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3 Paragraphs for Setting

It was the first Sunday being back in my old hometown of Patriot, NC. Patriot is a busy mid-sized city located on the Coast where the old “mom and pop” shops have all

been replaced by large chain retailers and big-box stores. The only locally owned restaurants that seem to survive are the seafood joints. I suppose that's to be expected when you're twenty minutes from the ocean. My mother insisted I attend church with her this weekend as it was "homecoming Sunday" and many parishioners of the past would

be in attendance. Regular church attendance in my current city, Raleigh, NC, was still something I did but it was a totally different experience. My church in Raleigh wasn't even the same denomination and the services felt more alive. This morning I paused and took in the sweet smell of the flowers in the breeze before I stepped the couple of steps leading to what looked like more of a stage than a portico of Blessed Immanuel Church. At one time it was one of the most beautiful and impressive churches in the city and I was proud to tell everyone I was a member there. It was new and shiny and had the tallest and grandest of steeples. Now it looked like it needed a bit of work. It wasn't so shiny and I reflected on the wear and tear and disrepair. Even though I wasn't excited to enter this place, I still felt it was such a shame that its beauty had dulled. As I walked into the foyer and shook hands with the friendly usher who handed me the ever-important church bulletin and as I stepped into the sanctuary I felt as if I’d stepped back in time.

The blue of the pews and carpet were now faded and a bit musty but inviting and I felt a twinge of nostalgia as they seemed to welcome me home. Mom waved at a stout but pretty young woman who smiled and waved back while simultaneously grabbing at a toddler that was trying to retreat. Mom whispered in my direction, “She used to be so pretty but she gained all that weight with her second child and I don’t think she will ever lose it. She’d better be careful. Her husband is very attractive!” This is typical for Mom when she sees any attractive woman—harp on the worst thing she can possible think of—so I just turned my head and walked to the pew I knew without any direction on her part we’d be sitting in. We always sat there—the Brayden family. Over the years the amount of Braydens on the pew has shrunk to one—Mom. This has allowed for some new comers to Blessed Immanuel to encroach on her territory but no one—NO ONE—attempts to sit in either her or my deceased father’s seat. It is an unspoken rule. Oh, it’s not just the Braydens. The Morrows, the Kingstons, and the Friedman’s all have their own pews. They weren’t “officially” reserved but it was just a known fact that could only be proved by the evidence of habit. There was another family with more than one pew all their own. There were so many family units from this one particular family that they were scattered all over the church. That family was my favorite. That family was the Ashtons.

I sat on our pew listening to the musicians tune and warm up their instruments and the watched as the choir loading themselves in the loft. Joan Ashton was right there next to Mom with Trudy Morrow next to her and Jenny Friedman next to her. This was their order. For thirty years they had stood next to one another in this choir. It brought a smile to my face then a little bit of sadness as I realized Patricia Kingston should be next to Joan but cancer had stolen her away just as it stole my father—too soon. I caught a conspiratorial whisper and wink between my mom and Joan but this wasn’t unusual so I didn’t think anything of it. Oh, but I was wrong! I should have been suspicious from the start but I’ll get to all that later. The song leader, (one of the Mr. Morrows) went up to the podium and indicated for us all to stand for our first prayer and song. After all the music, Pastor Monroe (not to be confused with Morrow) preached a sermon complete with spit upon anyone sitting on the front row. The pianist came up when the Pastor gave an altar call and after the last prayer we were dismissed. And this was the last moment I had any control over my plans for the summer.

One Paragraph Summary

A woman returns to her hometown for the summer to refresh and refocus. She stays at her mother’s quiet home with her mutt of a dog no one can quite figure the breed of. She plans on reflecting and reading on the beach and on her mom’s front porch swing before she heads back to the bustle of her life in the city. One Sunday morning, she runs into her old friend, Jessie, who was the one of the biggest regrets of her life. Jessie has fallen on hard times. Can she figure out what went wrong 20 years ago while also helping Jessie get back to himself? Will they remain “just friends” or will they finally become what Jessie always thought they were meant to be.

