Tag Archives: Wytheville

Date Night in Small Town Appalachia

Posted on by
2

On Tuesday Jack said to me, “It’s our anniversary soon. I know we’re having a big party for our 26th, but how about you and I go out to dinner?”

We don’t eat out much. Jack is a great cook and the garden is coming in gangbusters. He really surprised me with the next line, though. “I’m sure there’s a Mexican restaurant in Wytheville.”

I like Mexican. Jack doesn’t. The fact that we have lived here five years and don’t know where a Mexican restaurant is might tell you something. But heck, he was offering….

We found addresses for two, selected one, and arrived in the middle of Happy Hour. Jack was happy: he got spicy shrimp diablo. I was happy. They had $5 margaritas served in water glasses.

When the meal was over we were replete, but I was also mildly tipsy. Not a good idea to drive, and Jack doesn’t care for driving in town. It was so near our house we could feasibly have walked home, but if there’s something Jack likes less than Mexican food, it’s walking.

But hey, there was this Dollar General next to the restaurant. ….

“Somebody on my canning group said they had cheap jars, and we’re out of pints,” I said to my husband, pointing. He rolled his eyes, but he’s the one who loves tomato and peach salsa and both were overflowing bowls in our kitchen.

They had not-all-that-cheap canning jars in the size we needed (we can pints when it’s just gonna be the two of us eating whatever is going into the jar; we can’t eat fast enough to finish off the quarts).

They also had cheaply priced good quality undies, some office supplies, a surprisingly hard to find brand of canned peas that we like when they’re done in the garden, and a few other bits and bobs you might make fun of us for buying, so I won’t mention them.

We meandered our way happily up and down overstuffed aisles of inexpensive goods, making fun of items and then purchasing them. (This is how we wound up with a llama planter.)

Our total at the restaurant was $56, which we considered very reasonable given we each had entrees and drinks. We dropped the other $44 at Dollar General, walking out with our llama planter and name brand undies feeling quite smug. And a little more sober.

Jack admired his new writing pens, tucking a couple into his pocket. I secured my canning pints for the ride. As I closed the trunk, there he stood. With a sweet kiss he said, “This has been a very nice anniversary date. You are my favorite person to meander with.”

And that was date night, Wytheville style. It was a very pleasant evening.

Where Is Natalie?

Posted on by
Reply

Writer Wendy’s weekly installment

The wheeled suitcase lay partially hidden by the stage, a small, raised platform across the parking lot from the picnic tables at our free food site.

When I got there to help my friend Michelle disperse hot lunches in the freezing temperatures, she was standing over the case, which had contents spilled across the stage, its top resting at the edge, while it sat on the concrete below.

Michelle runs The Mobile Closet, which gives donated clothes free to those in need; right now she’s doing a roaring trade in hats, coats, socks, and blankets. Plus a tent here or there.

Michelle toed a pink hoodie. “I want to check these out, but I don’t want to hit a sharp.” (This refers to drug paraphernalia, not markers.)

I found some food service gloves and began a careful examination. The case had clearly been rifled, probably someone had found it and taken anything of value. Indeed, there was nothing but clothes: a white sundress, a few more sweatshirts, some leggings. While everything was akimbo, lines in the clothes showed they had been neatly folded for some time.

Flipping the top of the case over, I read “Natalie Cecil” in huge silver letters. We looked at one another. Michelle shrugged. “Never heard of her.” She knows the names of almost every homeless person in Wytheville.

I walked around the service building housing the free food café; it was closed, which was why we were there to hand out lunches. No one hurt in the bushes, behind the dumpsters, or any of the other places homeless people sometimes camp until someone sees them and calls police.

When I got back to the platform, Michelle said with a smile, “Don’t turn around. The police are watching us.” My careful search at close proximity to the building had prompted a good citizen to take action.

The police watched us rifle the clothes. Declaring the clothes clean, the officers suggested Michelle put them into her Mobile Closet.

Michelle put up online that she had the case, asking people to pass the info around. The only nearby Facebook profile by that name didn’t match the clothing size. No one came forward, and the contents were soon dispersed.

Who is Natalie? Where is Natalie? Is she all right? Who rifled the case, and what was in it before that disappeared into someone else’s possessions?

We will never know. It feels like the universe closed over a rip through which someone’s daughter, sister, best friend walked.

Wherever you are, Natalie, we are praying for you.

Come back next Friday for more from Wendy Welch