Miles
September 7th, 1998
Monday
I should have taken my guitar with me, but in the middle of everything that the conversation stirred up, I didn’t grab it.
I’d been driving for about 20 minutes, possibly going around in circles, not really paying attention to my surroundings.I was wrapped up in my thoughts.
I felt like being loud, but not with words.
Playing the guitar was how I let everything out without speaking.
I never really vented to anyone, and honestly, I didn’t know who I’d call if I wanted to.My friend group back in the city wasn’t the kind that talked deeply about anything.When something upset me, I’d just meet up with them, and we’d go do something — have an illegal drink, shoot some hoops, or wander around the mall letting our eyes get distracted by girls.Anything except actually talking about it.
I looked out the car window and recognized a pastry shop, it had been the first stop my mom and I made in this town on the day we arrived.I hadn’t paid much attention to anything that day either.My frustration with the news of the move had caused a cloud to grow around me that I hadn’t even tried to lift.
But I remembered the chicken pie.
So, I parked the car and walked to the wooden sign that read “Village Oven”, hanging right above the door of the little pastry shop.
It was a place that extended further than it seemed from the outside.All the tables and chairs were made of wood.Vases with flowers distinguished one table from another.Many customers stood attentively, contemplating the display of sweets and savory snacks, and even so, the terrace outside was full.
While I was sitting at one of the small wooden tables, lost in thought over my chicken pie, I got the feeling I was being watched.My gaze lifted to a woman standing by the counter near the door.She looked to be in her 70s, wearing a long white dress, carrying a purse on her shoulder, two bags in one hand, and a box of something from the bakery in the other.
She looked at me serenely.Maybe judging my chicken pie choice.Maybe trying to place me.
A few seconds passed.I looked behind me, but my eyes met only the wall.I watched her as she slowly turned toward the door and disappeared.
Moments later, I stepped outside too.The sun was low, hiding behind the tall trees that lined the sidewalk of the village’s main street.
People were coming in and out of the café, smiling and greeting those sitting on the terrace.
I decided I would keep driving around.
When I turned left onto a narrow pedestrian road to get to my car, I ran into the lady from before, the one who had studied my face with the look of someone trying to crack a puzzle.
She was walking at a brisk pace, seeming either super busy or super late.
I walked behind her.Her hair was light gray, short, and arranged in perfect curls.
A roll of duct tape fell out of one of her bags and rolled toward my feet.I bent down to pick it up.
“Miss, I’m sorry, you dropped this,” I called out, hurrying to catch up with her.
She turned, glanced at my hands to see what I was holding, and a smile found her lips.
“Oh, honey, thank you so much!You wouldn’t believe how indispensable this is!”she said joyfully.There was so much energy in her voice.
Then she asked if I was heading in the same direction as her.And I was, indeed.
“Wonderful!Could you please do me the biggest favor and help me carry some of these to the bus stop right there?”She tilted her head toward the end of the street.“If you’re not in a hurry!”she added.“You know, the elders never realize when they’re disturbing the younger ones’ plans,” she said in a playful tone.
“Well…” Some agony still took over me, born from the thought that I had absolutely no plans she would be disturbing me from.“Of course!Let me help you.”
I took the weight off the two bags she was balancing on each of her shoulders and followed her right away.
She thanked me twice more, asked for my name, told me hers, and noted that she had never seen me around before.She said that her eyes were like the town’s dictionary of people, and that I was not written in it.