Rough Draft of Short Story

It was 2019 and Natalie hadn’t been back to her hometown for almost 8 months. She left twenty-two years ago at the age of 17 to her first-choice college and never looked back. When she did visit, times which were few and far between, she would only stay a few days, half a week at most. Natalie never felt home in Patriot, NC, a busy, mid-sized city located on the coast where the old “mom and pop” shops have all been replaced by large chain retailers and big-box stores. The only locally owned restaurants that seem to survive are the seafood joints. I suppose that's to be expected when you're twenty minutes from the ocean. It felt less like home now that she’d lived in the much larger city of Raleigh, NC for the past fifteen years. Before that she spent her time between school at Chapel Hill and living either in Carrboro or Durham when she got out of the dorms. She loved the city and all the interesting things to do downtown. Patriot just couldn’t compete. The only reason Natalie was now driving down I-40 back to Patriot was because a year ago her husband of 12 years had passed away. She’d lived in the home they’d shared together since then but now had made the decision to sell it and start a new story of her own. Because this was the first time she’d needed to do this alone in 12 years, she thought it’d be a good idea to take some time to reflect on the decision and figure out what she really wanted to do now. For the first time in her life, she wasn’t sure and that bothered her. She thought the best way to focus on what you want is to know what you don’t want and Natalie did not want to live or spend a lot of time in Patriot. So that’s where she went.

“Mom, I’m here!” Natalie called out as she opened the back-screen door with her suitcase falling down her arm and Daisy her little sidekick mutt ran between her legs to get into the air conditioning.

“Don’t let the flies in!” her mother called back. Her mother had never been the warm or nurturing type so this was all the greeting she was going to get. Natalie quickly squeezed into the door and made her way to her childhood bedroom. Yep. Still plaid everywhere. Ah, the 90’s. Natalie jumped as her mom appeared behind her in the doorway. “I thought we could do some shopping to update your room décor and then grab some dinner. It sure looks dated in here. Have you lost weight? Did you cut your hair or did a salon do that?”

“Um, hello, Mom. Sure, we can shop. It does look like 1996 grunge threw up all over this room. I am the exact same weight as last time you saw me. And, yes, a hairdresser did cut my hair recently. I wanted it to be easy to wash and dry when I get back from the beach.”

“Humph. You should let it grow. It’s so pretty long. Where do you want to go for dinner?”

And this is how I expected most of our interactions to go this summer. Her making suggestions then insulting me in a “helpful” way and then me deflecting. This had been our way since the day I turned 15.

It was the first Sunday being back in my old hometown of Patriot, NC. My mother insisted I attend church with her this weekend as it was "homecoming Sunday" and many parishioners of the past would be in attendance. Regular church attendance in my current city, Raleigh, NC, was still something I did but it was a totally different experience. My church in Raleigh wasn't even the same denomination and the services felt more alive. This morning I paused and took in the sweet smell of the flowers in the breeze before I went up the couple of steps leading to what looked like more of a stage than a portico of Blessed Immanuel Church. At one time it was one of the most beautiful and impressive churches in the city and I was proud to tell everyone I was a member there. It was new and shiny and had the tallest and grandest of steeples. Now it looked like it needed a bit of work. It wasn't so shiny and I reflected on the neglected wear and tear. Even though I wasn't excited to enter this place, I still felt it was such a shame that its beauty had dulled. I walked into the foyer and shook hands with the friendly usher who handed me the ever-important church bulletin then I stepped into the sanctuary and felt as if I’d stepped back in time.

The blue of the pews and carpet were now faded and a bit musty but inviting and I felt a twinge of nostalgia as they seemed to welcome me home. Mom waved at a stout but pretty young woman who smiled and waved back while simultaneously grabbing at a toddler that was trying to retreat. Mom whispered in my direction, “She used to be so pretty but she gained all that weight with her second child and I don’t think she will ever lose it. She’d better be careful. Her husband is very attractive!” This is typical for Mom when she sees any attractive woman—harp on the worst thing she can possibly think of—so I just turned my head and walked to the pew I knew without any direction on her part we’d be sitting in. We always sat there—the Brayden family. Over the years the amount of Braydens on the pew has shrunk to one—Mom. This has allowed for some new comers to Blessed Immanuel to encroach on her territory but no one—NO ONE—attempts to sit in either her or my deceased father’s seat. It is an unspoken rule. Oh, it’s not just the Braydens. The Morrows, the Kingstons, and the Friedman’s all have their own pews. They weren’t “officially” reserved but it was just a known fact that could only be proved by the evidence of habit. There was another family with more than one pew all their own. There were so many family units from this one particular family that they were scattered all over the church. That family was my favorite. That family was the Ashtons.

