Perspective

One.

In my hometown, strangers and friends greeted each other the same way. Mrs. Roberts at the dollar store would ask about aunt Betty with a cheerful grin. She’d ring up our items slowly so she could talk with mama and hear all the news, even if it was a simple ‘she’s fine’. 

The Anderson brothers who sat in the back of their rusted green pickup truck with ears of fresh corn would give me a discount because the week before we gave them tomatoes and squash. Their radio filled every other word of the country song they were listening to with static, but they sang it just the same.

The town was never packed unless it was a summer Holiday, where tourists were rushing to get on the small lake, and yet it always felt filled with life. Young and old sat in the park in the center of town and ate deli food from the supermarket. There were always flowers of every color planted around the pavilion, attracting the lazy bumble bees. Kids swung and squealed from the trees that had been there way before even old mister Elmer had been born. 

The only new addition in over 70 years was the grain silo that towered behind the town square, looking over the little shops, like a grandson watching over his grandmother. Outside of the town were miles of bright green fields of corn or soybeans and gold seas of hay. Even those echoed with life in the fall, as the farmers worked to finish their harvest. The countless churches surrounding the area were full after the last bin of grain was collected, in celebration of a successful year. Dinners were held, the scent of fresh baked breads and rich gravy wafted inside the buildings, mixing with the cool autumn breeze when another family came in. In the basements, sneaky children would hide under yellow and orange table covers, scheming up the best moment to grab another slice of pie when their parents weren’t watching. Laughter and conversation echoed all over the small town as fall festivals became a weekend habit. 

At night, even when the people went into their homes and tucked under their colorful quilts, the stars would keep any one who stayed up company. Some people say they feel alone when they look at them sparkling over the endless sky, but they have always felt like kind friends to me. 

As the crisp leaves fell from the trees on the side of the highway, I hoped that returning here with the love of my life, Carly, would be just as magical, if not more than when I left. I looked over at her and wondered what she was thinking.

Two.

In Anna’s hometown, strangers and her friends greeted me the same way. A double take or a quick look of disgust masked by a feigned smile. Holding her hand felt like a crime against humanity every time someone gazed at us with shocked eyes. She said they’d love me, love us. I don’t think she meant to, but she lied. 

It isn’t just the people. The small town had nothing to offer. Autumn approaching made the ground wet and the skies grey. I knew that as soon as we would get out of the car, my new pair of boots would be stained with mud or something worse, seeing as her family still lived on a chicken farm. The sour smells of manure and other chemicals put on the fields were enough to make my stomach turn every time we visited. It was only the beginning of October but it was freezing. Anna said I’d get used to the midwestern weather, but I couldn't agree less. Leaving Phoenix felt like I was leaving paradise. 

The things we do for love. 

For 2 months out of the year, her hometown is supposed to have decent weather. Half of that though, it rains and doesn’t stop. Anna loves the rain, but I could never stand it. The feeling of wet clothes rubbing against me made my skin itch and crawl. And there was all of the flooding that caused murky brown water to fill the rivers and the local lake. 

Anna has begged me a thousand times, but I refuse to swim in something that smells like dead fish and manure. The beaches -if you can call them that- use gravel as a replacement for sand, and geese droppings stain it all. The only decent part of it all is how many trees surround the area, but those are filled with various types of spiders and bugs, waiting to fall into my hair. Even in the car, I feel my skin itch from phantom mosquito bites. 

As our dot on the GPS enters the small blip on the map, I see an old but well maintained church. The houses next to it look decrepit, like the building itself was sucking the life force from the very foundations to keep itself looking clean and cared for. In a way, it probably was. 

We pull into the dollar store, and a lady Anna calls Mrs. Roberts doesn’t look up from scanning the items we buy. She doesn’t speak to either of us, her salt and pepper hair falling over her face. I try to bring it up once we get back in the car, but Anna dismisses it as her just being tired. 

It’s too chilly for anyone to be in the center of town. Fog hangs in the air like a scene from a horror film. Scarier yet, every 100 feet there is a Trump sign. Two men stand next to their rusted green pick up truck wearing MAGA hats. I sank deeper into my seat, wishing our rainbow bumper sticker was gone. 

As we pulled into the driveway of her childhood home, I saw her mom and two other older women walk out onto the porch. They all have the same silvery hair and thinly drawn eyebrows. Anna hopped out of the car and embraced her mom, who introduced me as Anna’s friend with a curt tone. She motioned for them to walk off the porch, and for us to go inside. 

After a quiet dinner, where no one looked me in the eye, Anna’s family retreated to their corners of the house. I made Anna promise we’d find an apartment quickly, and she agreed, disappointment etched on her face. She goes to her room and tells me that I can come in after everyone else is asleep

 “Mama would rather you have your own room tonight. I keep telling her we only had one bed in Arizona but she doesn’t listen,”

Instead of going to her room however, I found the old wooden door that leads to the back yard. 

As I look up at the dark expanse of space I sink deeper into loneliness. The stars look so far away and like the rest of this town, they do their best to make me feel insignificant. I look back towards the small house, at the room with the light pink curtains with the bedside lamp still on, waiting for me to come inside. I wonder what she’s thinking.