Confessions of a Small Town

Assumption, Indiana is a nice place to live. If you find beer bongs in the front yard on a Sunday afternoon appealing that is. Other than that, we’re just a small town on the outskirts of nowhere with absolutely nothing to offer anyone who doesn’t have a habit.

I’ve been here for 17 years and I can’t complain. Not about the fact that about one in three homes here need to be condemned. About the fact that no one finds the need to mow their yard, wash their windows, repaint their house, or tow away the old car in their backyard. Or that basement meth labs aren’t too hard to come by. And not about the fact that if you want to make anything of your life, it’s just about impossible if you grew up here. Nah, other than that I can’t complain.

Where else can you keep your refrigerator on your front porch? An old trough turned make-shift pool in your backyard? A stack of broken windows leaning beside your garage? I mean, most towns have sore sort of city ordinance against things like that. But not us, because we’re Assumption. And we offer no apologies.

Our school system here isn‘t great. Actually, I guess you could say we have the lowest test scores and the highest drop-out rates in the state. Almost no one goes to college, but those of us that do decide to further our schooling settle for community college. Massage therapy seems to be a popular major.

There’s not much to offer here in terms of employment opportunities. We were once a prosperous railroad town, but the trains stopped running through here long ago. Most of the town either worked for the railroad or for jobs secured by the business the railroad provided. The jobs ended, the people stayed, and the town turned poverty-stricken. The old depot, a reminder of the good life, still stands downtown.

But today’s the beginning of the end for me. It’s the first day of senior year and next year I’ll be working at whatever crappy minimum wage job that’s awaiting a girl like me with no work history. The old saying’s true--a small town offer’s little opportunity. Everything’s downhill from here.

I watched as around 20 of my fellow classmates filed collectively under a giant banner reading “Welcome Back Seniors, Class of ‘94” and into the small, confiding study hall. I took a quick peak out the window, noticing that it was overcast outside. It matches my mood well. Dreary, much like me. It makes this day seem all the more depressing. I sigh and I think of days yet to come.

I continue doodling in my fresh book of notebook paper as a dark-haired boy runs in just as the bell rings, smirking at the study hall teacher and sinking into the seat right in front of me.

“Hey.”

I grin as Mr. Myers shouts “Alright Eads, I’ll let that one go” over the crowd of chattering students. “Now quiet everyone, this is study hall. I suggest you do some studying.”

“What does he expect us to do on the first hour of the first day of school?” Barry Eads whispers at me and I shrug. I can tell by his mellow tone and his slightly glazed over eyes that he was hanging out with Matt Bridwell in the cemetery across the street before class.

“I’m drawing puppies,” I said, holding up my notebook of new sketches.

“I knew you had a dark side, Casey.”

I grin as I bury my nose back into my notebook. “I’m surprised you showed up for study hall. I guess that’s the beauty of having it first hour.”

“Well,” he said, pushing his chin length hair out of his face and peering over my notebook at me with his dark eyes. “I’m trying not to get too many points against me this year.”

“Why not? It’s our last year here. The teachers all hate you by now anyways.”

“True…” He said. “Watcha got next hour?”

“Uh, American History.”

He pulls out his class schedule and we compare.

“Let’s see. We have Art IV together.”

“And College Prep English,” I point out with a laugh.

“Easy A.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” I agree. “Just a bunch of chit chat.”

“Oh, you’re not in Chorus this year?” he asked with a frown.

“Uh, no. I never was. Which brings up a good point, why the hell are you in Chorus?”

“I like to sing,” he said matter-of-factly. “And get out of school for those dumb school concert thingies.”

“Last year you just left early and then didn’t even get on the bus.”

He flashes me his endearing grin again.

Mr. Myers shushed us and Barry turned back around, pretending to look busy.

I guess Barry and I have been friends for about five years, but parts of his life are still a mystery to me. He moved in with his grandma when his mother went into a psychiatric hospital. His dad never talks to him. He has an older half-brother and a younger half-sister who he also rarely sees.

He got into quite a bit of trouble a few years ago, but he seems to have straightened himself out in the past few months. I think a lot of it had to do with his ex. After they broke up he went to a party and ended up going to the ER for alcohol poisoning. He’s a little reserved and doesn‘t say much about his ex, his mom, or his old life.

I lay my head down on my desk, letting my light brown hair spill over my drawings and thinking about how this would be the last year I will ever spend in this building. I gazed out the window. The sky had already begun to clear up.

@@@

“You ready?” Barry asked me from his locker with a pen in his mouth while he pulled on his flannel shirt.

“Yeah,” I said with a grunt as I pulled my backpack, now packed full with a textbook for every subject, behind me.

Barry slammed his locker shut as he headed for the West doors empty-handed.

“Hey, what about your books?”

“I finished my work last hour. I had gym.”

“How the hell-” I began to ask.

“SHOTGUN!” A body went flying by me at the speed of light and through the double doors of the school making a beeline for the parking lot.

“What are we? Five years old?” I asked as I watched Terry Butler take the passenger seat of Barry’s beat up ‘82 station wagon.

Barry looked at me and shrugged.

@@@

“I guess I should go,” I said from the front porch of Barry’s grandmother’s house as I watched the sun begin to set. “My mom will be home in like 30 minutes.”

He nodded with a cigarette clenched between his lips as he strummed the strings of his guitar.

I watched as Terry reached into the pocket of his denim jacket and retrieved a hitter.

Barry quickly covered it with his hand and shoved it away. “What the hell man? My grandma’s 76 but she’s not blind.”

“Umm…. Okay,” Terry said with uncertainty. “I guess I’m off to Matt’s then.”

I watched Terry grab his backpack and hurl it over his shoulder. “Later,” he said, heading down to the side walk and cutting through the neighbor’s side yard.

I guess not everyone gets high on life.

I’ve known Terry, a tall and lanky curly-headed blonde, longer than anyone else in this town. We’ve known each other since we were infants. Our mothers work together and Terry was the only friend I had up until middle school when Barry moved here. He’s sort of like a big brother to me, which is why sometimes he finds the need to smart off to me or treat me like crap. I know he doesn’t mean it when he‘s a jerk and I’ve just learned to brush it off.

I guess other than living in the same town we don’t have all that much in common. Terry likes to partake in getting high whenever he can and I never have. I don’t know much about the drug world and frankly, it all scares me.

Unlike me, Terry has tons of friends. He seems to have hung out with everyone in high school at one point or another. Slackers, jocks, cheerleaders, stoners, mathletes…

And I guess I’m just sort of a loser. I mean loner.

@@@

As I lug my over-stuffed backpack behind me the sounds of late summer--crickets chirping, the cicadas shrill call, and dogs barking--surround me while the street lamps above buzz in anticipation of lighting up for the evening. The little daylight left guides my way back to Timber Street where I’ve lived my entire life.

I climbed up the front porch steps to our old eight room house and let the screen door slam behind me as I headed up to my room for a night of homework.

Just another day. One of many to come.

~*~*~