by Lisa Smartt
“I’m starting to think that. Have a good day, Carlie. Bye.”
“Bye.”
The day flew by. I don’t even remember what I did. I went to class. I went to work. But mostly, I thought about his voice. About the way his voice sounded when he said, “I’m a man, Carlie.” And I thought, “Yeah. I’m startin’ to believe you may be right.” There were a lot of boys in my college classes. But in a small town in West Tennessee there was someone who was wearing khaki pants and a plaid dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up slightly. He was a man. Was he a man who could be attracted to a tall woman with a large round behind? The verdict was still out on that one.
October 21 7:30 pm
Computer “ding.”
I know you’re working until 9:00. I just wanted to see how your day went. I won’t be home till late so we probably can’t talk tonight. Mom has some things she needs me to do at the house. I need to put up some shelving in the shed ‘cause this summer she canned like 1000 jars of green beans and pickles and every other kind of thing. She’s a canned food hoarder, I believe. But there’s not a reality show for that specific type of hoarding so I’m at a loss for what to do with her. My dad died last year and it’s been hard on her in so many ways. He did everything for her. I think he liked giving her everything she wanted. And she knew not to want more than he could give. Yeah. That was what made it work. They understood each other. Anyway, I don’t think it’s going to be another setup evening. I told her I was going to wear faded overalls seeing as how I was working in the shed. I also told her I would take a Sharpie and black out one of my front teeth and embarrass her if she did that again. My mom is the type that if she thought I would wear faded overalls and blacken one of my teeth, she would never ask a woman to dinner. She cares desperately about appearances. Threatening her with the Sharpie pen gives me some leverage now. I hope no one said anything stupid in your sociology class today.
October 21 10:15 pm
I ended up working late because we got behind on stocking. It was busy up front tonight. No run on pork n beans but evidently school projects are due because an inordinate number of frazzled parents were looking for poster board, markers, glue in a tube. The little girls all wanted glitter glue. I remember school projects and loving glitter glue. I’m sorry your dad died. How old was he? My parents are in their mid-60’s. I hope all your shelving went in perfectly. Your mother sounds a bit like mine. Good intentions. Just misdirected at times. It sounds like you’re a good son. Good night. I hope you didn’t foreclose on anyone today.
October 21 11:30 pm
Computer “ding.”
The shelving went in fine. No problem. But mom started crying at about 9:30, how she missed Dad and how he loved to do stuff she needed done, how a young person with a full-time job shouldn’t have to come put her shelving in at night, how sad she was that she woke up alone every morning. We sat and drank coffee and I just let her talk. Now I’m highly caffeinated and I can’t sleep. Dad was 59. He was in perfect health or at least we thought he was. He died of a heart attack. Mom didn’t even get to say good-bye. No, I didn’t foreclose on anyone today. Enjoy the fact that both your parents are alive. I miss my dad every day. He kept my mom (and her intentions) grounded.
October 22 7:00 am
Doug, I’m sorry about your mom. It must have been a shock for your dad to go so young. I’m off to class. I hope you eventually got to sleep. It’s only 8 days till we meet in Chattanooga. I will not eat today. Actually, I probably will. If you want to call, I’m not working tonight.
October 22 7:30 pm
Phone rings.
“Hello.”
“Hey Carlie, this is Doug. How was your day?”
“It was pretty glamorous, Doug. Out here in rural Georgia there are a lot of things to distract a beautiful young single gal like me.”
“Oh yeah, same here. A small town in West Tennessee is the hot spot for all forms of exciting night life. I can’t believe I took a break from all the disco dancing downtown to give you a call. I’m pretty merciful like that.”
“Yeah. You really seem like the disco dancing type. You gotta watch those loan officer khaki pants/plaid dress shirt kinda guys. Let’s see. Here’s what’s goin’ on in our downtown right now. I can tell you without even being there. Mr. Peterson is probably sweeping the sidewalk in front of Pizza Palace. George Davis is saying, ‘Peterson, I gotta cut down on my pizza consumption. Not good on my waistline, don’tcha know. I’ll never get me a woman if I don’t trim down some.’ Mr. Peterson then says, ‘George, I know you’ll be in here tomorrow night by 6:30. I’ve got ya hooked. No woman is gonna look at ya anyway, ya old buzzard.’ They both laugh. Mrs. Madison is probably locking up the Downtown Florist right across from Pizza Palace. She’s acting all nervous while she turns the key on the front door. She’ll then hide the bank bag in her hundred-year-old carpet bag purse like she thinks some small town criminal is gonna jump from the bushes and knock her over the head for $97 in cash and a $34 check from The Rotary Club.”
