Addison Falls

Violet inched forward on her belly, hidden from sight in the tall grass. The words on the bus read, YEA, THOUGH I WALK THROUGH THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH, I FEAR NO EVIL FOR THOU ART WITH MEG. She was pondering those words when suddenly a metal folding chair bounced out of the bus door and clattered on the pavement below. A lady with yellow hair followed, cursing and screaming. In her arms was a large radio and behind her, she tugged a card table. On the bottom step she tripped and ended up face down on the black asphalt. Violet watched. The woman didn’t move. Violet crawled forward on her hands and knees trying not to make a sound, but the dry grass crackled and popped beneath her knees. As she got closer, she heard the woman moaning. Violet waited to see if someone was going to help the lady. The wind whipped up in the field and blew across the parking lot. A stray beer can rolled off to nowhere in particular. A semi shot past on the interstate with a roar that left an echo in her ears. It seemed like she and the yellow-haired lady were the only ones left in the world. Violet ran across the parking lot in her bare feet. She bent down next to the lady who was sobbing. Her back moved up and down in rhythm with the sobs. Violet placed her hand on the lady’s back, “Are you all right?” The crying stopped instantly. There was a long moment during which the lady rolled slowly over onto her back, reached out, grasped Violet’s hands, and looked deep into her eyes, “Are you an angel?” “No, ma'am. I’m sorry.” The woman looked so hopeful that Violet wished she had said yes. The lady broke out in laughter, “I was just pulling your leg.” She propped herself on her elbows. “Oh, boy, you should have seen your face.” She laughed like a donkey, sucking air and snorting. “Boy that really cracked me up. You must have thought I’d lost my mind.” “I thought you were hurt. You’ve been lying here a while.” “I was having myself a good little cry. You ever done that? Get it all out. That’s what my ma used to say to me.” “Oh.” “Most folks don’t bother crying, but that ain’t good, gets all stuck up inside and starts to rot.” She stood up and brushed herself off. “Look it there, not a scratch on me.” “You’re lucky. I saw you fall, and I thought you must have broken something, for sure.” Violet rolled up the right leg of her pajama pant to show off a skinned knee. “Look it here. I fell out of the tree yesterday, and that’s all I got.” “Oh, boy, you’re a lucky one, too.” She looked at her wristwatch. “Yikes, look at the time. I’m late for work.” Violet stood by and watched. The lady set up the folding table, put the radio on top, dragged the metal chair up, and sat down. She tuned the radio to something slow and sweet, then turned to Violet and said, “Open for business. What can I do for you today?” “Heck, I don’t know.” Violet shrugged her shoulders. “I just came over to check on you; didn’t know you were selling something.” “Well, bless your sweet heart. And here all along I thought you were waiting for me to open up.” “What is it you do?” “Didn’t you read my sign?” There’d been so much excitement, Violet had clean forgotten about the school bus. She turned around, and the writing was as big as the bus itself almost. Across the front of the bus just over the front window a sign said, TRUCKERS' CHAPEL. It had been hand painted because the words started out high and ended low. Violet couldn’t help thinking someone should have drawn a line with a yardstick so they would have had a chance at making the letters straight. “A church for truck drivers?” Violet asked. “That’s right. That’s my thing.” “That’s all they have to do is go in there and pray, that’s all?” “Sure.” “And everything’s okay afterwards, like when they walk out, are they different?” “No, now, I said it was simple but I didn’t say it was easy. If there was recipe, you bet I’d have it memorized.” “Are you saying that they aren’t better when they come out of that chapel?” “Usually, they’re the same as when they went in.” “So what do you do? Do they want their money back?” “No, I don’t charge them a nickel and I don’t make any promises. But, if they want to talk, we talk.” “About what?” “Simple things. We sit down together and look out over the land. We look at that dusty, brittle field there, then past it to the sweet green alfalfa pasture then farther still past the interstate and the frozen cows and the polka dot houses and the broccoli trees on the rolling hills that touch the horizon. If they don’t tell me how beautiful the view is, then I tell them. I say, “What you see is who you are.” You can see beauty or search for faults, it depends upon who you decide to be. Then I tell them that they aren’t alone, that they have never been alone and that they will never be forgotten.” “Then what?” “Then we walk over to 7-11 and get some coffee.”