Page 3 of Wannabe in Wyoming
As she strolled up and down the aisles, filling her cart with food, cleaners, and other stuff on her list, she garnered a few more weird looks. Was it the tattoos and her pink hair or the fact she was a stranger? The first person who didn’t stare at her like she was an alien from another galaxy was a guy in aisle four, stocking the shelves with canned vegetables. In his late teens, he was tall and skinny, with dark hair sticking out in all directions. A red Pack & Sack vest covered a white T-shirt over a pair of baggy jeans and sneakers. He did a double take when he first saw her, then his eyes widened. “Wow, awesome ink—I love your sleeve.” He took a step closer and gestured to her tattoos. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all,” she said with a smile, as she extended her arm for him to get a better look, rotating it slowly, so he could see all the facets of the intricate designs.
“Wow, this is sick! I mean, it’s awesome! Who did the work?”
“A guy back in Philadelphia. I just moved here from there.”
His face fell for a moment before he went back to studying her tattoos in awe. “Damn. I was hoping the artist was local. My buddy got one last month, and between you and me, it was a shitty job.”
“What are you thinking of getting?”
He shrugged. “Haven’t decided yet. I have to wait at least seven more weeks until I turn eighteen. My mom won’t let me get one until then. I think she’s hoping I’ll forget about it, but I’ve been saving up for one. I just need to find someone better than the guy who did Bubba’s.”
Willow held in a bark of laughter, but only barely. “Um, is that a nickname or do people really name their kids Bubba around here?”
The young man chuckled. “Some people might, but in his case, his real name’s Bobby, but everyone’s called him Bubba since he was little. I’m Cody Moore by the way.”
He extended his hand which she shook. “Willow Crawford—it's nice to meet you, Cody.”
“Same here. So, what made you move from a big city to this hick town?”
Before she had a chance to respond, an obnoxious male voice boomed from behind her. “Cody, quit yer yappin’ and get back to work. Those shelves ain’t gonna stock themselves.”
Willow turned to see a heavyset, balding man striding towards them. The blue tie he wore, over a white button-down shirt, barely extended past the start of his swollen beer belly. He was red-faced and sweating, even though it was a comfortable sixty-five degrees or so in the store. The name tag above his left chest pocket read “Al Sanders, Manager”.
“Sorry, Mr. Sanders, I—”
Not wanting Cody to get into trouble, Willow cut him off. “He was just telling me what aisle the aspirin was in for this headache I suddenly have.” She smiled at the teen. “What aisle was it again?”
The look he shot her said he was grateful for her attempt to appease his boss. “Uh, aisle seven, Ms. Crawford. Let me know if you have trouble finding anything else.”
“Thank you, Cody. You’ve been very helpful.” She bit her tongue against saying anything rude to the manager and gave him a forced smile as he eyed her hair and tattoos. As she began to push her cart away, she added, “Have a nice day, gentlemen.”
Twenty minutes later, her cart was overflowing with bags as she steered it toward the exit. In between the interior and exterior sliding doors, there was a large community cork board where it seemed anyone could post announcements, business cards, lost and found flyers, and more. She paused and let her gaze scan them. Someone’s cat named Muffin was missing, and another person’s dog had puppies and they were free to good homes. A teenage girl was looking for a babysitting job. There was an announcement for that week’s Women’s Club meeting, and another for an upcoming book fair at the town’s library. A notice from the local American Legion Hall caught her eye.
Pen Pals Wanted:
Any Soldier, Inc.
The members of our armed forces would love to hear from you. The mission of Any Soldier, Inc. is to connect our deployed soldiers with people back home willing to write to them and send care packages when appropriate. Receiving mail greatly affects the morale of any soldier. Go to our website to be connected to a soldier in need today . . .
She finished reading the flyer and smiled. Back when she’d been in fourth grade, her class had adopted a soldier who’d been serving overseas. The students had sent him written letters and a care package twice a month during the school year, and their teacher would read his replies to them. Even though he would write one long letter to the entire class as often as he could, he’d taken the time to mention each of the students and comment about something from the individual messages they’d written to him. Two weeks before school ended, he’d come home from his deployment and surprised the class with a visit and a pizza party. Staff Sergeant Greg Sweeney—that’d been his name. Wow, she hadn’t thought about him in years. She remembered he’d said their letters had meant the world to him while he’d been away from his friends and family. Every time his name had been announced during mail call, it’d felt like he’d won the lottery when he received one of the class’s care packages filled with things to make his week a little brighter.
Willow didn’t have a pen and pad handy, so she pulled out her phone and snapped a photo of the flyer. Maybe after she was done with the massive cleanup job she was facing, she could send a soldier a “thank you for your service” letter.
Chapter Three
The next morning,Willow groaned as she sat up in bed. Between cleaning all afternoon and a restless night spent on an old worn-out mattress, her back was aching. Her first errand after coffee today would be a visit to both the furniture and appliance stores in Ferndale. A new bed was a priority, but she also needed to re-outfit the entire house, including a new fridge, stove, and microwave to start with. After uncovering a couch and a recliner yesterday, she’d been greeted by burnt orange fabric from the seventies that smelled like it hadn’t been cleaned once in its entire existence.
A trip to Walmart was also going to be in order for the day. She needed new linens, rugs, shower curtains, etc. for the bathrooms and bedroom, not to mention a bunch of things for the kitchen. She wasn’t a skilled cook, but even she saw the need for a decent set of pots, pans, plates, utensils, and glasses. The ones she’d found during her inventory check yesterday were unusable, in her opinion, and since she’d donated her old ones to a halfway house in Philly before she’d left, she had a list of everything she needed to buy.
Last night, she’d ended up having a pre-made salad for dinner that she’d gotten at the Pack & Sack, using the included plastic utensils, but tonight, she wanted to cook an actual meal. Snorting softly, she couldn’t help but giggle every time she thought of the store’s name. Who was the genius that named a store the Pack & Sack? The dick jokes she could come up with for that were endless.
Willow didn’t know much of anything about her father, but the more she saw of his house, the more she doubted they would’ve had anything in common. The man had not only been a slob, but he’d also been a bit of a pack rat. The closet in the bedroom was crammed full of boxes that appeared to be stuffed with old papers and receipts. Who needed a receipt for a gallon of milk they’d bought fifteen years ago? Her father had apparently.
That thought reminded her to call one of the numbers Howard had given her and have a roll-away dumpster sent over. She also needed to hire a crew of guys to come help toss the old broken-down furniture and appliances before new stuff could be delivered.
Sighing heavily, she rose and shuffled to the kitchen to start the coffee. Thankfully, it was the one appliance in the entire house that seemed new and in good shape. She guessed a single, male rancher could live with a craptastic bed and only two threadbare towels, but he couldn’t live without coffee. Who knows, maybe she did have something in common with the old man after all.
