noticed he lacked a drawl. The kind you expect in the south, a thick accent unlike any other. Even in Chattanooga, it was something that was common place in our accent. This guy didn’t have one. I glanced up at his truck again and thought how odd that seemed. He was a prime candidate for a thick southern drawl.
“Uh,” I finally managed to say because he had caught me off guard. “Sure, thanks,” I added. Still unable to see him clearly due to the brightness of the relentless sun. He came toward me and when he was close enough I stepped away and let him wrestle with the last box.
I took the moment to adjust my hat and get a better look at the good Samaritan while he lifted the box, shifted it in farther then closed the door as if it were the easiest thing in the world. I hated it when men made things look easy after I had struggled with it. I was thankful for his help though.
“Thank you,” I said as he turned back around. I had forgotten how nice people were in small towns like this. If someone had stopped to help me back home, I would have been armed with my pepper spray. Things like this just didn’t happen at home very often.
“You’re welcome,” he said and it was then I got my first real look at him. Not at all what I had expected. To go with his tan and dark hair, he had the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. The only imperfection on his face was a cut on his lower lip that appeared fresh, as if he had been in a recent fight. He looked like a model for some tropical vacation commercial and was currently pretending to be a regular guy. The only thing remotely regular about him was his truck and possibly the cut on his lip but then that would be healed soon.
“You’re blocking traffic!” a female voice called out. We both turned our heads to see a red convertible pulled up behind him on the road and a blonde girl in the passenger seat standing up looking over the top at him.
“I’m coming,” he replied then turned back to me. “You got anymore boxes to fit in the car?”
I shook my head no.
“Alright then,” he replied then turned and walked over to the convertible and said something to the blonde who leaned over and threw her arms around his neck and laughed. She moved so fluidly and gracefully, her blonde hair blowing in the breeze in just the right direction so it didn’t cover her face, it was as if she was part of his tropical vacation commercial.
I stood there in my large white sun hat that I’d found in Gran’s closet and my khaki shorts, yellow polo top and pale skin feeling awkward. I was twenty-one years old and I had thought I was beyond seeing people that were beautiful by the world’s standards and feeling less than.
Not appreciating how easily the guy and the gorgeous blonde with her designer sunglasses and bare golden skin hanging out of the convertible had made me feel plain, I straightened my shoulders and went back to the house to lock up before going to do the first task on Gran’s list. I realized this was a part of life that Will had been my shelter from. When I had been with Will, I hadn’t noticed the rest of the world. He never looked at other girls and I never felt insecure. Will had thought I was beautiful and his love had made me feel beautiful.
This was just another part of life without Will. I had thought I’d outgrown my insecurities, when in reality, I had only used Will as my buffer. Having a boyfriend who loved me since I was sixteen had made my teen years easy. I stopped at the glass door and stared at my reflection. Appearance should not be so important, yet when one has a mother such as mine, it is. I had been raised to believe beauty was the most important thing and I had never felt beautiful until Will. He had changed the way I looked at myself.
Since living in a world with no Will, all those insecurities from my past had slowly crept back in and they were one of the reasons I had to get away. Fate was a fickle thing. Just when you think it gives you a break, it decides to rip it all away. My pale skin would never be a golden brown, just as my brown hair would never be a glamorous red or stunning blonde and I would never have the confidence of the beautiful people. They lived in a world I wasn’t a part of and I was okay with that. I didn’t need their world. I had lived in a world with Will. It had been the very best world.
I locked the door and headed back to the car. I had come here to focus on finding a world I could live in again. Will had been my world for three wonderful years and since his death twenty months ago, I hadn’t been able to find me. It was as if he had taken me with him and at times I wish he had. This summer I had Gran’s list and time away from my mother, my job, and my life. It was time I focused on the future and found a way to let go of the past.
Driving to the church and unloading the boxes was easier than the loading had been. Several members of the church and volunteers came out to help and told me how much they loved and missed Honey, that was what everyone called my Gran. Her real name was Gertrude, but my grandfather had nicknamed her Honey because he said there was nothing sweeter in this world than my Gran. The name had stuck. There were few people who knew her real name and she told me once it was one of the reasons she loved my grandfather so much, because she had never liked the name Gertrude.
I accepted the chocolate chip cookies and lemonade a lady named Betty offered me because, first of all, I was positive she would follow me to my car and put them in it if I turned them down and secondly, my Gran would have wanted me to take them, even if I couldn’t eat the cookies. I seriously doubted they were gluten and dairy-free. However, the lemonade came in handy because a man named Roger, who had fought in Vietnam with my grandfather, wanted to tell me about the time Honey and his wife Hazel ran out of gas on the causeway in a thunderstorm. The story was longer than anticipated and the lemonade was nice to have while I listened.
Two more stories about Gran from ladies she played Bridge with on Friday afternoons and I was back in my car mentally exhausted from smiling and nodding. I had thought the first item on the list would be the easiest. I now realized I was wrong. Unless I was right and the list was deceiving. Perhaps I was supposed to learn something along the way. I glanced in my rearview mirror. I had learned that those over the age of seventy really like to tell stories and hear themselves talk. At one point, I was worried Roger was going to get tackled by Henry when he began talking over him. I couldn’t blame Henry. Roger’s story did go on and on and on.
The second thing on the list was taking a box Gran had left on her dresser to the penthouse at the Hendrix IV Condominiums. She didn’t explain anything about why or who it was to, which made it all the more strange. There was a silver and black key card on the box and it would get me into the private elevator that went to the penthouse. I was to take the box and inform whoever opened the door that it was from Honey. That was it. I could then leave.
I had no other plans for the day, and until this list was completed, I wasn’t going to look for a summer job. Part of finding me again was closure. I needed closure after Gran’s death. She had been taken so quickly and I hadn’t even been able to say goodbye. This list was the last thing she had asked of me, so I would complete it for her no matter how odd the seven requests on the list may be.
