A Little House on the Prairie

It was a startling change of pace; from the rapacious, always-awake city of taxicabs and three-story billboards, to the absolute silence and openness of the new small town. Brick buildings and empty storefronts replaced the token homeless people, and the endless subway which made everyone feel like sardines. Here was an endless sea of corn, blowing in the wind. Here, the nights were infinitely dark; and the brilliance of the milky way wheeled in the night sky, displayed in its full majesty.

He traded in his Lexus for a red Ford truck, with rust and a bench seat. He first saw her walking home from the general store, groceries under her arm, long blond hair blowing in the wind. She wore a green plaid buttondown that day.

Time passed, and as their relationship grew, he met her family. Her dad was robust, and showed him the guns hung prominently on the  wall next to the bodies and heads of a myriad of different animals. Later, they would become good friends, and share manly, grunted conversations about politics.

He got a good job teaching, and they would spend long, breezy spring afternoons holding hands and looking at the Charlie Brown style clouds blowing by overhead. Nineteen months later, they were married, and their first baby soon followed.

The next few years were filled with happiness. Then, slowly, like a terminal illness, silence crept subtly in. His darkness lashed out every now and then, and she grew distant. They stopped holding hands at sunday socials. A steady spiral downward seemed inescapable. Their son and their daughter became the center of their lives. Separation and sadness became their nightly routine.

Several years washed over them. The small town became suffocating for him. The big problems which had caused him to flee the city somehow seemed less terrifying than a life spent in the daily grind. By now, his red truck had been replaced with a mid-sized sedan, and his teaching job became intolerably tedious.

One night, he stood holding her hands on the porch, and looking into her blue eyes which streaked with tears. The wind blew across the prairie and tousled her hair and tugged at the hem of her dress. A suitcase sat next to his feet. Someday, he assured her, she would understand. This was better for everyone. And please don’t call your dad or your brother until I am out of town. They’ll kill me, he said.

The greyhound swayed back and forth, squeaking and snorting down the highway. He laid his head against the window, and tiny drops of rain streaked the view.

End