“You live in Sharon, Tennessee, Carlie!”
“I guess small southern towns have a lot in common. So why did you go back to Sharon? You graduated from college. You could have tried living somewhere else.”
“If I wanted to sound impressive, I’d say that I went back because my grandma needed me. Or that I went back because a good job at the bank came open and it was a good career opportunity. Both of those are true and they seem like pretty noble reasons, right? But I don’t know. There’s somethin’ else. I’m a hometown boy. I didn’t wanna be. But I am. When I first went to college I thought I’d be one of those ones who would get a job in Nashville or Atlanta. You know, the kind of guy you read about in your hometown newspaper but never see anymore. People in our town say things like, ‘Yeah, ol’ Jake’s made quite a name for himself down at that law firm in Memphis. We’ll not see the likes of him in Sharon ‘cept on holidays.’ Yeah. I thought that would be me. But it wasn’t.”
“I get that. That’s part of growing up. Understanding who you really are and accepting it.”
“What about you, Carlie? Do you dream of going to New York City or Miami and finding yourself?”
“Sometimes. But stocking gallon jugs of Hawaiian Punch at the local Dollar General Store for ten years hasn’t been the fastest track to the glamour life in Miami. Hard to believe, isn’t it?”
“Shocking.”
“Actually, you may not understand this but I don’t feel like a loser, Doug. I mean, my parents probably thought I was a loser until I went back to college. My brothers may have felt that way. They may still feel that way. I don’t know. But I don’t. I’m not a loser, just a late bloomer. It took me a while to come into my own, gain some confidence, learn who I am, make a plan.”
“What is the plan?”
“I had a feeling you would ask. Truthfully, it changes a lot. But overall, well, I’m getting this English degree and I’d like to write for newspapers maybe. But newspapers are struggling. I’d love to write a novel. But the world is full of aspiring novelists. I wrote a book once. A book that no one wanted. I wouldn’t mind working for a magazine or even a company writing brochures. I’m open. I’d work for Hallmark if they’d offer me a job writing sappy cards. That wouldn’t be a bad gig.”
“So, if none of that lands in your lap next year, will you still work at the dollar store?”
“I don’t know. Are you embarrassed to be meeting a friend in Chattanooga who works at the dollar store? I mean, would the folks in Sharon give you a hard time about that?”
“I’m my own man, remember?”
“Oh yeah. I keep forgetting. So no problems then with meeting next Saturday?”
“No problem. But I’m gonna be gone for the next week. No phone and no internet. It’s an annual camping trip thing I do with some old friends. We’ve done it for years. We’ll take a week off and drive up to Reelfoot Lake, fish every day, and sleep in a rusty old camper my dad used to store in the bac
kyard. We’ll talk about old times and about our jobs. They’re good guys.”
“Sounds fun. So these are guys you’ve known your whole life?”
“Yeah, mostly. I met Carl in college, but the rest of them, yeah, the rest of ‘em I’ve probably known since kindergarten.”
“That’s a lot of history.”
“Yeah, I guess it is. I’ll be back Friday night. I’ll see you Saturday at Cracker Barrel. 12:00. I’m sorry we won’t be able to talk before then. I’m gonna miss talkin’ to ya. If you run into a problem with the plan, leave a message on my computer. I’ll check that before I leave on Saturday. I’m lookin’ forward to meetin’ you, Carlie. I really am. Have a good week, okay?”
“Well, yeah. And you too. I mean, be careful and don’t get bit by a fish or anything. I’ll see you Saturday. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Shoot. Why did I say something so stupid? Don’t get bit by a fish. How ridiculous. He’s 5’9. What’s a fish gonna do to him that’s gonna cause him any real danger? I am an idiot.
