September
"Sixo'clock. Can you remember that Anna," Mrs. Cunningham asks.
Itry hard to focus on what she's saying, something about volunteerwork. It is so hard to concentrate on anything anymore. My mind isconstantly sauntering off to nowhere in particular.
Reluctantlynodding to her, I sigh,
"I will be there no later than six,Mrs. Cunningham."
It's not like I can say no, she has prettymuch given me a freaking apartment, which I love by the way. She'ssaved me from starvation and homelessness, gave me a bed and clothes.They even stocked my fridge with food! I owe her my life, really.What's a few hours of mundane chores? Brushing up her big glasses,she flashes me her scarlet smile and replies,
"I will see youthen, sweetie."
She winks as she straightens up. I watch herpale shapeless sundress grab at her ankles as it ripples away.
"Thank you," she calls over her shoulder.
Maybedwelling among the general public will do me some good. Withall the free time I find myself with, I picked up studying. With anold laptop the church gave me, I spend a lot of time surfing the weband reading. After combing through the next to nothing details of mypast and coming up empty, I stumbled into a few darker subjects.Currently, my favorite is any conspiracy theory, MK-ULTRA being mytop choice. To balance out the negativity I also study nutritionalhealth like alternative medicine and stuff like that.
Mrs.Cunningham won't let me do any labor while I have a baby growing inme. She says I am doing enough work as it is, growing a baby andall. I feel the need to bring in some of my own income, though. Aftermany failed attempts to make money from home, Mrs. Cunningham and Icame to the agreement that I can volunteer when I feel up too it.That turns out to be often. Though I love my apartment, it can startto feel small, so getting out and doing things is a nice vacation.Mrs. Cunningham doesn't expect much from me, so the jobs she gives meare easy, mostly just to keep her company and my hands busy.
Asmall shiver pulls me from my internal mauling. Kicking a small rockdown the road I mumble to myself,
"I should have brought ajacket."
Then again, who would think to bring a jacket thislate in July? The sun seems to be doing its job, but the wind ischilly. It seems like we're going to have a quick harvest thisyear. During my preoccupied thoughts of the weather, a small part ofme picks up a crunching sound under my feet. I look down to see thesidewalk riddled with dead leaves. Some are in beautiful shades ofred and yellow, but most are brown. Their decaying scent fills theair.
Leaves changing color, so soon? Not long ago all the leaveswere luscious and healthy, then I turn around to see them all dyingon the road within a few days. As I inspect the golden brown foliagein closer detail I begin hear the crunching sound again, only thistime it's more profound and is rapidly proceeding in my direction. Ilook up from the dying leaves and yell,
"Hey Ben!"
Benreminds me of a Komondor, with that nest of brown curly hair danglingjust above his round, pensive glasses. I always wonder why he nevercuts that sloppy mop. He's always pushing it out of his eyes. Asusual Ben is wearing his ragged, navy blue, cotton jacket. There isan obvious hole in the right pocket and the pull string around theneck is missing. I watch his long, lanky body bob as he quickened his pace toward me. He waves back.
"Hey Anna! What's up," hechimes.
"Nothing new, I've been sentenced to ticket duty at thecommunity center this evening," I grumble in displeasure.
Exhalinga laugh, Ben tries his best to hide that he is somewhat winded by theshort run.
"How did you manage that one?"
After rockingback on the heels of my shabby, thin sneakers I reply,
"Ifigured after this I can enjoy a long deserved exemption from doinganymore volunteer work this summer."
Making a joke out of thesituation as always, he asks me,
"Wonderful, so what dresswill you be wearing?"
His bright blue eyes sparkle withchildish humor as he anticipated my response.
In my favoritesweatpants and a mammoth sized t-shirt supporting a team I'd neverheard of , I pose provocatively and purr,
"I'll be rockingthis number."
This is one of the many items that were donatedto me. I like the color of the shirt. "Maroon" I think itscalled. Comfy, I feel safe in these clothes.
"Stunning," hereplies simply.
A flash of desire glints in his eyes beforequickly stifling it. Halfheartedly he holds out the crook of his armto me as he revives his usual goofy, half-cocked smile and asks,"Shall I take you to lunch?"
"Sure," I say, happilyslipping my arm through his, eager to get some food.