I sat on our pew listening to the musicians tune and warm up their instruments and then watched as the choir loaded themselves in the loft. Joan Ashton was right there next to Mom with Trudy Morrow next to her and Jenny Friedman next to her. This was their order. For thirty years they had stood next to one another in this choir. It brought a smile to my face then a little bit of sadness as I realized Patricia Kingston should be next to Joan but cancer had stolen her away just as it stole my father—too soon. I caught a conspiratorial whisper and wink between my mom and Joan but this wasn’t unusual so I didn’t think anything of it. Oh, but I was wrong! I should have been suspicious from the start but I’ll get to all that later. The song leader, (one of the Mr. Morrows) went up to the podium and indicated for us all to stand for our first prayer and song. After all the music, Pastor Monroe (not to be confused with Morrow) preached a sermon complete with spit upon anyone sitting on the front row. The pianist came up when the Pastor gave an altar call and after the last prayer we were dismissed. And this was the last moment I had any control over my plans for the summer.

“Come over here, Natalie,” mom said all casual like, “look who is also back in town for a while with his mom.” Confused, I walked over to where my mom lead. All I could see was the “big” of Joan Ashton’s hair but when she turned to the side, I got a good look. There he was. Jessie Ashton.

“What are you doing here?” he asked with a bit of disbelief.

“Just visiting for a bit. How have you been?” was my response though inside my mind, like an old cartoon, I was running a finger up and down in between my lips doing raspberries. What on earth was he doing here? Had he never left? What on earth did he do for a living? Like what? All the questions ran through my mind and I it took all my will power not to let them spew from my mouth.
Let me explain. My family came to Blessed Immanuel when I was 10. That’s when I met Jessie, Jasmine, and Tracy. Our mothers were in choir together as well a little singing group together and that meant we spent hours together every week not only in Sunday School and Youth Group, but running up and down the halls of an otherwise empty church trying to entertain ourselves as our mother’s practiced. I was friends with all of them including their siblings but Jessie and I had a lot more in common and we became best friends. We both were into sports at our respective schools, both had beautiful, demanding mothers, both had good grades, and we both enjoyed finding the humor in every flaw we found in Patriot. I knew that Jasmine and Tracy stayed and were raising families in Patriot but I had always assumed Jessie had left so I was really shocked to see him there. I was also a little embarrassed as I no longer possessed a tight athlete’s body and didn’t want to be a disappointment. That thought alone scared me to death because I was a very confident person who owned every inch of myself and never really cared what anyone else thought. Here’s the thing. Jessie always had a crush on me but I never gave him a chance. On top of embarrassment I felt a stab of being a douchebag for still wanting him to want me. I had always regretted not giving him a chance but giving him a chance might have held me back and I didn’t want to stay.

I had to shake myself back to reality when I heard his response, “I’ve been ok but things have been better. I’ll be back in town for a while myself while I sort things out. Are you staying for the Homecoming Dinner? We can catch up. I’d love to hear what you’ve been up to lately.” The first part of all that I heard as if I were underwater but when I got my hearing and heartbeat back, I responded lightly with, “Of course, we are staying. We brought the potato salad!” Genius words.

We walked behind our mothers along with the flow of church goers to the fellowship hall where we’d be eating our homecoming feast. As soon we entered the door, the mothers split leaving Jessie and I to find our seats. We found a place near the rear of the room, bathroom and exit adjacent, as had always been our custom. When we sat down it was just like it had always been. Sit down, lean back, and wait for the long line of hungry Free Will Baptists to die down. While we waited, Jessie looked through the crowd as if expecting someone important to walk in any moment. “Looking for an escape or looking for someone?” I asked. The answer came when Joan caught the bouncing body of a little girl with black hair, blue eyes, and a smile as big the room.

“There she is!” was Jessie’s reply. I’m not sure what the look on my face betrayed but Jessie picked up on it quickly. “That’s my daughter, Sadie. She’s why we are here. Well, one of the reasons. Her mom took off a while ago and I wanted some help with the little one. She’s three.” Joan looked over at us then whisked little Sadie away to her own table. Now I knew this was a conspiracy.

“She looks just you. Is she doing well with everything?” I asked with concern. I tried to hide any shock my voice my portray. Why would anyone leave their daughter? Why would anyone leave Jessie?

“Oh, you know kids. They are resilient and all that,” Jessie sighed, “She’s handled it all a lot better than me.”

I didn’t know what to say as I had no knowledge of any of this and no idea of the back story of it all. Suddenly, I felt a bit ashamed of myself. Jessie was one of my closest friends growing up and I had run so fast and far away that I had no idea of his joy or pain for the past twenty years. I felt awful. Jessie must have misinterpreted my downward gaze and he quickly added, “Oh, I’m fine now! Her mom and I didn’t really mesh the past few years so it wasn’t a big surprise to anyone but the way she left and left Sadie, that almost did me in. I even lost my job.”

