Small Town Dreaming

by IRENE JONES

  One of Humble’s and my favorite walks is down the new trail; he gets to enjoy the shade and hear the birds chirping. The day I thought I saw someone in the woods on the old path, Humble was barking like crazy, as though he wanted to run right to the place where I thought I saw someone. It made me feel that I was not seeing things, knowing that Humble saw, or maybe smelled, something. I never have really talked to anyone about that day. The first thing people would say is that is was the ghost of old Mr. Lucas, walking the grounds where he once lived.

  Rumor has it that he still wanders around, looking for his family. They were taken by what the papers say were people without faces. My imagination can go above and beyond, but if this could have happened, I want to know about it. That thought was more than three months ago. Let’s say it was too creepy a story once I found out what supposedly happened up in that forest all those years ago.

  Nonetheless, I decided to walk Humble on a different path. The different path was busier, and I could see why. It seems my day starts with procrastination, and laziness follows behind. I’m guessing that’s because this is a smaller town where half the city is well over thirty years old. We get a lot of the younger crowd from other surrounding towns, especially during spring break.

  ***

  Another day at work, which was quiet, as it was the early morning hours and most of the residents were already at their favorite gathering spot. I decided to walk through the town and get some exercise. I passed by a new shop that had just opened a few weeks ago. They specialized in old antiques, which was suitable for this place. As I passed the store, I noticed a person standing by the mailbox on the other side of the street with their back to me.

  I didn’t know if it was a man or a woman. I turned to the new shop, as one of the residents, Mrs. Green, called for me to come over. As I walked, I glanced back toward the mailbox and the person was gone.

  Mrs. Green greeted me with a big smile, “Are you planning to run an ad for The New Shop?” she asked..

  “Well, I haven’t met the new owner yet. I would be happy to a full-page ad if they are interested.”

  During this conversation with Mrs. Green, out walked the young woman from the other day, Ms. Lovett. She greeted me with a smile and said, “Nice seeing you again.”

  “Oh, you know each other,” Mrs. Green shouted.

  I wish she would get her hearing aid turned up. She is one of the nosy residents around here, but she is as sweet as dark wine.

  “So, Ms. Lovett,” I started.

  “They call me Carmen. It’s friendlier,” she smiled as she interrupted.

  “Okay, so this is some of the property you purchased.”

  “Well, I don’t own this store,” she explained. “I was just asked to manage it until the owners make up their mind if they want to come and live here or only invest here.”

  I don’t dare ask who she referred to, seeing that I’m the reporter in town,

  “Well, whenever the owner wants an ad in the paper, just let me know.”

  She smiled and said, “Of course. I will come down personally.”

  As I left the store and headed back to the paper from my short stroll, I could have sworn I saw that person with the red hair I had seen several times in Seattle. What the hell? I followed the person, until my attention was caught by a yell.

  “Hey, Ms. Brenda, come over here for a second.”

  Distracted, I lost sight of the woman. Damn. “Yes, Ms. Cowens. How are you today? What can I do for you?” Ms. Cowens had been very distant lately, so I was surprised she even acknowledged me.

  “Well, I have been a little under the weather,” she replied. “And I’m busy trying to convince my daughter to let my granddaughter come live with me.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know you had a daughter,” I said.

  “I have three children, none of whom come to visit,” Ms. Cowens said.

  “How old is your granddaughter?”

  “She’s nineteen, but her mother treats her like she’s ten,” Ms. Cowens said.

  We talked about family and how we wish things were better for the generations coming after us.

  As I said goodbye to Ms. Cowens, I saw the redhead again. What the hell? Who is this? It didn’t make me afraid, just uncomfortable as hell.

  Again I went to approach them, and again I was stopped by one of my regular customers, nosy Mr. Welch.

  “Hey there, young lady. How is it going? You know, you missed a day with my paper last week. I had to go down to your office and pick it up.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Welch. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again,” I replied, thinking You just wanted to go to the office and be nosy to see if I had hired anyone yet because you want me to hire your thief of a nephew.

  I excused myself quickly, still trying to catch up to the disappearing redhead, they they were gone, Damn it.

  I ran into one of the store customers I had seen with the redhead, and asked if she knew who it was. She responded with a blank stare, as if she didn’t hear a word I had said. “Hello, Miss ? Did you hear me?”

  She jumped and said, “Oh, no, I was just thinking. They walked in so fast and was out the door before I could even ask if they needed any help.”

  “Do you know if the person was a male or female?”

  “Well, their back was to me, so I couldn’t say, but they smelled like the air by the ocean?”

  That’s when it hit me. The sea, I knew darn well this was not the redhead who was lurking around when I was down in Seattle last month. What the hell? Who is this person? I was trying to decide if it could be an old friend from back home or someone who had mistaken me for someone else.

