I thought about Blaine as the men walked beside the tracks. They were the only people I saw for miles. I drove through a tiny town with pretty flower boxes and white fences - but it was empty. The people perhaps in the city 30 miles away, or in their fields over the hill I couldn't see past - or perhaps they hid behind their curtains waiting for this interloper to pass on. Pass on little truck.
While quaint is hard to ignore, that 'awwww' that surely bubbles up from some feminine space inside me is quickly replaced by the horrific images that bled through my imagination.
"Repent" they cry with bibles in hand. I recall something from Julie Jackson's The Lottery and I shivered. I decided not to stop in as I'm not the protestant type.
I had gone safely through but that lingering fear nags me. I don't trust people here completely. It's like I am always waiting for that pitch forked mob in the night or King's creepy children to come out of those fields and set me ablaze. I am not one of these of people. I do not belong here in the Wastelands.
We grew up in a town with less than a 1000 population, the only 'variety' to enjoy was the catholic church, the baptist church and the black church. At what point did you discover you weren't one of them? The Wastelands is at the heart of our adolescence.
ReplyDeleteI never felt barren. I always had you.
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