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I glance at the table it came from, and there’s a stunning platinum-blonde woman sitting alone, waving. I stare at the stranger for a beat. As I approach her table, she leaps up and envelops me in a tight hug. The hug is stiff and awkward.
More like, I’m stiff and awkward.
“Kali, oh my gosh, it’s been forever.” All I can think is she smells like vanilla, her shirt is soft, and she reminds me of a Barbie doll. If she didn’t know my name, I’d say she had the wrong person.
“Hi,” I say.
She pulls back and lets out a short, humorous laugh. “You don’t recognize me, do you? I mean, it hasn’t been that long.” I gaze into her bright blue eyes, detecting a glimmer of familiarity, but I’m still having trouble placing her. She dips her chin as if coaxing recognition from me. After a few awkward moments, throwing her arms out, she says “It’s Ruth Ann.”
My eyes widen in disbelief as they scan up and down her slender frame. Where did the rest of her go? “Wow.” Nobody could blame me for not recognizing her. Who would? The last time I saw her, she was heavyset, had messy dark brown hair, and braces. Everyone teased her. Except me. I befriended her because I felt bad people treated her worse than they treated me. She left in the middle of our junior year. I hadn’t seen her since. “You look…stunning.”
“Thanks! I can’t believe you’re still here,” she says, casting a disdainful look around. By around here, she means Blackburn, and her passive-aggressive comment lands with a sting, coming from the one person who I thought would never act superior to me.
Her life growing up wasn’t much better than mine. Whispers hinted her mom was a prostitute where she spent most of her weekends in Austin. No one knew for sure, though. Her mom was high most of the time we hung out, and she rarely wore enough clothes to cover her boobs and ass, so it wouldn’t have surprised me if it were true. They lived in a double-wide trailer on the outskirts of town, and Ruth Ann’s lunch consisted of one peanut butter sandwich and one apple every day. She would always say her mom put her on a diet, but I wondered if it was because they couldn’t afford anything else.
She slides back into the booth. “So, who else got stuck here?” I blink at her backhanded slap in the face. “Oh, I didn’t mean to sound so rude.” Really? You could’ve fooled me. “But you’re still here cause you love it.”
Now I know she’s being condescending.
There are plenty of people who have deep-seated roots here and would never move. I am not one of those people, and every single person within the city limits knows that. She knows that. But she ignores my irritation as she launches into a ten-minute monologue about how great her life has been since she left here. Her mom did, in fact, go to jail for prostitution, and that’s why she had to move her junior year. She moved in with an aunt she didn’t know she had, who ended up being a wealthy purse designer, providing her a life of privilege. Lucky for her. She went to a private school and later to college. Now, she’s in law school and only came back to this lousy town—her words—to take care of some of her mom’s legal matters.
With every passing moment, jealousy coils around me like a suffocating vine. I can’t help the twinge of bitterness, not only because of her condescending attitude but also because she escaped this place.
I thought I would too.
Once.
There was one time a family wanted me. My ninth birthday. Peggy Sue, the caretaker of the group home, bought me a light blue dress from the second-hand store that had white lace around the neck, and she did my hair in two braids the day they were coming to meet me. I sat on the bench in the entryway, with perfect posture, my legs crossed like a little lady, and my hands folded in my lap. I waited. And waited. Even with a sore butt from the wooden bench, I didn’t move a muscle, afraid they would walk through the doors at any second.
They never came.
They had changed their minds, decided it wasn’t a good fit. My already scarred heart was crushed. My nine-year-old self couldn’t understand. I was a well-behaved kid, had a kind heart, and I wanted a family so badly it hurt. But in the end, no one gave me a chance to live a decent life like Ruth Ann.
Nothing like the past coming back to shove your misfortunes in your face.
I swallow my contentment and force a grin. “Ruth Ann, I’m?—”
“It’s just Ann now,” she says, interrupting me, still with the plastic smile on her face that has yet to go away. It’s like she’s auditioning for a teeth-whitening commercial.
“Oh. Well, Ann,” I reply, overemphasizing her name. “I’m thrilled for you. I always wondered how you were doing after you left.” Total lie, but what else do I say? I’m trying to not sound bitter. Even though I am.
Especially today.
Pearl—my hero—notices how uncomfortable I am and makes up an excuse about how I’m needed in the kitchen. Once away from just Ann, Pearl asks, “Who’s Miss America?”
I let out a bitter moan. “Another example that life gets better for everyone except me.”
She looks into my eyes with fierce intensity as she grips both my shoulders. “You listen here, missy,” she clips, her words cutting through the noise in the diner. “You are a beautiful, determined young woman who has years left before you reach your peak. This phase in your life, no matter how challenging, is only a stepping stone. It might be a bigger stone than what others face, but you’ll climb it, and when you come out on the other side, you’ll be better for it.”
I take a deep breath, releasing it into a small, appreciative grin. She always knows what to say. “Thanks. Sometimes it’s hard for me to see past this point in my life. I feel stuck. And then just Ann comes in, flashing her success, throwing in my face what I don’t have.”
“Hon, don’t let someone else’s success dampen your journey. Life has twists and turns, and right now you’re navigating through a tough stretch. But remember, storms pass, and the sun will shine again on you. And like Dolly Parton said, ‘If you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain.’”
She’s right. I need to snap out of this wave of self-pity. It’s not like me to dwell on what I don’t have. It’s just been one of those days. And as I walk back out, a sense of relief washes over me spotting the empty seat where Ann had sat. I’ll take the small wins.
The second five o’clock rolls around, I’m out of here. I notice Pearl by the front window, staring out. I walk up behind her. “Whatcha looking at?” She jumps, startled. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” I laugh.
“I was watching the storm off in the distance,” she says, turning, and we both walk toward the back. “I’m not going to bingo tonight. The last thing I wanna do is hunker down with the town people while a tornado rips through.”