Clara: “So, it’s gettin’ kinda serious with that guy in Tennessee, yes? I mean, you seem to be wearing your big happy face all the time now, friend.”
“I’m pretty darn happy, Clara. But until we actually meet, I can’t know if anything could come of it. I mean, he’s just a friend.”
What was I saying? I’m such a good southern liar. Doug wasn’t just a friend. I had lots of friends but I didn’t think about them several times a day. I didn’t wait by the phone for them to call. The week passed ever so slowly. I hardly even looked at the computer. The phone rang a few times. Mom asking why I was leaving town. Sam asking if he could borrow my bread machine. (Hello! You have an MBA, Sam! I’m thinkin’ you might be able to swing buying a bread machine. Such a baby brother.) But of course, I just said, “Sure, Sam! Come get it and do you or Melissa need any recipes?” My neighbor, Rachel, called twice, asking for advice concerning her horrible boyfriend. I don’t know why she would ask me for advice other than the fact that I’ve managed to maintain a decent quality of life for seven years without a horrible boyfriend. No boyfriend at all, actually. Not yet.
CHAPTER FOUR: Face To Face…Egads!
CARLIE
October 30
On the way to Cracker Barrel, Chattanooga, Tennessee
I’m a mess. I don’t know what to say. Should I hug him when we meet? I mean, isn’t that what a friend would do? Wouldn’t a friend hug another friend? Yes. We should hug a greeting. Plus, I’d like to get a feel of what it would be like to hug him for real. I am wearing my sassy jeans outfit from Lane Bryant with a bright pink shirt. The sales lady said that when I wore that outfit I had it goin’ on. And she said it with enthusiasm. I hope she wasn’t on commission.
October 30 11:53 am
I have to get out of the car. Checked my hair three times. Re-applied cool watermelon lip gloss twice. I cannot stay in the car. I must exit the vehicle. I want to just throw up in the purple pansies and drive home. But this is not an option. Is that him? Wait a minute. It is him. I’m gonna watch him stand by the rocking chairs for a minute. Gosh, he is darn cute and he looks more like 6 feet than 5’11. He’s wearing jeans instead of khakis. Yeah. That’s good. It’s Saturday. We’re runnin’ a casual operation here. Okay. That’s it. Too good lookin’. I’m driving away and pretending that I have to go to my best friend’s grandma’s funeral this afternoon and I just got word by cell phone while I was on my way to Chattanooga and “Oh, how I hated to miss meeting you, Doug. Let’s do it again sometime soon, shall we?” No. I’m getting out of the car. Lord, help me walk. I cannot walk. Lord, help me speak.
“Doug! Hey, you made it. Great to see you! I almost didn’t recognize you without your fist under your chin.” He has a great laugh. Big hug. He smells unbelievably good. Strong hands too.
“Yeah, Carlie, good to meet you. Did you have any trouble with the directions or the GPS?” She’s a lot prettier than the picture. She’s right. She’s as tall as I am and yes, she has a really big butt. But it suits her perfectly. It’s kind of erotic actually. She’s confident and she smells like vanilla. Hug seemed almost passionate.
“No. Everything went like clockwork.” I want to run my fingers through his curls.
“Hey, me too. Well, let’s go in and get seated.” Her hair is beautiful and I hope she takes her denim jacket off.
Doug opened the door for me and we moved to the front to get our names on the waiting list. He was a take-charge man without being rude. He was 5’11, at least. I was sorry I ever doubted him and regretted bringing it up at all. It was warm by the fire where we were seated and I wanted to take off my denim jacket, but I felt self-conscious. No. The bejeweled jacket stays on, for now.
“Carlie, what do you like here? I’m in for the breakfast menu.”
“Absolutely, I’ve never met a biscuit I couldn’t learn to love.”
“You’re funny. I guess people tell you that all the time.”
“Not really. But thanks. I have a question for you, Doug.”
“We’re already to the questions? Did you write them down on a piece of paper?”
“No, this is an easy one. Why did you do it? Why did you answer my e-mail? I mean, truthfully, you’re twenty-eight, a college graduate, gainfully employed, good lookin’. It doesn’t seem like you’re a criminal, though I can’t be for sure. Why did you wanna write to a girl who lives eight hours away?”
