I’m Not from Here. Will Willimon

mentor, the great . . .”

      Looking over his shoulder, Grimes called out, “Somebody go tell that boy to stop smoking near the church steps!” The acolyte, free of his cassock, was lighting up on the sidewalk. “We got company here.”

      “Oh, that’s alright,” Felix said. “Though smoking is wrong for me, I do feel people ought to be free to . . .”

      Grimes, ignoring Felix’s comments, wheeled about and coaxed a young woman toward Felix with the words, “Here. This is my precious little Margarita. I want you to know that it’s not really a Spanish name.” He laughed loudly.

      “You young folks go ahead and get to know each other. Margarita honey, you make Fred feel welcome. I fear Fred is not long with us. Maybe you can make it worth his while to stay awhile. Get him to take off his shoes.”

      The girl smiled shyly as she and Felix moved to the edge of the street. He nervously chattered, comparing Salisbury with Galilee, mentioning the heat, asking her where was a good place to get groceries, repeating his actual name. When she apologized for the heat, Felix told her about his childhood asthma. He had learned to be content in almost any weather because, as he told himself, everything depends on how you look at it. All a matter of what’s in your heart.

      “What’s in the heart means everything to me,” she said. He beamed when she explained, “You’re gonna find that there’s not many folks our age in this dead town. Not many have got much heart left. You’ll let me show you around, won’t you? Nothin’ more interesting than a good-hearted boy, particularly one that we don’t know nothin’ about.”

      “That would be great!” As they swapped phone numbers, Felix’s Gotcha buzzed with a new text: B & E MON AM GIT YOKLE LST AT CT. HSE. MARGARET MEAD.

      He turned aside to decipher: Bright and early Monday morning (or perhaps brash and eager?); obtain list of local farmers from the county courthouse.

      “I know you are just so busy getting settled,” she said. “But I hope you will have time to hang out. Everybody but Daddy calls me Rita. Wouldn’t want to see you get too settled.”

      He noted her pure, pale face, the perfect complement to her blonde hair. The lace collar on her dress suggested that she was an old-fashioned sort of girl. Friendly, not pushy, he thought. Good-hearted. He could hardly believe his good fortune to have met so nice a girl on his first full day in town.

      “I’ll call later, Felix,” she said with a wink as her father led her and the thin, blonde woman (her mother?) down the street toward their car.

      Felix’s slight smile and curt wave concealed his great delight.

      “And son,” said Grimes in a lowered voice, “in the future please use the attendance pads for what they supposed to be used for, not to sound off with your pet peeves. I can tell that you are the sort of young man on the way up who doesn’t mind good advice. You’re not a Democrat are you, by any chance? I know somebody up in South Carolina who is a member of the party. Can’t think of his name right now. Well, good to meet you, Frank.”

      “I’m more of a seeker, actually, than a member of any political party,” said Felix to Mr. Grimes’ backside.

      A couple of old folks smiled but did not speak as Felix turned toward his apartment. The heat of midday was now scorching in its intensity, but Felix was light-hearted as he made his way back to a Sunday peanut butter sandwich at his new home, pleased at his good luck his first Sunday in Galilee, thrilled at having met a girl like Rita and a fellow traveler like the pastor. It’s like I’m already home. He spent the rest of the afternoon sitting in front of his whining air conditioner reading Gibran in one hand and the Gotcha sales manual in the other.

      * * *

      Late that same Sabbath, near dusk, when he was reasonably sure that Galilee had cooled a few degrees, Felix set out to get gas for his Corolla. Finding a lone gas station toward the edge of town, he treated his car to a full tank of regular. When he returned, he was shocked to see a woman standing on the landing at the top of the steps before the door of his apartment. She turned and looked toward the street, and he recognized Rita. She had changed out of her church clothes and into a snug T-shirt and tighter cutoff jeans.

      “‘My, my,’ I said to myself, ‘that rascal is prowling around town already,’” she called to him cheerfully. “Looking for action, Mr. Newcomer?”

      “Actually, I went to get some gas,” Felix replied.

      Standing with Rita on the stoop, Felix fumbled for words, managing only another comment about the heat, then his surprise at finding just one gas station and the challenge of preparing for his first day of sales.

      “Well, aren’t you going to invite me in?” Rita asked. “I’m wringing wet. Sweating bad. Besides, I brought you some of Mama’s red velvet cake.” She offered him a plastic container. “Don’t worry. She don’t use that red dye that kills people. A little heavy on the vanilla, but most folks like it.”

      “Uh, I wasn’t sure if it was right to invite a woman, or anybody for that matter, into my little apartment. I haven’t got but one chair, so I’d have to sit on the bed, so . . .”

      “You’re silly,” she said as she breezily brushed around him and opened his screen door, letting herself into the apartment. “God it’s hot in here.”

      “My landlady requested that I turn off my air conditioner when I leave,” Felix explained.

      “That’s when you should have requested her to go to hell,” said Rita as she plopped on the bed, leaving Felix to sit stiffly in the chair as they talked. She advised him of the one good place to eat in town, laughing at his admission that he had already eaten at Robert’s Drive-In. (“Nasty,” she pronounced.) Then Rita gave him a thumbnail history of Galilee’s economic ups and downs (tied directly to the price of cotton). Felix listened with rapt attention. She moved from sitting on the bed to lounging there, head propped up on a pillow, gesturing with her left hand as she oriented Felix to Galilee. His genuine interest in her narrative was disarming to Rita, unaccustomed as she was to anyone listening as she talked.

      “The only job I could get in this hurtin’ town is at Tarbox Insurance,” she said.

      “I passed by there this morning,” Felix said, brightening.

      “It’s a dump. And I get barely minimum wage to do nothing but answer the phone. Rings about twice a day. And to file some policy, if creepy old Mr. Tarbox ever sells one. So you can see why I’m so glad to see a new boy like you show up.”

      After an awkward pause Felix nervously interjected, “‘Let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening of the spirit.’” Rita acted as if she hadn’t heard him and continued to prattle on about life in Galilee.

      At length she suddenly sat up and said, “Why, it’s next to dark. Surely it’s cool outside. Let’s go for a walk.” Felix, who had been wondering what next, jumped up and said, “Great idea! Walking is so good for you. I like to stroll.”

      “Well I don’t,” said Rita as she exited the apartment. “You’re not suggesting I need to worry about my weight, are you?” she asked, thrusting her hips to one side and putting her hands on her exposed tummy. “But what else is there to do in a place like this? Besides, I want to keep this little body in shape.” She patted her hips for emphasis.