Marry Anne Whitaker 9/18/2003

I remember a girl from the foothills of the south ridge. She was an elfish little thing who always wore a smile. Her hair was silky black and in the light of the sun, silvers streaks, like little rivers would flow. Her eyes were a crystal green.
Every day she would walk the streets and greet everyone with a small yellow flower and for the children she always had candy and a peck on the cheek.
If it rained everyone believed that the clouds would part for her and flowers would grow in her wake. She was loved by everyone who lived in Raynor Shine and for that matter, everyone in the Great Depression.
I would set and listen to the women of the slopes say how much a pity it was that she hadn’t married yet for she clearly possessed the right heart and skills for motherhood. They would puzzle and muse and wonder the reason but none of them were able to satisfy their curiosity.
On the weekends she would set painting in the park. Her entire day was spent painting talking and handing out candy to the children as they played. And I loved her.
I loved this woman in ways even I don’t understand. I would live my life being comforted by her, and comforting her. I could be happy providing for her and allowing her to provide for me. We could easily dance through life together laughing and enjoying all the days we had.
For all that she is, for all that she could be, and she is only human and therefore had a dark secret. One that soon all would know.
The lamplighters knew her secret for they do after all live in the darkness. They see all the things that the people try to hide. They would never dare speak them, nor do they care to, for it’s only a way of life.
It was in the Latter Year, when the fog rolls down off the peaks, and the Tightening begins. It’s the time when all minds begin to think darker thoughts, when gossip and fingers are pointed at all. Soon the people began to talk of Mary.
They would gather in small knots over coffee and suggest things that they should never suggest in the first place. The fog did tings to peoples minds and it was never a very good thing.
They wondered why she would spend so much time in Phyllis’s bookstore everyone knew that women of improper tastes loitered there. They wondered why she was never seen with any of the available men on her arm.
The wives of the lamplighters would whisper as she passed and everyone on the streets would stare. The mothers would usher their children away. Then one day she stopped coming to town.
I missed her. My parents called us down for a talk and told us we could not associate with her anymore. She was a woman of improper tastes and had no place in our community. This broke my heart.
At the time I had no idea what the title meant but I soon grew to understand grown up speech. It seems that a woman of improper tastes, simply meant that she was gay. That she preferred the company of women in her bed. And it did not change the love I had for her.
One night I followed her through the lamp lit streets, as she slunk to the door of her friend. She banged on the door and waited for a time. I heard her plea to the occupant to open the door and then softly begin to cry.
Slowly I stepped out of the shadows and walked to her. I took her by surprise as she wept. I begged her to please stop crying, that everything would be okay. I would make everything good for her again.
She patted my head and assured me that she was already okay and walked me home. We talked about the title my parents had labeled her with and it’s validity. She told me it was all true and that in her mind, the world could tolerate variety.
I woke the next day and waited on my stoop for her to come by, she never came. And so it went for the next month, I waited and waited and she still never came. I finally walked to her home one day, only to discover it was empty. She had left.
That night the old folks gathered for coffee and talk, relieved that they had saved the town from another free thinking freak. It was then decided that they should rid their town of everyone that didn’t fit in order to free the town of bad influences.
And I hated them for that.
I grew to think for myself and accept things I knew to be right. I grew to see people not as a set of rules and how well they fit into them, but as creatures of varying tastes. I would set in bookstores and walk through the fog laden streets in the hopes of one day finding her again to let her see how deep my love for her had become.
Although I never saw her again, I found small parts of her in all the many people I have met in my life and I know that she knew all that I wanted to say anyhow.
I love you. You gave me the chance to see things in a much better light and I am better for it. You helped me to laugh and to trust and started me on my journey through life once again.
Your tender words and warm smile brought new life to an old man. All I know how to say is, I love you.