I’ve only got a little bit of time before I need to be home, but something about hearing other people’s problems makes my own feel farther and farther away. Maybethat’s what Mom likes so much about her job. Some problems make mine feel small and others make them feel bigger, but for a town so small, there are still an awful lot of problems.
Arguing siblings, lying significant others, nosy neighbors... it goes on and on. Some people just write to ask Miss Flora Mae about the best way to get rid of a stain in the couch or what her favorite recipes are. It makes me wonder how many of these people are just lonely.
I always thought of Miss Flora Mae as this eccentric old lady who never let anyone in, but maybe that’s not true. Maybe this is her way of letting people in.
There’s one letter, though, that I find myself reading over and over again.
Dear Miss Flora Mae,
My very best friend just moved back home to Valentine after being gone for over fifteen years. She left for a new life and never loved this place the way I have. Some people aren’t meant for small-town life. She promised she’d call and write, and she did at first, but as her life changed and mine stayed the same, the phone stopped ringing and the mailbox sat empty.
Life events have led her back home for a season, and I want to be there for her. I wantto be the friend she left behind all those years ago, but I can’t do the work of being there for her only to experience the pain of being left again. Fool me once. Shame on you. Fool me twice. Shame on me.
Sincerely,
Nobody’s Fool
Beside me, the radio crackles as the DJ’s voice booms, “And to kick off our commercial-free Thursday night, let’s get a little love from Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell. ‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.’”
The first few notes play, and a few chimes ring in before a smooth voice croons about mountains and valleys and rivers. A woman’s voice scoops in. “If you need me call me, no matter where you are, no matter how far...”
I hold the letter close to my chest and sway back and forth to the song while Miss Flora Mae’s plants seem to drift along with me, their leaves waving back and forth.
Kiera and I didn’t fall apart overnight. Because most things happen a little bit at a time until suddenly you wake up one day and realize things are too different to ignore. My breakup with Kiera started out as tiny cracks until finally it was easier to be rude to each other than it was to pretend to be nice and smooth things over. All the feelings I had about her and her new friends felt too complicated to sift through,and the thought of not knowing where I stood with Kiera was almost worse than her just telling me to get lost. It’s like when your cubby at school is such a mess that it’s easier to throw everything out than it is to figure out what’s worth keeping.
The truth is I never tried to save us. I never stood up for us and the friendship we had.
I stand up with the note still clenched in my fist and take the rest of the letters and the responses I’ve jotted down so I can type them all. But first I crank up the volume and go sit on Miss Flora Mae’s front porch with her cat-eye glasses that you can poke your finger straight through because there are no lenses.
Dear Nobody’s Fool,
No one wants to get hurt twice. Sometimes people change, and I guess sometimes they don’t, but it sounds like your old friend needs you right now. You might be surprised to find out you need them too.
I wish I could tell you that everything will be fine, but loving people is risky business. Things don’t always pan out how we think they should. But I gotta think that when the risk is worth it, it’s super worth it.
Sincerely,
Miss Flora Mae
On Friday morning I wake up thinking about the letter I penned last night and how maybe I should follow my own advice. Oscar chatters at me as we walk into school, but my mind is playing the same conversation over and over again in my head.
As we walk into our classroom, we split off in different directions for our desks. “See you at break.”
I slide into my chair. Kiera’s already sitting there in front of me, concentrating on the daisy she’s doodling on her homework folder.
I open my mouth and form the words, but no sound comes out.
I clear my throat and try again.
“Hey, Kiera.” My voice sounds so weird, like I’ve just woken up or something.
I watch over her shoulder as she finishes shading in a leaf. Finally, she turns around.
I expect her to say something like,Um, yeah?OrWhat do you want?But she doesn’t. She just sits there and waits for me to speak.
She doesn’t look like her normal bright self. Her under-eyes are puffy, and her lips are dry and chapped.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
