The Friendly City
"Isn't the air clearer out here?" Field asked, beaming brightly (as if mimicking the late-afternoon sun). "I mean, just ... bolder, you know? Just ... "
"Better?" she supplied from the passenger seat.
"Well ... yes," was his answer. "Yes."
"Field ... "
"No, but I mean ... seriously," he continued.
"You're watching the road, right?"
"I ALWAYS watch the road. I have never, not once ... been in any sort of accident or gotten any sort of ticket, and you know what ... everyone else in my family has, and ... I failed my driver's test twice. So, the assumption is ... that I'm a bad driver, right? But ... I'm not. So ... I bucked the odds."
She chuckled and shook her head, looking out the window. It was just about four-o'clock.
"No, but ... " He took a breath. Let it out. Said, "The heat. Um ... mm," he went, notching it down to setting one (from setting three). "There," he said. The interior of the car (this black '98 Mazda Protégé) was sufficiently warm. They'd been going for ten minutes. The air outside was up to 8 degrees now (inching toward those darned double-digits).
She tilted her head and watched him. Could hear (almost SEE) his mind whirring, whir-whirring.
"Anyway," the mouse blurted out, whiskers twitching as his eyes darted at the landscape beyond the chilly, glassy windshield. "Anyway, I mean ... it's like all those places, you know, like Carmel and Fishers and Westfield, and ... they like have this sinister gravimetric pull, you know? I mean, you don't know ... until you get out. Until ... all I'm saying, darling, is that ... we're heading AWAY from all that. That artificiality. We are in Boone County, love. We are home, and ... we are visiting our county seat. And you know what?"
She chuckled. "What ... what?" she asked. There was no stopping him when he got like this.
"It's refreshing," he said. And breathed. Nodded. Watching the road. "It's totally refreshing ... "
"Field, it's just ... "
"No, but it's not. It's not 'just' this or 'just' that. It's ... there are fewer furs in this direction. Things are more rural, more rustic. More natural. It just reminds me ... of a prairie. A frontier. This isn't fancy. It's simple, it's ... run-down, in places, but ... it's just so real," he confessed. "I would rather be here than there. THIS is true Hoosier air. This ..."
They were going to the movie theater.
Normally, they went to the Regal in Westfield. But the mouse had insisted they go to the Pavilion in Lebanon. Which was just as close (close, in their rural confines, meaning just over twelve miles away).
"I'm just so tired of Hamilton County ... "
"Field, it's not bad at all ... we both work there. I mean, we both have family there ... "
"I'm not saying it's BAD, but ... I don't belong there. I'm an outsider there. I don't have money. I don't have ... you know, I don't ... that's not what I'm after. I mean, look at all these fields," he said. He paused. "I'm just tired of our county being bullied. Being told we're all hicks and nobodies ... they just don't see what I'm seeing," he whispered. "They don't get it." He sighed. "Look at the fields," he repeated.
She took a breath and looked to him. "Well, I see one Field in particular ... and he's radiant." She smiled. "I'm just ... glad you're okay," she said. The mouse, for much of the week, had struggled through one of his bouts of depression. Having had a manic episode ... on Monday night, which had left him torpid and blank all week. It was Saturday afternoon, and he was better. Rebounded. Much better. And she'd played such a part in that (as she always did). She was here for him. She loved him.
And his eyes betrayed (so easily, did they betray his emotions) ... how he loved her. With equal, fiery measure. And the mouse, blink-blinking, swallowed, cleared his throat ... and continued to look down the road. Taking a breath. Saying, "Well, I don't know ... I just ... I like it better out here. I know counties and towns and all that ... they're just lines on maps, but it's ... no, they're not, you know? At the same time. I feel different. Out here, I feel different. I feel better. I feel like me. I feel like I belong. Like we," he whispered, "belong."
The bat smiled ... and leaned back. Tugging at her seatbelt a bit, and looking out the window.
As the mouse looked out the windshield. Seeing photo opportunities everywhere he looked: barns. Old barns, white barns, red barns. Trees. A single bare tree ... alone in the middle of a field. Tilted mailboxes. Tilted street signs. So many gravel roads. He took these pictures in his mind's eye. Stored them in his photographic memory. And, later, when it was warmer, on a warmer, nicer day ... he would come back out here. Camera in tow, he would return, park the car on the side of the road, and wander ... and take pictures. You could do that in the countryside. Leave your car on the side of the road. You could sojourn freely.
