Of Steel and Butterflies
We all begin life with a map of what we would like our lives to be, but most of us fail to ever consult this map. Instead we drive on . . . blindly unaware of the signs on the highway until we drive off a cliff, hit a big wall, or find ourselves totally lost and our vehicles heavily damaged. . . . Author unknown
CHAPTER ONE
The exhaust fumes were over-whelming. The torrid summer heat rippled across the concrete pavement making the shimmering water mirage appear to dance between the old two story brick buildings. The locals called it a typical summer dog day for White Meadows, Iowa. It was hot, it was dry and it was certainly dusty. Not a hint of breeze ruffled the two thin maples planted alongside the Greyhound bus station. It was as though the summer air was holding its breath.
Everything was still. That is, everything except the rivulets of sweat which trickled slowly down between her breasts leaving a noticeable trail, moistening her blue cotton blouse.
I was so nave! Why did I allow them to control me; control my life! She took the damp tissue still clutched in her hand, and wiped a large circle on the bus window hoping to be able to see better. With the dampness and the dirt, it ended up only a smeared mess. Looks a little like me, she lamented sadly looking at the streaks on the window, a tear creeping down the corner of her eye. I swear if I dont stop tormenting myself, and go on with my life, Ill never have one!
Liz Walber sat quietly, her hands in her lap, looking out the dusty bus window and attempting to put things into some resemblance of order in her mind.
Father Ryan had been immediately reassigned to another parish and left White Meadows months earlier. The gossip never stopped, and angry screaming voices still rang clearly in her head. The names, the ugly names! Would she really get punished for this, like they said? What if she did go to hell?
People always said shed be trouble. Too damn good looking, wouldnt bring nothing but trouble, theyd said.
Shiny black ringlets framing a pair of deep blue eyes and a glowing complexion topped the well endowed, five foot five package. Shed developed early in life and had to listen to the gossip twittered behind her back for several years.
What a mess! So many things in her life falling apart, and so quickly. It was impossible to believe, but even after all the tears shed shed, her brimming eyes still threatened to burst into a full fledged flood. Searching hurriedly, Liz pulled another wrinkled tissue from her shirt pocket and dabbed at her red eyes.
She was leaving White Meadows, the only home shed ever known! All the memories and mixed feelings ran the gamut from pleasurable highs, to the rock bottom lows. How will I ever live through this, she wondered as she moistened her dry lips and continued to pick quietly at her thumbnail cuticle.
Even though the circumstances of the last six months were ugly and close to unbearable, there was still that tenuous sad feeling that she may never see her home again.
White Meadows, that sleepy town in Western Iowa, a farming community consisting of two blinker lights, still came with all the commercial necessities and an over abundance of churches.
Religious debates consumed many long evening hours, as the community seemed equally divided between the Methodist, Catholic and Baptist faiths. Each . . . obviously considered right, rarely hesitated making their ideas known and spent long hours working diligently to convince the others of the folly of their ways.
Downtown Main Street, with its newly installed concrete curbs and flower boxes, boasted Downers market, a quaint and homey store selling practically everything. It was also a local gathering place, where everyone for miles around came to purchase their weekly groceries and gossip over the latest tidbits and juiciest information available.
Many long winter days were passed, with men and women alike, gathered around the large pot bellied stove positioned in the far corner of the store, and many a reputation condemned or redeemed.
The Show Place, a movie theater of sorts, came next seating a total of sixty patrons providing a first run film was playing. Next was Kramers Bakery, renown for miles for its mouth watering cream rolls and everyones favorite: a delicious homemade apple-crumb pie. Fancys, a small dress shop that provided dry goods and accessories to those folks preferring to create their own unique look, followed. Strangely enough, it did a fair business despite the fact that most of the ladies in the community ordered clothing and many household items from the Sears and Montgomery Ward catalogues.
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