A New Face in Town

[VerbalAbuse]

I was on my way back from the outlying barns, where I’d checked on a few animals and cleared a blocked drain. The small, boxy vehicle hummed steadily as I guided it along the narrow road, letting the countryside unfold at its own slow pace.

Early winter hadn’t stripped the land yet. The pastures stretching out behind low wire fences were still green. Heavy mist clung to the ground and drifted across the fields in long, low strands. A canal ran parallel to the road for a while, its surface a dull sheet of pewter. Shallow trenches filled with dark water cut straight lines through the fields. Trees spotted the flat plains, their trunks bent at odd angles, their blurred crowns hanging low in the mist.

The smell of manure hit as I passed a cluster of barns -- sharp, heavy. It was the season for spreading it on the fields, and you didn’t have to drive far to see a tractor or a slurry tank at work, either crawling along the road or moving slowly across a pasture, spraying its load in broad, dark arcs.

Up ahead, two figures stood on the roadside where the mist thickened into a low, shifting wall. Both were tall -- easy to recognize even from a distance. The heavy-set man wore a long coat that hung straight off his shoulders; its hem brushed the tops of his boots. Beside him stood the newer arrival -- almost as tall, but built differently, all angles and narrow lines. She wore another one of her immaculate suits, that time a clean white that stood out against the wet grass and the muddy verge. The cut was sharp, masculine, and expensive-looking, as if she had stepped out of a city boutique and forgotten to change before moving here.

They didn’t signal, but I eased off the accelerator anyway. Courtesy or habit -- hard to say. We were neighbors, after all. I pulled to the side, the tires sinking slightly into the soft shoulder.

The man leaned down first, his breath rising in clouds. “Appreciate it,” he said, and stepped back so she could climb in with him. She didn’t seem bothered by the mud at all, just lifted the edge of her trousers with two fingers and slid into the back bench as if boarding a chauffeured car.

They settled in; the door thunked shut. The interior filled with a faint swirl of cold air, the lingering smell of wet earth and the sounds of their breaths coming out in quick bursts.

I checked the mirror, The man sat upright, looking ahead, unperturbed. She, on the other hand, was beaming -- mouth slightly open, letting out small, excited sounds that were almost laughter. Her short blonde hair had blown forward, and she pushed it back with the flat of her hand, revealing the clean, regular lines of her bright face.

“The car broke down,” the man said from the back, as if reporting a minor inconvenience and nothing more.

I nodded. It made sense. Vehicles didn’t last long on these narrow roads when the cold crept in and the mud softened everything beneath the tires. There was no reason to doubt him.

I eased the wheel through another bend. The mist had thickened since earlier, drifting across the fields like strips of torn cloth. As I drove, the memory surfaced: my first pass along that stretch, about an hour earlier. Through the fog I had glimpsed something pale moving across the pastures: a naked silhouette -- or so it had seemed, but that had made no sense, not in that weather, not at that time of year. The mist had tangled around it, swallowing it almost as soon as I’d noticed.

With the two of them sitting behind me -- her glowing with that bright smile, him composed and calm ... Something to their story, perhaps. Or maybe nothing at all.

 

[VerbalAbuse]

She’d been in town a few months by then. There had been no announcements and no introductions. She’d just started showing up beside Andy, and we hadn’t thought much of it at first. He’s not the sort for passing flings, so we’d taken it to mean she was someone who mattered to him. Still, she hadn’t looked like anybody from around here -- more like a city creature who’d taken the wrong road entirely: sharp suit every day, hair neat as a pin, the whole look straight out of a magazine or one of those fancy galas you only ever see on television. We’d figured she’d be gone again before we’d even learned her name.

But she hadn’t gone. She’d stayed on at Andrew’s place, month after month, even though she’d looked about as out of place as a heron in a cowshed. There’d been no sign she’d meant to move on, either.

My wife had said we ought to bake a pie and walk over to welcome her proper, but I’d told her it didn’t feel right. If Andy had wanted us to meet her, he would’ve brought her around himself. No sense inviting yourself where you haven’t been asked.

But Andy hadn’t been hiding her, either. They’d been seen together in town plenty of times, walking side by side like it was the most natural thing. One day, when my wife and I had crossed paths with them, we’d gone over and said hello. Maya -- that was her name, we’d learned. We’d told them they were welcome to visit us anytime, and my wife had even added that Maya could come on her own if Andy wasn’t much for social calls.

They never did come, which had annoyed my wife more than it had bothered me. Truth be told, I’d still expected Maya to pack up and leave without warning, so I hadn’t thought much of it.

The first time I’d actually spoken with her was a week or two later. I’d just stepped out of the bookstore with a fresh newspaper under my arm when I’d seen her sitting alone outside what had used to be the fancier cafe in town. I would’ve kept walking, but curiosity had gotten the better of me, so I’d gone over, pulled out a chair, and sat down across from her.

We’d made some small talk, and it had turned out to be quite pleasant. She’d had a cheerful way about her -- bright-eyed and quick to smile -- and a tidy figure that had suited her sharp clothes. I’d told her -- half joking -- that it was good to have someone as put-together as her in town, even if it made the rest of us look a bit rough around the edges. She’d laughed at that -- a real laugh, not a polite one.

Then she’d leaned forward, elbows on the little table, her voice dropping as if we’d been sharing some mischief. Her whole expression had changed -- turned impishly conspiratorial. She’d said she’d tell me something, so long as I promised to keep it to myself.

She’d said she wasn’t a lady at all. Said’d she was a man -- and, as she’d put it, a gay one at that.

 

[barefootgirl69]

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[VerbalAbuse]

this is open, of course. reply or PM.