I sneak apeek from under my long lashes and look at his face to gauge hisexpression, not willing to meet his response directly.
"Really,"he asks me, stunned.
Rolling my eyes I reply,
"Yeah. Well,I won't have time to cook for myself before heading out to mymonotonous fate anyway. I need to get some protein in my system so Ican stay awake during this snooze fest."
"Would you like togo to Valentinos," he asks.
"That is exactly what I wasthinking" I exclaim.
He knows me so well. I guess the odds werein his favor though, because there are exactly three restaurantswithin thirty miles of our small town in any direction. Not too manyadults my age live around here. I think that's how we have managedto grow into such good friends. This town is all older folk and theirgrandchildren. I'm not sure where all the parents are to thesekids.
Ben and I are best friends, though sometimes I feel hehides feelings of desire for more than just a friendship. Well, it'snot really a feeling. I know this to be a fact. Not long after wemet, he trapped me into a corner after a church meet and confessedhis feelings to me. A part of me warned myself that it was coming,but I did what I do best and avoided it. That evening I wasn't solucky .
Stammering, I began that awkward explanation,
"Look,Ben. I ..."
"Anna come on! You're honestly going to standhere and tell me you don't feel anything for me," Ben asked,smoldering his bright eyes into mine.
He was searching forsomething, though I am not sure what that something was. I just knewthat he wasn't going to find it with me . I have seen that flash ofdesire surface in his eyes before. It was his lack of self-confidencethat kept the beast at bay. I'm not sure what got into him at thatmoment.
Defensively I insist,
"Ben, you know I have nointerest in any kind relationship right now."
Which was true. Isee these love sick couples hanging all over each other and cringe.I'm not the kind of girl that desires a lot of human contact. I canbarely handle being myself on a daily basis. Tacking another bodyonto this one is my idea of hell on earth, basically. I barely knowwho I am, how am I expected to give myself to someone else when Idon't even know the personal basics, like my hometown or who myparents are? I thought he understood that.
"Anna..."
Hestopped himself. I watched him deflate before my eyes. I hated doingthis to him. He knew me better. Maybe our own desires cloud ourotherwise better judgment. A part of me was angry. I shouldn't be putin this situation in the first place. My signals were clear.
"I'mnot interested in romance, Ben, with anyone," I whispernervously.
I hate hurting him, but I need to make sure this won'thappen again. I had to be thorough.
"We will never be more thanfriends," I say sternly.
"Yeah okay," was all he saidfurther.
He grumbed as he yanked his favorite jacket off its hookby the door and pulled the door shut behind him with more force thannecessary.
I didn't see or hear from him after that. It was hardfor me, because he was my best friend. I met him at our church soonafter arriving here. It was the first day Mrs. Cunningham insisted Ijoin one of her Wednesday night church meets. I was reluctant to go,because, from what I gathered it was nothing but folks hammering outWednesday morning's lecture and I had a hard enough time trying tofollow what the preacher had said. Listening to experienced scriptureenthusiasts debate over the true meaning of the lecture didn't soundat all appealing.
Next to the food is my favorite place to standat any social gathering, right next to the drinks, close to the exit.Ben stood tall and handsome in that very spot, his back restingagainst the wall. In a relaxed gray formal suit he tried his best togo unnoticed. I noticed him immediately because he was the firstperson I'd seen that was remotely close to my age since I woke uphere.
His light eyes met mine and he gave me a bright, goofysmile that lightened up the dim, stuffy room. He was ethereal andopen, I was reserved and grounded; we complimented each other well.We became fast friends effortlessly.
I don't understand why hecouldn't leave it at that. Why he did he always require more fromme? I don't have much to give, and he wants more than what I canprovide. It's unfair, for both of us.
Gesturing to the pathahead Ben asks, "So, to Valentinos it is then?"
The goodthing about Ashtone is that everything is so close. There isn't muchneed for a car or transport if you don't mind walking. Everythingyou need is within walking distance. Most of the folks in this townchoose to drive though, because a four mile walk is a lot to ask frommost of our citizens.
There isn't much to offer in theentertainment department, but we do have a small market, a pharmacy,a thrift store, and a few modest hole-in-the-wall businesses. Thistown may be limited, but our food is fresh within these hiddenestablishments. Being surrounded by nothing but farmland has itsperks.
