“Mom…” I stop at a row of bicycles resting against a beam outside a diner, study the setup for a moment, and tilt my head. “I’m pretty sure this is where they tie horses up while they drink inside brothels.”
“Allyson!” Mom laughs, only to stop and honk at someone annoying her in traffic. “There are no horses, there are no brothels, and you’re being extra, honey. You’re fulfilling a stereotype right now.”
“Oh yeah?” I scoff and continue walking past the pile of bikes. “What stereotype?”
“Big city snob,” she retorts, only to end with a shouted, “Hey, jackass! Get a pair of glasses or get off the damn road! What the hell is wrong with you, huh? Huh?” She lays on the horn for so long that she risks being brained in rush hour traffic. “Babe, you’re in town for work, so how about you be kind to your hosts, experience what it’s like to be in a small town, and this weekend, you can come home, and we can get hammered while we watch the new Bond movie.”
“You are so strange.” I stop at the single set of traffic lights in town. I look left – nothing. I look right – nothing. I look ahead, only to shake my head when I still don’t have the green light to walk, despite the fact there isn’t a damn person in sight. “Mom, how many cars are surrounding you right now?”
“A-freakin’-million,” she grunts. “It’s sending me insane.”
“Ahh. That’s good.” I stand at the corner and close my eyes. “Tell me more.”
Mom turns silent for a moment, stunned and speechless, only to burst out laughing when she understands. “You’re weird! Are you seriously asking me to describe this mess just so you can feel better?”
“Oh look,” I drawl when I hear the beep-beep-beep that says I can cross. “I got the green, Mom. And I’m not scared for my life. It’s like…” I glance around. “Where’s the adventure? Where’s the risk of dying from a cab, or being run down by a bus?”
“Do they even have buses there?” she whispers.
“No! Only the Greyhound that travels out of town. None of the commuter buses, though. It’s disgusting.”
“What do people there do if they have no car?”
“Horses!”
My exclamation draws a pair of shrewd eyes from an overly large woman standing outside a shop named Dixie’s. She stops what she’s doing, leans against a tall, plastic llama and, folding her arms, she watches me like maybe I peed in her pool.
“Ma’am.”
She doesn’t reply. She doesn’t move a single muscle, except for those controlling her scowl.
“Mom, I thought small-town folk are supposed to be nice?”
She snorts. “How the hell am I supposed to know? I’ve never lived there.”
“So why am I here?” I cry out, only to bite my lips closed when I pass the supermarket, and a woman and her daughter step out.
They’re both working on suckers, they’re both beautiful, and though they don’t really bear any resemblance to each other, they sure seem to have a connection that reminds me of me and my mom.
“Excuse me.” I lower my chin a little, in apology and embarrassment, only to skip around the couple and keep moving. “People here think I’m weird.”
“Allyson, honey… you are weird. You think they ride horses to work, and I bet my new car that you’re wearing heels right now.”
I look down at my feet and frown. “Of course. I’m dressed for work; heels are part of my look.”
“But are you at work right now?” she questions with a sly arrogance in her voice. “Or are you parading around town and telling everyone how behind the times they are?”
“Mom!” I stop in my tracks and clutch my phone tighter. “I just saw a guy in overalls.”
“You are horrible,” she cackles. “Baby, I’m about to pull up at the office, so if you’re certain you’re gonna be okay in Hicksville, then I’m gonna have to let you go.”
“I think I’ve been sucked into a wormhole.”
I slow out front of my destination, and stand in front of a bakery that smells of sin, and beside that, a photography studio that shows off beautiful family canvas prints. Smiles, fun, love.
Not a single pair of overalls.
“Okay, so now I feel guilty. Mom, I’ve been a snob. I admit it.”
“So say sorry, open your mind, and stop being a jerk.”
“These family pictures are nice.” I pass the bakery and stop in front of the studio. “Have you ever heard of Christina Cooper?”
“No, honey. But it would be presumptuous for you to think I know everyone… in a town I’ve never been to.”
I press the tips of my fingers to the shopfront window, and angling my head, I study the women posing together in another canvas. Two women, one blonde and one brunette, despite this image being in black and white. The women are opposites of each other. One is smaller, slimmer, while the other has curves.
Not big curves, not regular woman curves, but when compared to her companion, she’s clearly curvier than the other. The smaller one has longer legs, longer hair, and a more angular jaw. Her eyes are darker, soulful and… well, old. Like she’s an old soul. The fairer woman has wild curls, bright eyes, a trouble-making grin.
What makes this image striking isn’t their eyes, their hair, their polar differences; it’s what makes them the same. They’re not family – not by blood, anyway. But they definitely belong. They both stand in a way that says they’re about to slam me to the ground and beat the shit out of me. They have faces of warriors from centuries gone by. They’re unafraid, they can’t be intimidated.
They roar.
Both women wear little black booty shorts, dark sports bras. And despite the fact they scare me simply by existing on canvas, both of them earn my disapproval because they have ridges in their stomachs that say muscle.
I’ve never had a stomach like that, and hell, but why did the universe do me like that?
“Ally? You there, honey?”
“Hmm?”
“You went silent,” Mom pushes. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I frown and study the canvas. “How would you feel if I decided I like women?”
“You… what?”
“But, like, two of them. At the same time.”
“Ally!”
“Mom!” I burst out in nervous laughter. “This hick town, at one point, had these hot chicks, and it’s bothering me, because five minutes ago, I was straight. Now I’m not sure.”
“You are a hot mess,” she grumbles. “Love is love, baby. But how about you figure it out before you drag me into your mess? Once you know, you can tell me what’s happening, then we’ll plan what comes next.”
“You just roll with the punches so smoothly.” Shaking my head and breaking eye contact with the canvas warriors, I turn back to the bakery and make my way in. “I told you I kissed Curtis Reginald back in ninth grade, and you were ready to kill me.” I stop inside the shop and line up behind the small crowd. “It was a kiss.”
“In ninth grade, you were fourteen, almost fifteen, and that’s when good girls get pregnant.”