In This Town

Jess

“Let’s go to Arcola, Virginia, where residents have to deal with a horrific display in the center of their beloved town. With the silent tension weighing heavier than the heat of the day, citizens hustle by, trying not to accidentally glance at it.

In the center of the town, a bronze statue stands, taller than any man. The strong, metal arms of the late sailor Jenny Silver glint in the sunlight as she dips her sweetheart down for a passionate kiss. The face of Tabitha Owens is tilted back to meet Jenny’s mouth, eyes shut and thin arms wrapped around the sailor’s neck tightly.

The sculptor hired by the US government had done an incredible job, even remembering to include the scars; a thin one ran up Tabitha’s frail, right arm, and a jagged tangle glared down from Jenny’s right cheek. The hem of Tabitha’s dress is flipped up in the faux-breeze, and Jenny’s ponytail pools around her neck and over her shoulder.

This loving embrace, entombed in wrought steel, is considered the town’s biggest disappointment.

That’s right, the town of Alastair holds a deep contempt for this work of art. Pictured below, the statue was erected over 50 years ago in honor of the naval hero, Lieutenant Jennifer Silver. After single-handedly rescuing her crew from their demise, she was then she was awarded multiple medals. A few years later, she saved one of her crew members from being knocked overboard. She perished in the Normandy Invasion, and the US government insisted, due to her status and reputation, that the statue be displayed in her home town, depicting her reunion with her partner, Ms. Tabitha Owens, when Lieutenant Silver had returned to attend the awards ceremony.

The townsfolk did not approve of Ms. Owens’ and Ms. Silver’s lifestyle, and still don’t. Many highly respected members of the town’s government have been working tirelessly to get the statue removed to a different location, and some even insist it be demolished.

Mr. Evans, a local business owner and one of the town’s representatives, states, “We don’t want that kind ‘round here no more. We thought we was rid of them when that Jenny got herself kil’t.”

This opinion was shared by multiple other people that were interviewed, who preferred not to be named. Clearly, the town wants that statue gone, and it seems that this dream will become a reality soon, as multiple petitions are floating around, along with a growing movement of people who intent to take this to the state.

To sign these petitions, please mail your name and information to the following address:

120 W Capitol Avenue,

Arcola, Virginia”

“So how’s that?”

Mr. Hailey looked up from the paper.

“It’s good, Jess, real good. Knew you could do it. Haven’t let me down yet,” he grinned, his wrinkled face cracking as much as the pleather seat he lounged back into, “This is getting published.”

“Excellent! Glad I got that done. I don’t particularly like traveling. Or hot weather, for that matter.”

Pulling the bottom of my grey blazer down, I took a deep breath and brushed a few wrinkles away.

“Sure, sure. Hey, you did good, kid. You’re done for the day.”

“Thank you, sir! I really appreciate it!” A grin stretched across my face, revealing my upper teeth. I quickly shut my mouth.

“No problem, kid. Hey, Adams, how long you been working here again?”

I paused mid turn, slightly curious, “Just 2 years, sir.”

“Right. Knew you were one of the young ones. For a newbie, this is great work. Perfect for tomorrow, and just in time. Alright, now, go have fun.”

A couple more ‘thanks’ and I was on my way. I fully expected him to give me the day off, and had already booked an appointment for a mani/pedi-massage combo. He was pretty soft, easily satisfied, and had always like my work, usually giving me the rest of the day off for bigger pieces, if I got them in early. This job is fantastic. If not for the masses of interns muddling things up on the weekly, I’d barely have to try! I wish I could move up, though. I’m made for the magazine, not some tiny weekly newspaper. I can work hard!

Once in my car, I shed my jacket and heels and within 20 minutes I was sitting in a giant, vibrating, chair, my eyes closed and my feet soaking in warm water. As the woman working on me started on my pedicure, I began to drift off slightly. The music playing was some harp-sounding thing with some type of brook or stream in the background. On the other hand, I thought, it could easily be someone playing the banjo next to a running sink…God, I’ve been away for too long.

I was well into the manicure when the banjo/harp was rudely interrupted by someone’s phone going off. Jesus Christ! This is a high end spa, not some half-priced, strip-mall, pseudo-shop. It took me a second of everyone staring for me to realize it was mine. Okay, a few seconds of staring, plus I started tapping my foot to the song…

“Oh! Oh, oh dammit.”

“Miss Jessica, your phone!” the woman doing my mani hushed me, glancing around the room at her peeved customers.

“I know, I know! I got it…” I fumbled for a moment, trying not to mess up the still-wet undercoat on my nails, and, “Shit!” promptly dropped my phone.

I held up one apologetic hand to the spa as my other hand swiped the screen. Or, slapped, rather. I didn’t have use of my fingertips.

“Hello”

“Shh, Miss Jessica!”

“Okay!” I dropped down a few decibles, “Yes, this is Jessica Adams. Can I ask who…oh! Mr. Hailey, hello sir! What can I help you with?”

“Hey Jess, doll, I got a favor to ask you.”

I slumped, groaning internally, “Ok...”

“That story you wrote? Golden. Big man up top loved it.”

“That’s great! That’s really great,” I paused, realizing I was being buttered up with compliments before he dropped a bomb, “So? What’s the favor?”

“Yeah, ok. Well, he wants more.”

“More?? I traveled all the way down to Virginia! I tried to interview like half the town! What more does he want??”

“I know, doll. Like I said, you did good! The thing is, that Tabitha lady? The one from the statue? She’s still alive. Boss man wants the details. He wants the back story”

“Oh, Jesus.”

“But good news, doll. I got your back. You’ve been assigned an intern...”

“How is that good news?” My voice was back up to its full volume. Why would I want to work with some inexperienced college kid who doesn’t know what real journalism is and forgets to bring a pen and paper?

“Adams, listen!” His voice was patient. How condescending. “The good news is, if you get the full story, it could go into next month’s magazine. You get an entire section, photos, the whole caboodle.”

“Oh…my god. Are you serious? That is amazing! Thank you!”

There was a quick, “Told you I got your back, doll,” followed by a click.

“It is about-fricken-time!”

“Shhh, Miss Jessica!”

“Okay!!”