“No, I was just feeling horrible about myself for not being aware. I didn’t keep in touch—didn’t even know you got married much less were a dad. I mean, I assumed as much but didn’t know. I got out of here so fast and never looked back after high school and left people I care about behind too. Guess, I just realized how selfish that makes me. Truly, I wish I could have been there and helped you out. Listen at me talking about myself and how I feel. That doesn’t matter now. I’m so sorry all that happened. Is there anything I can do to help? Don’t know what, but I’m here for the summer.” Then I felt like an idiot because out of habit I reached in my bag and handed him my card as if he didn’t already know how to reach me. This really broke the tension because when we both broke into fits of laughter complete with stomach cramps and tears.

“Oh, I’ve missed you and your nutty ways!” Jessie said in between giggles. “I think this is the most I’ve laughed since being back home.”

“Well, I’m glad I’ve been of service,” trying to get it together. We were starting to get stares from the southern ladies eating their fried chicken. “Where were you living before?” I asked.

“Cary. I was a football coach and history teacher at Weston High School. Best gig a former jock could ask for. Lost it because of politics. Long story. Some other time.” Jessie looked down on the last part then looked up at the buffet line and said, “I think its safe now. Let’s get some grub.”

“Oh, I thought you’d never ask. Dodging Monroe’s spittle on a Sunday morning works up the appetite,” was my cheerful reply. I was happy to move beyond this seriousness. Walking up to the buffet and grabbing plates I turned to Jessie, “You know I wasn’t too far from you. I live in Raleigh.”

“I know. Your mom never ceased to mention how you ‘never visit from Raleigh’ whenever I’d come home for holidays,” he replied with a smirk.

With a sarcastic laugh I said, “Oh, just rub it in how I never visit and I’m a terrible daughter.”

“Whoa! I never thought you were a terrible daughter. I just figured you’d finally found a way to escape crazy mothers. I’d like some tips on that by the way,” he laughed.

“Don’t you ever say anything horrible about your mother. She is sweet and loving and all domestic and stuff. I envy you your awesome mother,” I jabbed back in jest.

“You’re right. My mom’s better than your mom,” Jessie agreed in a sing song voice. “Hey, is there something wrong with this barbeque that I don’t’ know about?”

“No, why?”

“You don’t have any on your plate.”

“Oh,” pointing to myself, “vegetarian.”

“What? You or the barbeque because if it’s the barbeque I’m definitely putting it back.”

Again, I pointed at myself, “Me. I’m a vegetarian, you goofball. Do you think all these tobacco farmers in here would be eating vegetarian barbeque? Wait. I’d actually pay to see someone try to serve that here.” Then I stroked my chin conspiratorially.

As we sat back down at our table, Jessie, while loading his food up with salt, looked over at me and asked, “So, what brings you back to town for the summer?”

I swallowed my potato salad and answered, “The short answer is I’m selling my house in Raleigh and want to take the time to shop a little before I buy a new one so I get what I want. The long answer has something to do with that fact that my husband of twelve years died a year ago and I want out of that house now and need time to figure out what I want. Figured I’d recharge on the beach because, as you know, Raleigh doesn’t have an ocean, and spend some time figuring it all out.”

Jessie looked at me somberly and said, “Well, if you figure it all out, let me know how you do it. Sorry, by the way, about your husband. I do remember hearing about it right after. Sorry, I wasn’t there for you either.”

“Don’t worry about it. We hadn’t been that close for quite some time up until the end—my husband and me I mean. Even longer story. It was hard but I have great friends back home and they helped me through.”

“Ha, back home. You never really thought of Patriot as your home, did you?”

“Guess not. I’ve lived in the Triangle just as long as I lived here, longer I suppose, and I do feel more at home there than I ever did here. Nothing against it, it’s just never been me.”

“Well, I’m sorry about the circumstances but I’m glad you’re back. At least for a little while. I don’t want to have be here all on my own.” Jessie ended with a smile.

I knew with that smile and the look in his eyes and the flutter in my chest that whatever Jessie needed this summer he wound not be at all alone. I would be there with him no matter what.

Notes: I know I need to change the opening POV to first person. I figured out how to do that but I left as is since this is my first draft. I feel like I have issues with knowing what to do at speaking parts (i.e. "he saids, she says). What are some ways to address this?

Natasha Medina

Getting my "learn" on!!

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