“You get right to the point, don’t you? I haven’t had much luck with the girls from home. The ones over twenty-five are married. The ones under twenty-five seem like seventeen-year-olds, even if they’re not. That’s like the girl the other night. She was twenty-two but she seemed like a teenager. Her world is pretty small. Her experiences are pretty limited. Plus, I trust Uncle Stanley and Aunt Beth. They said you were worth getting to know.”
“So you end up meeting a thirty-two-year-old woman from a small southern town who works at the dollar store? Lucky you.”
“I thought you said you weren’t defined by your job. You asked why I wrote back. Several things. You were courageous enough to say that Shakespeare didn’t move you, that he was wordy. Girls I know may not like Shakespeare but they would say it’s because they don’t understand him…that maybe he’s better than them or smarter than them. They wouldn’t have the confidence to say he might not be all that. Most people would be afraid to criticize Shakespeare. You mentioned the letters between your grandparents and the fact that you go to church. Plus, you said you had decided that you’re stunning. Confidence. I haven’t met a confident girl in quite a while. I don’t know. And you seemed painfully honest, like you were done with all the silliness of dating. Almost like you were daring me to respond after you told the truth about your life and its messiness. I’m not good at dating. You seemed like you weren’t afraid of it. And then, there was…well, the picture. The picture made a big difference…of course.”
He looked down as he said that last part. Was he tryin’ to say he thought I was good lookin’? Yeah. That’s what he was tryin’ to say. And the best part…he doesn’t work on commission.
“Why aren’t you good at dating?”
“I don’t know. Not much practice. I think the system’s a little faulty. Plus, I never know where to go. I think a lot of girls would think my life is pretty boring in Sharon.”
“Is it boring?”
“No. It’s quiet. Quiet doesn’t mean boring to me.”
“What do you like to do? I mean, what would you be doing on an average Saturday?”
“Mowing my mom’s yard. Going to the movies. Sittin’ on the porch. Sometimes I read the free magazine that comes from the electric co-op or drive through the country. I have some friends that I go fishin’ with. I told you it’s quiet. I’m not writing a novel or staying up all night. I go to bed at 10:00 most nights. And speaking of questions, why did you not want to meet a man who’s dated more than five women?”
“I’m suspect, I guess. Like some
men are always lookin’ for someone better around the next corner. I don’t want a man who’s always lookin’, someone who’s motivated by the chase and unhappy when he gets to the finish line. That would be scary.”
“But what if the women broke up with him? What if he wasn’t lookin’ around the corner but he just got with the wrong women and they dumped him? How can you fault a man for that?”
“Good point. But a man who’s been dumped by five women would probably be having a crisis of confidence, wouldn’t he? This may sound bad but I can’t spend my life propping a man up.”
“You mean like telling someone he’s not a bad man just because he foreclosed on a family farm?”
“No. That’s not propping a man up, Doug. You have a life. You’re not
asking me to tell you that your life’s valuable. You already know that it is.”
Interrupted by the waitress’ high-pitched voice, “What can I get you two today?”
“Two cups of coffee and water and we’ll both take the Sunrise Sampler with biscuits. Carlie, you want grits or hash browns?”
“Grits.”
He was smiling, “Yeah, she’s from Georgia. We’ll both take the grits.”
I had dreamed of this moment my whole life. In thirty-two years no man had ever really ordered for me. Dan always said things like, “I don’t know. I can’t decide. Let Carlie go first.” or “Carlie, do you know what’s good here? I’m a little afraid of the shell fish.” Doug didn’t seem afraid of the biscuits or the grits…or me.
“What bugs you, Doug? I mean, what really chaps your hide?”
“A friend from college used to come spend weekends with me. He’d say things like, ‘What’s there to do in this one-horse town? Why did you let yourself get stuck here? Get a life, Doug. This is depressing.’ Eventually, I realized he thought he was better than Sharon, Tennessee, and better than me because I chose to live there. I hate that. Even if you’re the President or a movie star, you’re not better than a place…or a person. Haughtiness makes a person seem insecure. And that’s what he was, insecure. What bugs you?”
