CONTENTS      THE SEEKER      NAVY
THE GREEN BEYOND      BEST FRIENDS     AUTHORS

"Where you goin' sugah baby?" Mama's voice followed me like wind through the pines.

"Shopping, Mama."

"Little girl, why you goin' shoppin'? Ain't got no money."

I sighed. I knew Mama didn't understand me, probably never would. I was the last of nine, and a late surprise to her and Pap. He went and died before I could know him. He worked for the railroad, so we were pretty well taken care of, but Mama grew up in the Depression, and never outgrew the fears of the poor.

I turned and smiled at her, loving every crinkly wrinkle.

"No Mama, I don't have any money. Mostly I need to walk in the sun, and it's s'posed to snow later. Just got a bit o' cabin fever."

The exertion of standing was showing on Mama. Her breath came in short pants, and she was looking at the porch, head tilted down. She waved at me. "You just be home for dinner, hear?"

I smiled even though cream cheese and jelly sandwiches weren't my idea of dinner. "I'll be back afore dusk, Mama."

A faint echo of Mama drifted out to me as she hobbled back into the living room: "You was always the best one, sugah baby. Be good."

Freed from gray fried chicken walls that never did get a fresh coat of paint on a promised Saturday, I swung my arms and strode into our village. I loved the gingerbread trim, the pines and, in the Spring, the heady aroma of the magnolias. Mr. Rowe was trimming his hedge. It was small when I was small, and now it towered over me so's he and his grown son have to use the ladder to cut it all level. He calls it his privacy fence, but everyone knows his wife left him and died in a shelter up North. No privacy in a small town.

Course, I know better. There are ways to be private. I just read this book, written by some smart man who got imprisoned in one of them awful camps in the war. I didn't understand a lot of it, but he wrote that every thing can be taken away but a person's mind. If your mind is creative and your thinking positive, then you're free inside.

So my mind's my own, and today I am feeling free. Being the last baby has its good moments, but mostly I felt like I was in prison, so many big folk telling me to go there and do this here. Never could get in on the conversation at dinner, especially after Pap passed on. Now they're all grown up, mostly married and I'm even an aunt. It sure is quieter. I don't know if I like that.

It's the February thaw. Course, without any snow I think calling the warm spell a thaw funny. Just about everyone is outside. Mrs. Kirby is yelling at her boys to put on jackets. What is it 'bout grown ups that think we are freezing and gonna die?

Well, I can't worry 'bout that. I got me some freedom thoughts and some happy thinking and a date, no one special, just my best friend. But we talk deep together and don't disrespect one another. It's nice having a bosom buddy. Sometimes we meet in front of the Side Car Café, sometimes in front of Hopkin's General Store. We giggle a bit, talk 'bout the folks sipping their coffee and gossiping. Or if we meet at the department store, we dream about trying on the prettiest dress, maybe imagine buying one of them dishwashers what run real quiet. Sometimes we stroll by the old stone church, and let the big windows scatter rainbows across our faces and we whisper about who in town might be the biggest hypocrite and who might die next.

Today, being a Saturday and the whole town seeming out and about, I think we'll meet at the church then mosey to the store and do some window shopping. I meet her in front of the notice board by the high arched front doors. We are silent today. We read the community bulletins, when the volunteer firemen are having their spaghetti supper, the Boy Scouts their pancake breakfast, and the Ladies Guild their informational tea. This month Dr. Margaret is doing the talk. She was the first woman doctor hereabouts. We grin at one another in the glass. Good friends don't need talking, when silence is just as nice.

We amble along the cracked sidewalk. Sometimes I think we breathe together, we're so close. Many's the time we even dress in the same colors, no planning it.

Hopkin's just got in the summer clothing. Can't imagine why the "New Summer Sportswear" has to show up in February. Makes the winter doldrums a mite harder. But my best friend and I gaze at the fresh window display, admiring the bright colors — mostly pink this year — and muttering little appreciations. Georgie is cashiering. The old lady don't like me or my best friend. I guess we don't dress fancy enough, but I like simple and so does she.

