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A tall woman with gray-blonde hair rises halfway in her plastic chair near the front of the room, giving a little wave. Bitch.
“The property is eighty acres and a large home,” Ms. Stein continues. “It’s been for sale since March of this year, following the death of Mrs. Haywood. Mr. Haywood has been unsuccessful in finding a residential buyer. Since he voluntarily re-zoned several years back as a favor to the bear sanctuary next door, he wants the zoning back the way it was before that time.”
She clears her throat, as if her high-pitched voice is tired already. “The controversy here—if we may call it that—is that re-zoning the property could put the bear sanctuary in jeopardy. Animal sanctuaries in the state of Tennessee cannot share a property line with commercially zoned properties, even low-traffic ones such as the bed and breakfast would be. The sanctuary’s owner—” her eyes flicker to me, cuing the rest of the room to look as well— “would have to make an appeal to the state environmental board, asking that board to make an exception on this requirement. And she—Miss White—has written our commission two letters stating she doesn’t think they would agree to let her keep her sanctuary open. Did we research this, Bert?”
The councilwoman shifts her gaze to Bert Hayes, a short, pot-bellied councilman with a shiny head and wire-rimmed glasses, sitting two chairs to her left.
He nods from behind his little microphone. “It is true that Ms. White, the sanctuary owner, could run into trouble. But what we have to consider her,” Mr. Hayes says, “is that both Mr. Haywood, the property owner, and Ms. Burns, the potential buyer, have offered to
help Miss White with the appeal. Ms. Burns, who owns several Mountain Valley Retreats around the state, has even offered to purchase some land from her would-be neighbor, Gwenna White, the owner of the Bear Hugs Sanctuary.”
My stomach drops down to my knees. She what?
Mr. Hayes, head of the rezoning subcommittee, gives me an earnest nod.
I want to shriek. My land isn’t for sale! Not unless I have to shut my doors…
Another woman on the commission who sits beside Mr. Hayes at the long table, a blonde whose name I can’t recall, holds her hand up. “What are the particulars of the enviro board situation with the sanctuary? So what I’m asking is, what did they say? Can we read the sanctuary owner’s letters corresponding with that board?”
I inhale slowly, deeply, then project my voice. “I’d like to address the commission myself—if that’s alright.”
Mr. Hayes’ face scrunches as his cohort, the nameless blonde—my new bestie—nods enthusiastically. “If we’re going to potentially shut down an animal sanctuary, Bert, we need to do it knowingly. And with good reason,” she says.
Luvah.
All eyes in the crowded room shift from that angelic blonde to me. I realize, after a second of listening to my pounding heart, that now is the moment I should probably step forward. I draw another deep breath and, with my face schooled into a look of nervousness—one I hardly have to fake—I walk down the small aisle to the dais where the councilmembers’ tables sit alongside a battered wooden podium.
I focus on my breathing as I step onto the dais. My boots click on the wooden floor. My head feels heavy and hollow all at once. My left eye twitches. Can I do this? I stand behind the podium and look out at the crowd.
Holy hell, this place is even more crowded than I thought. I spot familiar faces—the Gatlinburg city planner, a man from the city’s wildlife club who is supportive but fairly ineffectual, two newspaper reporters and a male TV reporter. For a moment, when I see his big, black camera, my whole body goes ice cold.
Is this being filmed?
I take a big breath through my mouth and blink once. Steady, Gwenna. Poker face.
I hold onto the podium with both hands, the way I learned in my college public speaking course.
Then I take a half-second to look from the left side of the room to the right, gathering my thoughts, seeing all the faces. I spend so much time alone… This many people…
I swallow again, and when I hear my own voice, loud and clear, I almost jump.
“My name is Gwenna White, and I’m the owner of the Bear Hugs sanctuary.”
It’s an effort not to cringe; ever since the accident, I hate the sound of my voice, with its slightly lazy “w”s and “o”s and “q”s.
“First I’d like to say, it’s true that it’s a firm rule of the state environmental board that animal sanctuaries not be located in direct proximity to commercial property. In my informed opinion, no amount of appealing is going to change that. They want to protect the bears. That’s the enviro board’s main job. So if the property next door to me is re-zoned, within the next month, the state board will shut me down.” My voice goes a little weak on those words, so I stop again. I blink out at the crowd. My eyes land on a tall, broad-shouldered man whose face is shaded by the bill of a dark ball cap. He’s too far toward the rear of the room for me to see him well, but I imagine his shadowed face looks sympathetic, so I focus my gaze on one of his shoulders and keep going.
“We do some charitable outreach, Bear Hugs does. We give free teddy bears to kids at St. Jude’s and we go there dressed in bear suits to cheer up the ones who are sick or having surgery. We have school groups come out. But other than that, we’re pretty quiet. I don’t get out as much as I should.” I swallow hard. I feel a stinging flush, starting at the crown of my head and sweeping all the way to my feet.
“See—I had an accident in 2012. I injured—a lot of things. My leg, my head.” I swallow spastically, then lick my lips. “Before that, I had been a pre-med student. I had done some modeling. My real dream was becoming a singer. I had signed a record deal.” My eyes water. Holy hell, emotions. Really—here? I blink and carry on. “That accident changed things for me. Big time. My mouth lost some mobility on the left side, so I couldn’t speak clearly. For a while, I couldn’t. If you listen, you can hear it’s still not perfect. But it’s better.
“I didn’t want to leave my house after I got hurt, but my parents made me. My dad would take me to the zoo early in the morning. After nine or ten o’clock, too many people were there. I was too self-conscious to go when it was crowded.” Sweat trickles between my breasts. “When I smile, my mouth doesn’t turn up on one side. As a former model and performer, I was embarrassed and ashamed of how I looked. Of course, the animals didn’t care.” I give the crowd a small snarile. Several people smile back.
THEY ALL SAW.
I inhale slowly. Exhale.
“The reason that I’m telling you this stuff is that I wanted to explain how a place like this, a place that might not seem very special, really can be. After my accident, I bonded with an injured bear. Working with bears gave me a sense of purpose. Animals can do that for a lot of people.”
