Identified: The Maya Price Story

Part 1: Chapter One

Maya Price never got tired of running. When she opened the front door of her family's yellow farmhouse, it did not matter if the air was cold and biting or humid and dense. She ran, regardless. Three steps across the echoing wooden porch, left foot on the top step, right foot on the bottom step and then a slow jog. Anyone coming down the long winding drive would observe an auburn-haired figure almost gliding over the hilly prairie land in front of her. Not bobbing awkwardly, as some runners seem to do, but gliding. It was never hard for Maya to catch her breath. For some, finding a tiny gasp of air in the very bottom space of their lungs after several miles of running is impossible. Maya Price was not a breathless runner.

Maya never seemed to notice that as she ran, the bumpy Texas sod flattened out under her feet and then returned to its normal shape. She also never noticed that the trees bent closer to her as she jogged by, as if they were trying to reach out the fingers of their branches to skim the tops of her shoulders.

Running over the hills and away from the yellow farmhouse, Maya wondered what her life would be like a year from that moment. She was going to move away from the yellow farmhouse (that had been built by her father) in Diamond, Texas, and go to the University of Texas where she had been awarded a full track scholarship. At times, her stomach turned flips in excitement at the prospect of leaving. Most of the time, however, a horrible sick feeling moved into her intestines as she thought about leaving the farmhouse, her family and, well, Diamond.

The yellow farmhouse was situated on the outskirts of the town, where the residents lived on farms rather than in the suburbs. Though the town of 9,857 seldom saw more excitement than the very rare burglary, and most of the high school's Monday morning gossip involved who had broken up with whom, Maya believed it was one of the best places to live. It did not bother her that the only clothing store was the Little Lady's Boutique and that Aunt Maggie, the owner, believed trendsetters wore shoulder pads and acid-washed jeans. Nor did it bother her that it was very likely to see an acquaintance when one was buying lice shampoo or tampons at the only pharmacy.

But, in an attempt to keep up with the times, Diamond was changing. In the last five years, the town had added a Chili's, a Kroger, and even a coffee shop to its list of businesses. It seemed that Old Joe Tucker had tired of selling horse and cow feed and, following the trend, had opened a coffee shop in what had been his family's feed store. He refused to sell anything but coffee and cake balls (which were made by his lovely daughter Kristen). Despite the many protests from both the Baptists and the Methodists, Old Joe had named his shop Diamond's Brownwater and Balls. Most people just called it B&Bs. Maya nearly laughed out loud as she recalled the last time she passed by the B&Bs. She had seen three of Joe's good friends standing outside the coffee shop in coveralls. They had looked very confused as they pondered the fancy frozen coffee in their hands.

As Maya passed the small pond on her family's property, water began to lap up onto the shore and over the small deck her father had built. Yet, there was no wind in the air. Instead, the waves seemed to move of their own accord as they reached out toward Maya.

Maya turned at the large oak tree, which indicated she had run a mile. She smiled to herself, thinking of the long, sweltering days of June and July when she was nine, Summer was eleven, and Carl was eight. They had spent hours under the majestic branches of the oak tree that curved and flowed to the ground, creating a cool room. Pete, her best friend, had come over every day but Wednesday, the day his mother demanded he attend Superkids! at Shade Tree Baptist Church. As they created fantastic worlds and made plans in their "lair," Maya's mother had always appeared at some moment to bring homemade fruit juice popsicles and to watch the progress of their games.