The Ranger's Passionate Love

Kyara looked around the empty room. Shafts of sunlight streamed through the windows to illuminate blocks of the polished, wooden floors.

Dust motes danced in those sunbeams. The tables scattered throughout the center of the room looked lonely and barren, like they were abandoned, rather than waiting.

Why doesn't this look right, yet?
wondered Kyara.
I've poured almost everything I have into this, and it still doesn't look right. If I don't get it right by the opening tomorrow night....

Kyara didn't let herself finish the thought. Instead she pulled her attention back to the food pass, making sure everything was set up. The pass was polished, the clip for the tickets tight. The heat lamp had worked the last twelve times she'd checked. It still did.

The fresh ingredients wouldn't come in until the morning, of course. Her father never would have forgiven her if she cooked with anything other than fresh ingredients. A surge of sadness traveled through her as she thought of her father, and again she had to push it away.

Oh, Papa, I wish you could be here to help me. I’m so lonely here.

She had tried pretending to talk to him at night. Sometimes she could almost hear his voice and what he would say. But with his grave so many hundreds of miles away back in Atlanta, doing so mostly just hurt. She'd had to stop after a while so she didn't cry herself to sleep every night.

Again, Kyara pulled her attention back to the problem in front of her. She made herself go check the tables, the checkered linens flapping gently as she moved past them. The silverware was rolled and ready to go out. The lights worked.

It was while looking at the lamps on the walls that it finally clicked.

The walls are too bare. They need decoration.
Kyara shook her head at herself for having missed it. Not that she could really be blamed with everything she'd had to do, but it seemed so obvious now.

Maybe the general store has something? I've got to at least check.

Kyara turned, relieved to finally have something she could actually do to improve her little restaurant. She walked out the door, letting it swing closed behind her before she turned to lock it.

The street outside was bright, sunny, and muggy. The lazy AC unit in the restaurant may not have seemed to be doing much, but apparently it was. Kyara looked down at herself ruefully. Her cute little scoop-neck, a clinging royal purple which Kyara thought looked great against the dark chocolate of her skin, would be covered in sweat if she didn’t hurry.

Not that I want to attract attention, but it never hurts to look your best.

Kyara bustled down the street, taking in the view of her new hometown as she did so. The whitewashed houses stood out against all the green of the grass and the trees behind them. There was a hint of breeze down off the hills, but not much of one.

The river, a large stream really, which ran next to Main Street filled the afternoon with the sound of running water. The Methodist church, another whitewashed wooden building, was the tallest in town, its skinny bell tower stretching all the way up to three whole stories.

Kyara suppressed a sigh. The tiny Vermont town was quaint, beautiful really, but it just wasn’t home. She missed Atlanta. She missed the riot of colors from the buildings and fountains. She missed a good Baptist service. She even missed the noise of the cars and crowds. Life here was, in a hundred thousand little ways, different.

Kyara made herself walk down the street. That wasn’t home anymore. This was. However different it felt, at least here nothing would happen like had happened to her father.

Kyara picked her way past the single gas pump in town and into the store. The store itself was an honest-to-God general store. Up front was the usual assortment of gas station snacks and candy as well as some basic cans and white bread. Farther back were bigger items and hardware. Rakes and gardening implements stacked carelessly next to hammers, boxes of nails, and even a small supply of lumber.

By now, Kyara knew just where to go. Right near the counter were the tourist things. Stuffed animals cows sat on top of Ben & Jerry stickers and wildly overpriced cheese. There were also postcards, some of the town itself.

Behind them sat the woman who owned the store, Ruth. She squatted on her stool, every part of her sagging and spilling over. Only her hair, pulled up in a tight, gray bun on top of her head, seemed to do anything but droop. She watched Kyara through half-closed eyelids, her eyes following everything Kyara did.

“Afternoon!” Kyara said, trying to put as much happiness into her voice as she could.

Ruth grunted and sort of nodded in Kyara’s direction, her jowls wobbling. Kyara kept her smile pasted firmly in place. They’d gone through this every time Kyara had come in since she moved in – Kyara trying painfully hard to be polite, Ruth barely acknowledging her existence.

Kyara flipped quickly through the rack of post cards, grabbing a few of the town and the surrounding countryside. She pulled them out and paid Ruth for them, all without exchanging another word.

Kyara walked back down the street with her smile still in place, but trying not to grind her teeth. Over a month of this. Basic conversation, minimal interaction. It wasn’t just Ruth. It felt like the whole town had decided to shut her out, and she’d just got here.

Maybe they’ve just never seen someone who’s Black in person before.
Kyara let the joke turn the smile on her lips from forced to real. It was probably closer to the mark than anyone here would admit.

She was glad her smile was real when she got to her door and found Crystal relaxing in it. The teenager leaned her black-dyed hair against the door frame, her neon-pink bangs hiding her face, including the nose ring. Crystal looked up as Kyara approached, and started to stand.

“Hey, Ms. B. I tried to go in, but couldn’t,” said Crystal. Her voice was the perfect contrast to her all-black clothes, bright and chipper. Her voice matched the bright blue of her eyes and the baby doll curve of her pale cheeks.

“Yeah,” replied Kyara. “Sorry about that. I wasn’t sure when you’d be back, so I locked it when I went out.” She stepped up to the door and began to unlock it.

“Why?” asked Crystal, her voice full of genuine confusion. “If anyone goes in there, you have the Jan 3000 system.”

The girl pointed across the street to the squat two-story home, where an old woman sat on her porch, just staring at them and rocking. The empty rocking chair next to her was a mute testament to her long dead husband.

It always made Kyara a little sad to see her sitting there all alone.

“Not polite to point,” corrected Kyara quietly. “And besides, I’m not sure Mrs. Waite would tell me if something actually went wrong. She doesn’t seem to like me very much.”

Crystal shook her head, following Kyara into the restaurant. “Oh, that AC is awesome. Anyway, don’t mind Mrs. Waite. That’s just the way she is. I’m sure she likes you fine. People in this town are pretty friendly.”

Then why is the closest thing I have to a friend here my seventeen year old waitress?
wondered Kyara, trying not to despair. She was trying hard not to think the whole town was racist, but if they really were friendly to everyone else, it was hard not to think about the obvious difference.

“Anyway,” Crystal continued to bubble, “I handed out all those flier invitation things like you asked me to. Anything else you want from me today?”

Kyara held up the postcards.

“The walls are pretty empty,” Kyara said. “I was thinking of getting these blown up into posters and hanging them.”

Crystal perked up even more.

“There’s a Kinkos over in Bradford. Want me to take it?” Crystal always volunteered to drive the twenty-five minutes into the nearest “big” town. Getting out of town was still something of a novelty, apparently.

“No, thanks,” replied Kyara. “This may be the last break I get once the restaurant opens. I think I’m gonna treat myself and get my hair did.”

Crystal hesitated a bit.

“Ummmmm,” said the teenager. “You might want to go over to Lebanon and Hanover for that. With Dartmouth there, you might have a better chance of, uh, actually finding someone who, uh...”

“Knows how to deal with Black people hair?” Kyara finished for her.

“Thank you for not making me say it,” Crystal giggled, biting her lip a little.

Kyara sighed.
This is what you wanted
, she reminded herself.
You wanted a town where Black would stick out. That way you’ll know if any of them get close.
It was hard sometimes, though. She was getting really tired of not fitting in.

“Alright. Go home for the night, Crystal. I’ll see you tomorrow. It’ll be a busy night, so come ready to work.”

“OK. Have a great night, Ms. B. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Me, too,
prayed Kyara.
God, forgive me, but me, too.