Finding Right (eBook)

It All Starts Here on a Summer Day

It was a time of adolescence, rebellion and questioning. All of the ideals that were ingrained since childhood, were put to the test. Amidst the town upheaval, the desperation, violence, and bullying lie a hatred of differences so extreme that some lived generations without acknowledging it. The roots of bigotry ran deep. Suddenly life and values would change for the families of a small town community. The safe haven of the Vanderbilt grade school was lost to the students moving up to the abounding turmoil at Treadwell middle school. Life as it was once known would never be the same. It was the dawning of a new life…the way it shouldn’t be.

Coldenham, is a hamlet in the town of Treadwell. It may as well be a postcard for small town America. This early 1900’s village stood as a proud recollection of yesteryear with it’s pristine vintage buildings and tiny shops. Life was easy here. Suddenly the growth that no one ever wanted was upon them. Coldenham, once cherished, now seemed to be the place that time forgot. People were drawn to the mega malls just a few miles down the road. It was totally confusing. Life was simple one day and then it wasn’t.

The corner barbershop, Howard’s Clip Shop, still stood proud with the red and white striped cylinder, much like a candy cane. The barbershop was the news center for the same group of grumpy old men that followed family tradition from the time they had their first haircut. The place hummed today with those waiting for their zip cut and others seeking just to engage in the latest gossip from the town crier, Howard the barber. Time was spent yearning for the past, complaining about the present and vilifying the future. This was not a transient community. This was a home town, where people stayed, raised their families and were buried in the village cemetery at the bottom of the hill behind the church. They could speak about the past here, because they lived it.

Howard’s shop was second only to the local diner where everything from politics to the latest fishing trip to NASCAR were the hot topics. This was a standalone old silver metal diner, quite historic, actually. It was aptly named “The Coffee House.” The walls were lined with the pictures of old stars from the 30’s to James Dean in the 50’s. There were the silver trimmed stools that spun around until the noisy children would either get sick or fall off. Small town diners most surely have their fill of the children that no one has bothered to discipline. The waitress maneuvered around the kids, and the men with their feet in the aisle and the cramped tables, trying patiently to get all their orders in quickly. Sally, the waitress who looked much past her age, was a comic with the fast answers to every question. She was adept at shutting out the background noise that was extremely annoying to anyone that wasn’t a regular. To be honest, Sally probably developed the ability to block out the background noise to avoid going deaf. Those in this old diner seemed to think that it was an informal place for informal behavior. The groups of the blue collared workmen, and the “good old boys” hung out to have their morning coffees. They would complain, then argue over the complaints, then complain again and then suddenly claim to have to go. Many of them rushed to where? Usually to the next stop for coffee or even the Clip Shop. There were benches along the sidewalks in front of the shops. They were a meeting place for the elders during the good weather. “People watching” was recreation in Coldenham. Saying “Good Day” was the norm to passerbys.

At the center of town was the county hall with the clock tower that stood on the green. This was a center that you would see as a Norman Rockwell print. The architecture was typical of the famous clocktower in Back to the Future, one of the best known family movies of it’s time.

Emily Pinkney sat on the lawn in the square, adoring the large clock tower. She took the time to embrace her father’s approval to wander a bit for the day. This was not the everyday right of passage. Emily was the teen of the town preacher. She had to always behave properly and be beyond reproach. She loved sitting in the village square just watching the people and taking in the beauty of the old country church that sat majestically in the main intersection of the village right across from the square. Her church, as she called it, was a pristine white building with a tall steeple and a beautifully arched stained glass window over it’s entrance. She loved the sound of the bell that rang before each service. When she was a toddler, the church looked almost intimidating to her. It stood as a monument to the 10 commandments that she had learned by the time she was 5 years old. The open hall with the many rows of pews on both sides felt like a long walk to the pulpit of judgment where her father would give his Sunday sermons. The words would echo through the church with the beautifully arched ceilings with massive wood beams. The story was that the rooflines, permitted the ceilings to arch in this manner to a peak at the top, as they were created to copy the bottom of Noah’s ark. At any rate, the Pastor’s deep voice resonated throughout the church. When the choir would sing,the sound was angelic and Emily loved it. The sweetness of the voices would lighten and enrich the spirit. It seemed quite magical to a small child. Now she had grown out of the preschool years and even grade school. The unquestioning, blind amazement had changed to a quest for knowledge of how this building and the commandments really fit into everyone’s daily lives. Why was there a smaller part of the community than she remembered, in the pews on Sunday. She wondered. Emily remembered a full church. Glancing around past the church back onto the green, she watched the children running through the grass. She watched them throwing the ball for their big red dog. She was so beautiful.

“If only to have a dog.” she sighed.

Now it was time to move on. Emily had a day to do whatever she would like. She was deciding to just tour her village and soak up everything she saw.

Emily was the daughter of Constance Pinkney the cosmetologist at the beauty shop. This was not even a block down the street just kitty corner from the barber shop. The beauty shop aptly named “Today’s Chic” unfortunately included those no longer devoted to one shop. Today the ladies would come by for socialization not necessarily service. They would browse through the magazines in hopes of finding the fountain of youth and the latest miracle that promised to make them beautiful. They would eavesdrop to see if anyone uttered a secret that would make them look like their favorite movie star or celebrity. Sometimes before and after pictures would hang on the front windows for advertising and to make the customers feel extra special. Emily told her Mom she really believed that most of the time the before pictures looked much better than the after ones. Constance would look shocked, then slightly insulted. After thinking a second, she would start to laugh and say.

“In some cases I must agree, but it would be wrong to tell them such a thing and hurt their feelings.”

She never mentioned that if it be known the women would never return to the shop again. In any event, that’s where Emily’s mother worked five days a week. She would tell them how wonderful they looked and be sure to make them want to come back the following week. Sometimes that was a difficult order. There was a great variety of clientele at the shop. Older women that wished to look younger. Younger women that wanted to look more sophisticated and worldly. Little girls that were brought in by their Mommies that wanted them to be the remake of Shirley Temple. This was a tall order for the typical kid. Emily giggled to herself. Never did one of the girls look remotely like Shirley Temple. In spite of the that knowledge, Constance had still become a real pro at ring curls. No one ever really seemed happy with being who they were. Emily knew that she was ordinary and would not be able to rid herself of the ugly, frizzy, red hair that she had been born with. She hated the freckles on her face and arms that she felt made her look like a Leper. She was only 14 years old, though, and thankfully the other kids evidently didn’t notice. They liked her anyway. It was a warm August morning and she enjoyed just walking down the main street. People would sometimes stop to say hello and tell her how rare her bright red locks were. Rare or not she hated them. She had one thing that she was thankful for. Thank God her mother didn’t want to make her look like Shirley Temple! Although she cursed her hair, at least she didn’t have ring curls and bows to draw attention to it.

Emily felt ownership of her village. It just screamed of what a perfect hometown should be. She was proud to be able to live here. Today she had $3.00 that was left on the table with a note. Emily knew exactly what she would do with it. Of course, her Mom and Dad also knew. Her father could precisely outline Emily’s day. A trip to the five and dime was always in order. Michael Pinkney, Emily’s father, was the town’s pastor and worked at the sawmill during the week. Being from a family of Brits, he was driven to do the best he could for his family. This meant not giving them “things”, but giving them stability, love and the environment to grow into solid, respectable adults....