Thick humidity hung in the air, countless, tiny particles collectively suffocating Blanche as she stood on the corner of 300 Woodrow Wilson Drive. Sunshine streaked through the branches of the ancient oak that stood as a sentinel over the once prominent public library. Recent years had taken their toll on the regal structure that housed both the library and the regional museum. Weather, heat and public indifference had worn on the old girl and she was showing her age much like Baby Jane had in the classic Southern thriller. Gone were the days of government funding and the money pouring in from benefactors like Andrew Carnegie. Self interest and a soaring debt had taken care of almost all of the money needed to keep the library operational, however, a small donation here and there and some money still left over from a grant provided at the death of the towns “Bookmobile Lady” had kept the doors open, at least for now.
Blanche took a white, neatly folded and starched handkerchief from her small clutch and noted the dampness even prior to its use. Gently, she blotted her forehead and nose being careful not to smear her makeup and returned the hanky to her purse.
“Much hotter here than I expected,” she muttered to herself, realizing that she was indeed in a public place and talking to oneself was perhaps not uncommon in the South, but still could label one as ‘odd’.
Doing her best to push the heat, humidity and lack of confidence aside she smoothed her silk-lined pencil skirt over her flat abdomen and ran her hands quickly over her behind for good measure.
“Okay, here goes nothing,” she mused, as she took the first few steps to a new life and the unknown that awaited her in Valdosta, Georgia; fifty six thousand strong in the heart and soul of the 'never say die' confederacy.
Ms. Blanche D. Delaney was born in a rather quaint, unassuming town in southern Utah. Grew up as most kids did in the late 70’s, her days spent in class and evenings playing ‘kick the can’ until dark then ‘no bears are out tonight’ until parents would call them in for the night. It was a simpler time. Two recent wars behind them, people were getting back to work, the economy was thriving and families didn’t perceive a rapist or serial killer behind every closed door. Children were able to roam the streets, playing at will and occasionally getting into mischief. On one memorable outing, Blanche and her ever-eager friend Holly had snuck into the local theater to catch the R-rated, taboo flick, The Fearless Vampire Killers. When her parents learned of the incident, one would have thought the world was coming to an end, ranting about the lack of morals and the decay of modern society. The reaction was a little overblown for Blanche who at 12 didn’t care much about rock and roll, drugs, the hippie culture and certainly not boys.
She was, however, very interested in the forbidden love of a crazed fiend or the swashbuckling antics of every Harlequin romance villain she had read about from the time she could put two words together. Hours had passed in a fantasy land filled with beautiful women and savage men traversing uncharted landscapes in search of treasure but usually only finding love and lust. Her affair with literature and in particular romance novels had led her to college in Arizona where she obtained her degree in library studies and met Anthony, or Tony as he liked to be called, in her last year. Looking back on their relationship Blanche could not figure out what it was about him, beyond his strong jaw and blonde wavy hair that she found appealing. So it came as little or no surprise that after seven years of living together he greeted her at the door of their apartment, suitcase in one hand and their dog, Cuddles, in the other and announced, “I can’t hide my need to be me any longer, I’ve found someone who understands me and my urges and I’ll be moving in with him. Please put my things aside and I’ll be by to get them in a day or two.”
Blanche had to catch herself to prevent tumbling down the stairs of the complex, “Did you say, HIM?” her mouth hanging open, arms lifeless at her sides.
Tony had acted very matter of fact about the whole thing, suggesting that she was standing in his way of a brighter future. What did that mean anyway, and no wonder she’d never felt any connection or burning intimacy with him. She craved and longed for a ‘Jessie’ to ride into town, pull her into his arms and ride off into the sunset, but no, here she was, two jobs later, the economy tanking and no mystery man, no ‘Count Dracula’ and thankfully no Tony Two-steps.
At 33, Valdosta had come as a bit of a shock, after all she’d put her resumes out to over 100 jurisdictions including Saginaw, Michigan, voted ten years running one of the worst and most dangerous places to live in the USA, however, even Saginaw needed a librarian and anything was better than wasting away in Podunksville, AZ collecting unemployment. The offer was enticing especially considering that they were prepared to hire her without an interview thus sparing her the cost of a plane ticket and the possible let down that would follow if she didn’t get the job. The Internet had been encouraging, listing warm temperatures, friendly small-town atmosphere, lower cost of living and lots of parks and trails that would lend themselves to Blanche’s need to keep her body toned.
Her years in Arizona and Utah had harbored within her a yearning to feel the warm rays of the sun caressing her limbs as she jogged the many river washes and ravines that crisscrossed the southwest desert. In Blanche’s mind she was an attractive woman, not really anything special. She had to admit that she was in good physical shape and had been amply blessed in the bosom department, although she never saw herself as busty. Her brothers had never given her any indication that she was shapely and continued to call her flat-chested even when the boys at school noted her sweaters were taking on a life of their own. She ate well, salads and nasty looking green ‘shakes’ that were supposed to cure anything. Holly, still her best friend, had characterized her meals as such, “You can live on 'em, but they taste like shit.” All in all, she was pleased with the possibilities of moving to Georgia and was looking for a fresh start, a new job, and even the notion that Mr. Right might come along and inject some excitement into her life. Barring that, she’d take a steady paycheck, a decent TV and maybe a cat.
The decision to leave Arizona had not been so cut and dried that she didn’t have second thoughts as she sat on the plane, knowing that everything in the world she owned was in the luggage compartment of the Boeing 727. She’d sold everything she could, given a bunch to friends and neighbors, including the ashtray that Tony had brought back from Jamaica on one of his ‘business trips’ that Blanche now knew to be ‘give me the business’ trips. Everything else had gone to charity or the local dumpster. She had saved the ashtray to give Holly as a special going away memento. It was round at the base like most ordinary ashtrays but had a rather large phallus, carved out of local Jamaican wood, that rose from the tray’s rim and defied gravity as it balanced on the table in front of them. When he had brought the odd gift home she thought perhaps he had purchased it to titillate her, but as she looked at it now, the undeniable truth struck her as somewhat funny.
Holly had been speechless when she saw the item. “I don’t know what to… Well, I really think it’s uh… Is it really possible that they ever get that big?” she finally said.
They shared a laugh and hug knowing that they wouldn’t get a chance to see each other until Christmas, if even then. The years following the split with Tony, Holly had been a great source of comfort and solace. They went to the gym together, often ate lunch at the plaza near Holly’s craft store where she sold local home made items and antiques. Blanche really didn’t know how she would make it without her lifelong confidant but was assured that they would only be as far apart as a phone call. Her family on the other hand needed some space from her or perhaps she needed the space from them. It was growing increasingly apparent that they didn’t approve of her lifestyle, and were disappointed that she didn’t have a husband, four children, a mortgage and a Dodge Caravan. That was not Blanche, never was, never would be. Something in the air told her she was meant for something different, something more, something unusual. She didn’t begrudge her friends and women who chose the path of a family and the whole 'settling down routine', but the books of her youth kept her searching for something that, most likely, was completely unattainable.
The farewells at the airport had been awkward but sincere. Tears had flowed freely as she kissed her nieces and nephews goodbye, hugged her mom and dad, and held Holly longer than she should have. “Yes, maybe life does start at 33,” she thought to herself, as she left the teary crew and made her way through security and onto the plane.