Hmm, yeah. Georgie's pointing at us and laughing with the other clerks. We make eye contact and wordlessly we agree to wander along. Next stop, the café. We walk together, she pointing out different plants starting to bud — she loves nature — and I chat about who is holding whose hand. We dream of holding hands with some handsome young man, but there ain't too many in our town. We chuckle because we also dream about being old spinsters and living in one of those fine houses on Pleasant Street, right across from the park, so we can hear the summer concerts on the band stand from our porch.

My best friend and I think so much alike. We pause at the café and spy inside. It's mostly farmers this morning. They're comparing seed catalogues and arguing about hybrids and heirlooms and organics. She understands all that stuff and tries to explain it to me. I suggest we go in and get a stack of pancakes to share, but she wags her head and we meander over to the drugstore.

We consider buying some gum or some chocolates, but the memory of lingering Belgium chocolate melting in our mouths last Christmas ruin any thoughts of a Snickers bar. We stand outside pretending to put on cosmetics, smiling at our reflections.

Our ramblings end at the used bookseller. The windows are so dusty it's like looking in an old mirror. We huddle close. I read the titles out loud. Sometimes we make it a game, me reading the titles and her guessing what is the plot. Not today. Today we use the titles to make little rhymes, like matching The Wedding Planner for Brides to a biography, Sailing with the Tides. My best friend is funny. She noticed that the name Shakespeare, the guy who wrote that sad story about Romeo and Juliet, well his name rhymes with Lear, like King Lear. We had a good laugh on that one.

Now I realize that it's getting shadowy, and the wind's picked up a bit coming into the valley off the mountains. I want to stay beside my friend forever, softly chatting, discovering books, being brave against the town gossip. When I get home, Mama will be asleep in her recliner next to the urn with Pap's ashes. There might be a phone message from a brother or sister, but Mama never picks up the phone and never returns calls anymore. I'll throw another log on the fire, curl up with the tattered blankie my grandma made for me afore I was born, then she died just after. Can't read because we owe on the electric and the lights are always off. Can't watch television, same reason and in addition it wakes Mama up. I'll just sit there with all the memories, listening to Mama snoring.

I look in my best friend's eyes in the reflecting shop window.

"So, you goin' home now?"

"Yep. Have to make stew for dinner. What you having?"

"Roast chicken." I lie. "How's your Pa?"

"Good, good. The mine gave all the miners a raise 'cause the union had a meeting."

"The railroad was good to my Pap when he was alive."

"Yep. You never know."

"Nope, you never know." I sigh. "You goin' to church tomorrow?"

"'Course! Ma and Pa don't go no more but I get wupped if I skip out."

"Pap used to wup me. Mama sleeps in now."

We touch fingertips in the reflection, smile at one another, and I notice someone has joined our mirror image. It's my oldest brother. Harvey is a cop on the town police force. He's in uniform so he must be working tonight. My best friend thinks he's cute, but really, he's nearly twice our age!

Harvey has that sad hound dog look he gets. He smiles at me real slow, puts his arm about me.

"Hey, scout, Mama sent me to find you. Time to go home. I'll give you a ride, okay? It's already snowin' up at Mountain Home."

I wink at my friend, put on my cutest little girl smile, even though I'm actually too old to play this game, and hug my brother's strong arm.

"Can my best friend come too? Please?"

He breathes, looks next to me. I don't know, maybe she offends them, but my family just ignores her, acts like they don't see her. This hurts me, but certainly today, when we had such a lovely walk and happy talk, surely Harvey will see how good she is for me. He'll give her a ride home too.

Harvey hugs me and leads me to his police cruiser.

"Sure baby girl. Today I'll give her a ride home." He opens the door and lets me in, and I scoot all the way over to let her settle next to me. I look back, but she's run off home already. She's shy around Harvey.

But Harvey is acting weird. He bows to the air and says "After you milady!" He pauses, holding open the door and letting the cold wind in. What a ham, my brother. First he pretends to not see her, and then he pretends she's still here. He smiles, uncertain, then closes the door with a gentle thump.

He pulls away from the curb. I look back, but my best friend is gone. There are a few town folk loitering about the corner, watching us pull away, prating idle rumors, I can tell. That woman doctor is shaking her head.

That's okay. I'll meet my dearest companion tomorrow after church. If we speak only to ourselves, share one another's secrets and cares, then all those others will disappear. Our love for one another is what counts. That's real.

I just wish she wouldn't disappear like that.

Copyright 2006 by CarolAnn Edscorn