  The redhead seemed to be visible only when I was out and about or going in to work. When I was down in Seattle, the person was in the same hotel as I was, but they could have a legit reason for being there. I also realized that I saw this person as a woman because of the red hair. I never saw the face directly, but assumption can be a bad thing.

  Lately, I had been thinking about some fun days that took place many years ago. Those days came with some days I wish I was never a part of, so I focused on the happy, fun days instead.

  Chapter 4:

  Small Town,

  Small Problems

  Was it that time of morning for me to take Humble for his walk? The path I normally take was busier than usual this morning. But we still got a good walk in without Humble harassing other dogs. I ran into my neighbor, who asked if I had heard the news.

  “What information, besides Mr. Welch and his daily complaining?” I asked.

  “Someone broke into the hardware store downtown,” he replied. “Darn near cleaned it out.”

  I was shocked. “Who in the hell would steal from a hardware store that barely has four hundred square feet of space?” I asked.

  “They say it was an inside job, because no alarms went off, and it had to take time to load a truck without being noticed in this town,” he continued.

  “Why would they say an inside job?” I asked, going into reporter mode.

  “He told the police he had hired a new person from the city who was looking for work.”

  “That’s odd,” I replied. “Usually, the police will investigate if a new pet shows up in the town. I’m surprised Chief Holly didn’t know all about the new hire already.”

  “Hopefully, this person gets caught soon,” Mr. Little replied, before heading off to start his day.

  I didn’t have any plans for the day except walking and watching the ocean. The temperature was not as warm as I thought it would be, but then it was only eight in the morning. I can’t believe I finally have been honest about the parts of my past I’m not thrilled about. The funny thing is, I’m not affected by talking about it. Now, things I say and do concerning my life choices doesn’t make me feel guilty.

  Small towns ha
ve a usual morning routine, and that day was no different, until I decided to do things differently. I did my duties for Humble. After taking him back home, I took a walk into town to see what I could find out about the hardware store burglary. I went to the local police department to find out if anyone had been caught or if there were any clues they were willing to release. Before I reached the block where the station was, I felt someone watching me.

  I knew I should report it, but I wasn’t losing sleep over the vague feelings, so I just asked questions about the robbery. It turned out it wasn’t a robbery after all, it was the leasing company that came and got their belongings. The man leasing the space for the hardware store decided to break his lease and move the business further up north, near Washington State University.

  Relieved to know it wasn’t a random thief, I decided to have a coffee from the little shop up the street from the post office. As I neared the entrance, I saw a person who looked very familiar, but I couldn’t place them.

  They introduced themselves and said, “I have been hesitant to approach you these past few weeks. I first saw you down in Seattle, but I didn’t have the nerve to introduce myself then.”

  “What were you were afraid of approaching me?” I asked.

  “I have been doing some investigation work lately, and I usually never communicate with the person I’m investigating,” she replied.

  “What?”

  “Yes, it’s not a bad thing, but someone was willing to invest some serious money in finding you.”

  “Wait, someone paid you to investigate me? For what?”

  A call on her cell interrupted my frantic questions, and she stepped away. I remained standing in front of the coffee place, lost and confused. Jumbled thoughts swirled around in my head. Why was someone investigating me? My newspaper was written up in The New York Times, it wouldn’t be that hard to find me. What is going on?

  My thoughts were interrupted by a voice. “I have something to give you,” the investigator said, “and my following and watching you have ended.” She handed me a large envelope and said, “Take care. This should answer your questions.” She was gone as quickly as she had appeared.

  Clutching the envelope in my hand, I continued inside to get my coffee before I headed back home to open the envelope away from prying eyes. I also got some stares and a few hellos. On the way home, I ran into Ms. Cowens while passing the post office.

  “Hello, how are you?” she called out.

  I waved back and said, “Okay.” But I wasn’t okay, and with that my freaking anxiety kicked in. I decided to go to the office instead of home. Outside the office, a package sat in the middle of the sidewalk, left there by an apparent stranger. Well, a stranger to me, but whoever left the package seemed to know me well. I went into my small, quaint office, sat down with my coffee, and opened the envelope the investigator had given me outside the coffee shop.

  Inside the envelope was a letter and some pictures. As I started reading the letter, my heart started to pound. The letter talked about the fun times we had shared. The photos were of places I had been over the years, the images reminding me of the times I wished I could relive. As I read the letter, I started to remember.

  My phone rang as I reached the end of the letter. On the other end was a voice I hadn’t heard in more than five years. This person meant a lot to me. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about them. What we shared could never be replaced. Before I could say how or why, they said they were in town and wanted to see me. I thought things ended on a respectful note when we went our separate ways, but how I wish they would have stayed the same.

  That phone call had taken me back in time. I was almost going to grow old with this special person that I loved? Well I wrote a story about it, so here goes.

