The Very Least You Could Do

Returns and Exchanges

She caught herself weeping for the 102-year-old woman in the casket, her great aunt she hadn’t seen in 28 years.

All she remembered was eating peanut butter toast with Aunt Melody by the BMX track, watching the boys soar and tumble.

When she left for college she knew she wasn’t coming back, and wouldn’t have, except for Aunt Melody, the last of the family left in a boring town that had offered Brianne nothing except a strong desire to leave.

There were only nine people in the Ist Street Baptist Church, her Aunt having outlived her peers.

Brianne recognized no one, but thanked them each for coming.

A woman her age shook her hand and said her name.

Brianne missed the name and got caught having no idea who the woman was.

The woman said “I wouldn’t expect you to remember. We went to Taft for kindergarten, then I went to St.Lucius and you stayed at Taft for grade school.”

Brianne smiled.

“I’m sorry. All I remember about Taft kindergarten was Fay Runnel always getting nosebleeds and having a huge crush on Parker Shamalian.”

The woman’s eyes flickered to life. “I remember Fay’s nosebleeds! She stood up in my wedding too! She manages Bellringers off 94. You should go say hi if you can stomach servers in short shorts and almost see-through t-shirts.”

Brianne shook her head. “I saw it on the way into town. I’ll pass. I’d rather see Parker. Last I remember he was winning Dow sponsored science fairs in like 7th grade. I can’t imagine he stayed here. Unless maybe he works for Dow now.”

The eyes that lit up at the mention of Fay Runnel dimmed. The head that held the eyes shook slowly.

“Parker…goes by Farrier Christmas now.”

“He changed his name? What does-”

“Honestly Bri, I’m not sure that’s the name she uses. But the kids nicknamed her that. She’s very nice, really but…”

Brianne silently acknowledged that her kindergarten crush was a woman now.

“But?” She asked as her old classmate had gone silent.

“She’s…troubled. She sits at the intersection by the flea market selling these little knit dolls, maybe puppets, too. People around here…they don’t really like her.”

“She’s destitute? Homeless?”

“ She was in prison then…I think she lives in one of those cruddy apartments off Meregon. They call it Methlehem now. It’s…it’s not good.”

Brianne couldn’t picture the apartments, but she remembered the flea market, and her Aunt buying her a Bakelite bracelet there.

“I’m going to go see him-damn, I mean her.”

The woman nodded yes but her face was shouting no.

Brianne didn’t care. She thanked the pastor for his kind words and got in her airport rental.

When she got near the flea market,it wasn’t hard to spot Parker, or whatever she went by now, sitting by the side of the road.

Brianne rolled Farrier Christmas in her head. Didn’t seem to make sense, but…

She parked the car on the gravel shoulder, got out and looked at the frail woman in a dusty lime green dress with a box of knit things in her lap and one half-full box next to her. Long, Medusaesque brown hair was going grey near the temples and was most certainly not a wig. Her dirty Ugg boots looked like they had 50,000 miles on them.

Brianne remembered liking Parker’s prominent nose. It was more prominent now, and if the woman hadn’t told her it was Parker, she wouldn’t ever have guessed.

As she walked toward the woman she wondered why she had come. Charity? Curiosity? Closure? A little of each maybe. Maybe it was that she remembered Aunt Melody’s eccentricities…

She didn’t expect Parker to remember her.It was she who had the crush, not the other way around, but she wanted to be polite and introduce herself.

“Hi, I’m Brianne. I heard you sell handmade items.”

“I sure try,” the woman said rather sadly.

She tipped the box so Brianne could get a better look.

There were small brown owls, green snakes, blue birds. Parrots? Sort of. None of the little toys had eyes.

“What’s your name?” Brianne asked. This was the curiosity part, kicking in strong.

“Amber. But no one uses it. Most people know me as Farrier Christmas.”

“That’s an interesting moniker.”

“I don’t love it, but I guess it’s memorable.”

“How much for the owls?”

“Everything is name-your-own-price, sugar,” Amber said.”I would suggest 10 dollars a piece based on the time it takes me to make them. But I’ll take whatever you’re offering. Are you not from around here?

“Nope, “ Brianna said, way too quickly as if she was denying a wrongdoing.

Amber gave her a look but said nothing.

“I’ll take two owls, a snake, and a bird.”

She reached in her purse. All she had was a hundred-dollar bill.

“I can’t come close to breaking that, sweetheart.”

Brianne reddened.

“Just…just keep it.”

“Maybe they should call you Christmas, generous lady,” Amber said. She took the bill, shoved it through the v-neck of her dress, into her bra, and handed Brianne the little animals.

“Why do they call you Farrier Christmas?”

Amber blushed, bit her lip.

Brianne thought Amber’s dress was hideous but her makeup was on point, pro quality.

Their eyes locked.

Brianne wanted to ask “Were you Parker Shamalian? Why are you out here? What happened to the super smart kid? Can I help you? Is it drugs? What do you need?”

Brianne said nothing.

Amber said.“There’s…there’s a bad drug problem in this town. Meth. The nuns from St.Lucius run a little…group home for kids whose parents are having a hard time raising them due to their addictions. It’s so sad…”

Brianne nodded.

They looked at each other silently.

Finally Brianna said, “That is sad, but it didn’t answer the question.”

“Oh, young lady….” The pained look on Amber’s face made Brianne want to tell her it didn’t matter, that she didn’t have to say anything. But before she could Amber continued:

 “I make toys and gifts for the little ones in the St. Lucius home. So I guess I’m like Father Christmas except… some of the older ones decided…” She shrugged. “Anyway, I really have nothing better to do so I make toys for the other kids around town during Christmas time too, the kids whose parents will accept them from someone like me.”

“You mean…” Brianne didn’t want to assume anything. She was told this was Parker, she believed this person was once Parker, but she didn’t want to offend. She switched gears.

“It’s awfully sweet of you to make things for at risk kids.

Amber visibly shrugged, then let her shoulders droop. She looked down at her boxes of knit animals.

“I feel bad for the little ones…”

Amber’s voice trailed off.

“How did a town like this,” Brianne asked,  “get a meth problem in the first place?”

Amber’s head snapped up, her eyes widened, then snapped shut like they had been pepper sprayed.

“Ummm…thank you for your purchase. Enjoy. “

Amber stood, folded her chair, stacked her boxes, lifted them and started walking down the shoulder of the road.

***

Let’s talk about growing up, crushes, meth, anything.

Better than a small knit toy, though my friend Mary makes some amazing stuff.