WESTON
I’d known Bramble Woods was a small town long before I made the trek here. Heck, I had the exact population memorized and had included all the demographics in my grant proposals. I’d looked at maps and photos. I thought I understood exactly what I was getting into by coming here, and still, it took me aback just how small this town was. It wasn’t small, necessarily, in area, although no one would call it huge, but it was the epitome of small-town stereotypes from what I’d seen so far.
I’d decided to come ahead of my team, to pave the way for them and to get integrated into the town a little bit. I knew that I would stand out. I was a city boy, and even though I tried to wear clothes that gave less of that vibe, I looked like I was cosplaying more than belonging. Adding to that, my warm winter gear was all new. No one would look at it and see years of use or even a season’s wear. Maybe it was me being paranoid, but I swore I saw curtains moving as I drove through town, suggesting people had been watching.
I had a lot of work to do because if I wanted to be able to talk to the locals, use their resources, and have them not get in our way,then they needed to trust me. And people didn’t trust scientists on a good day. It didn’t matter where you were or what kind of science you were doing, there was this innate mistrust that came with the field.
My first stop was the B&B where I checked in and dropped off my belongings. I didn’t plan to be there for much more than sleep. A “newcomer” who hid in their room was only going to add to people's suspicions. At least that was my theory.
My first trip from there was to Mike’s Place, the local bar/restaurant. Between social media and random Google searches, I’d already decided that was probably where the locals would hang out. It made sense. It had food and drink. It was a place where you could congregate and not necessarily have to spend much money.
When I walked in, I might as well have had a bullhorn announcing my arrival. Every single person turned to look at me, from the staff to the scattered patrons. I picked up my hand to do a half-wave. Why? I could only blame nerves. It was not the way to blend in. Not surprisingly, I didn’t get a single wave in return, but they snapped back to whatever they were doing before, so I called it a win.
There weren’t a lot of tables, nothing like what I was used to, but I found one on the back wall and picked up the menu. It was printed on a piece of regular old copy paper and had beer rings on it from where people had used it as a coaster. Most of the letters were smudged, but it wasn’t something I really needed a lot of help to decipher. There were no fancy French names for sauces or complicated menu items. It was burgers, fries, a handful of beers and snacks, basically typical bar fare. The appetizer list consisted of only things you could throw in a deep fryer, and the desserts were vanilla ice cream or vanilla icecream with chocolate sauce… done. But it was good that it wasn’t complicated. I could look over it and check out the people.
There were definitely customers who were here just for a drink after work, having a drink and talking to the bartender or their neighbor and unwinding. Others were here to eat a meal. And there was a group playing cards.
A group of three men came in and sat down at the table beside me after being greeted by pretty much everybody that walked past.
“So, what’s good here?” I said. It was the easiest way to make a start, and the longer I was here without being social, the more difficult that would be.
“Nothing,” the one who appeared the oldest said.
His friend smacked him on the shoulder. “Cut it out. You’ll scare him away.”
I couldn’t decipher the look from the first man, whether he thought scaring me away was actually the ideal result or not.
“Just stick with the burgers,” the friend said. “You can’t go wrong with the burgers. And don’t try to order it some fancy way. It comes how it comes. Here, if you say you want it rare, it comes medium-well. You say you want it medium, it comes medium-well. You say you want it well-done, it comes medium-well.”
“Noted.” Good thing I wasn’t picky about my burgers.
“You’re staying at the B&B?” the one who hadn’t spoken yet piped in.
“Yeah, I’m Weston. How’d you know?”
“Because if you had relatives here, you’d be with them, and there’s nowhere else to stay.” He didn’t introduce himself.
If this was going to be how it consistently went, it was going to be a long dinner.
“Yeah, that’s true.” And something I should’ve considered on my own.
“What are you here for?” the oldest of them asked. It would be nice if they would give me their names already, but it felt like maybe that ship had sailed. “Passing through?”
“More for work. I’m here studying wildlife.”
“Ah, one of those college types,” someone from another table said. I didn’t see who. Great, the entire place was listening in.
I shrugged. I wasn’t sure what “those college types” meant, so I stuck with not saying too much.
“We do have a lot of wildlife here,” the older man said. “But come hunting season, you see a lot less of it.” He laughed at his own joke, and I wasn’t sure I got it. I supposed it didn’t matter since I was neither a hunter nor prey.
“Is hunting season now?” I hadn’t factored that into my timing.
“Nah, you’re good. On the safe side, be sure to wear bright orange and flashing lights.” He laughed again. At least he was amused by his humor because no one else cracked a smile.
“What are you studying, specifically? Like the birds, the trees, the fish?”
“Actually, the polar bears.”