  Part 2

  Chapter 5:

  “Music and the Dance

  Floor”

  The plan was to have a house built on the empty lot where our old house used to be, a more modern, ranch style. But my DJ skills took some time to grow, because I didn’t have the proper equipment. It’s not the equipment that makes the DJ, it’s how the music the DJ plays moves the crowd. My first actual DJ gig was for my company’s holiday party.

  I laugh back on it now because it was challenging, meaning there was some extra wanna-be DJs there as well, not to mention my receiver kept shutting off after getting too hot. It was a night to remember, for sure. Time went on, and I did a church function, then I lost interest—the story of my life. A couple of years passed, and I got a call from an old friend who asked if I could DJ her wedding reception.

  It was a challenge, but I was familiar with DJ gigs. Things went well, with no complaints. Time continued, as it does. I decided to start practicing at least twice a week. I attended parties here and there to get my motivation back. It was early on a Saturday morning when I got a call from a local club I had participated in on several occasions.

  The caller was a female, and she sounded familiar, but hey, someone sounds like someone in this life. Our conversation was quite lengthy, but promising. I asked, where she had heard about me and, as popular as the club was, why were they looking for another DJ? She said that they wanted to have a backup DJ for weekends, in case their regular DJ was not able to work. It made sense to me, but I was still at a loss as to why me. I hadn’t been on the club circuit, nor had I even given myself a name yet. She said a good friend of hers mentioned that a friend of hers knew you.

  “So, you’re interested in a word-of-mouth DJ, huh?”

  She laughed and said, “You got to start somewhere and the only way to do that is to be given a chance.”

  We talked about times and when I could come and show her what I could do. We met on a cold, temperature below zero Friday morning. I arrived a tad early to help calm my anxiety. There were a few cars already in the lot, and that made me even more nervous. I do it face and went to open the door, and someone met me with a smile and a hello. I was startled, but smiled. As I entered, the club had the usual dark, club atmosphere, but toward the dance area there was light on everywhere.

  A woman came from a back room with paper and pen in hand and introduced herself as Carol. I didn’t remember her name from the phone call setting up the interview, so I gave her my name and we sat down at one of the tables close to the DJ area.

  She asked me several questions including, what type of music I liked and played, and did I have a problem with crowds? Good thing I never have issues with anyone. The question in my mind was would they even like my playing? She was very professional and quite polite. Surprisingly she wasn’t the manager or owner of the club. She was just the admin who helped with hiring.

  “Okay,” Carol said. “Since we have the questions out of the way, let’s see what you know.” I was going to have to put some music to the test. As I approached the DJ area, I envisioned myself standing there, playing some serious music.

  I was just here to play some tunes, not worried about the lighting due to all of the house lights that were on, since she wouldn’t see any of the special effects at all. She got up and said, “Do your thing. I have some paperwork to attend to in the office, but trust and believe that I can hear you play.”

  The power was already on, and I let myself get familiar with the equipment. They had a turntable, digital Pioneer decks, and a sixteen-key sound-effect pad. I got a little excited just looking at the equipment. A thirty-two-inch monitor sat right in the middle of the equipment, already set up with music.

  I had learned by watching other DJs to play whats in front of you and make it count. That’s just what I did, and man, oh man, did it feel good. All a sudden, the lights went out and the dance floor lights came out of nowhere. To my surprise, Carol was coming from the back room, dancing, vogueing, spinning, and kicking. That’s when I realized precisely the clientele this club was going to have. Nervous as hell, I did a few funky mixes and damn
near blew a speaker until I got comfortable with everything. It took me at least fifteen minutes of the forty-five or so I played to feel comfortable. Then she motioned me to come on back over to the table.

  Carol was about five foot six and brown-skinned, but of Latino heritage for sure. She asked was I shy or insecure about myself. I laughed and said “Geeze, you caught on to that fast.”

  “I’m a people person,” she replied, “and it’s not a bad thing.”

  We talked about our lives somewhat, and she told me she was originally from the Dominican Republic. Her mom was Dominican, and her dad was Mexican.

  We went on and on about life’s ups and downs. She mentioned she had lost her younger brother to cancer and that when she decided to take a chance on leaving home and moving to the United States. She had never been married, but had an adopted son who was twelve years old. It was cool to be able to be upfront and honest about my insecurities for a gig.

  She explained this was a trial basis, and she had a couple more interviews.

  “Okay, so will I hear from you when you make your decision, or should I call you in a couple of days?”

  She smiled and said, “I will contact you within a couple of days.”

  She was easy on the eyes; I’m sure she gets that compliment all the time. Saturday morning became a strictly PJ day after the Friday morning interview and working after that. I needed some mental time.

  My job is only part-time, and my roommate was a temporary situation for sure. I had just had enough of living with people to last a lifetime. I didn’t want to ruin a friendship either. If I got the DJ gig, I can at least afford a studio apartment close to work, which is in the business district of one of the biggest cities in the world. It’s time to have my own place. Yep, better now than later.