They were soon within reach of the city. Lebanon. Named so ... because the fur who had named it had seen a cluster of trees (Field didn't remember which kind of trees) ... and, upon seeing the cluster, had thought of a passage in the Bible. Something about trees in Lebanon. Field didn't remember the details very well, but ... regardless, the town's name was Biblically-based.
It was the Boone County seat. Population: 15,000 or 16,000 ... or so. Field didn't exactly know. But, from a few miles out, you could see the highest thing in the city: the water tower. One of two water towers, an the one you could see ... was the big blue one. The one that had, written on the side: "Lebanon: The Friendly City" ...
Field giggled at the sight.
"What?" the bat asked.
"Nothing. Just ... well, a town isn't a town ... unless it has a water tower. And, if it has TWO water towers, well ... " Field trailed.
Adelaide let out a breath. Sighed and smiled. She hadn't the energy, today, that her mate had. He, on the bounce-back from his bout of depression ... always, after such lows, he went to extreme, energetic highs. She feared he was bipolar, but she knew he'd only go to a doctor ... kicking and screaming (or not; that wasn't his style; but he would put up some kind of fight ... he was terrified of doctors, and she didn't know why). She worried about him so ... so much. But, today, he was on an emotional high, and the frigid, frigid air, the extreme cold, it actually seemed to invigorate him. But, to the bat, the cold was making her sluggish. Winged things weren't built for sub-zero wind chills. Winter, to this point, had been terribly mild. Only now, late in the season, was it showing its true teeth.
As they got closer to the city, they passed more farms, and the houses started to get closer together. But they were older houses. Simple houses. And all with a rustic air. Nothing about this place was overly-fancy. Nothing about it was dressed or decked up. And none of it needed to be. Simply, everything was ... as it was. As it had been. And as it would be. In sweet, rural repose. This was a town, no mistake. Was a county seat. But this was not a "city" city. Not like Carmel was. Not like Indy was. This was ...
" ... beautiful," whispered Field, seeing the top of the courthouse. The dome, and the flagpole on top. The flag flapping in the icy breeze. "I mean, I ... " He giggled at the sight of it. "I just ... wow," he whispered.
Adelaide, truth be told, had seen more distinctive Indiana courthouses. Tippecanoe's came to mind (as being her favorite, and in her mind, the best). And Tipton's. But she knew that Field, even if he found others to be more aesthetically daring, more artistic ... no matter what, he would always think this building beat them all. Simply because it was here. Was his. Represented their home county.
The mouse so latched himself ... to his regions. To his home. To local identity and culture.
They drove into the city limits, and in doing so ... drove right by the courthouse (and the square that surrounded it, right after the Lebanon Reporter building), the mouse beaming and looking out the side window. He'd taken pictures of the courthouse. A few weeks ago. He should take more. He would come back here and take more pictures. Always, he was taking pictures ... in his head (and his reality). He needed to capture these things. Needed to share them.
Such sight! Was life. Such color! It contained.
Capture it, the hidden drive urged ... capture it ... the divine inspiration ... demanded he ... capture it! Capture it! Like catching lightning bugs and putting them in a jar. Poking holes in the lid.
Capture it all ... paint it, write it, share it ... and let it go.
Memories are made of this!
A right turn on Lebanon Street. Passing a rare/used bookstore. Passing a Domino's Pizza ... Boone County Social Services ... a drugstore. Memorial Park. Lebanon High School. Approaching the niche where the theater was located. This was a newer theater (Field had grown up going to the old-time Avon, but that had burned down ... several years ago; the Pavilion had been the theater to replace it, but they put it in a different location, and gave it more screens ... seven screens! Seven screens ... )
When they got there, out he stepped. Shutting the door.
And out she stepped (from the opposite side), shivering.
They both wore their heavy winter jackets. Both had hats on. Field's hat being green and covering his head. Even accommodating his ears (which stuck out like sore thumbs beneath the wooly fabric of the hat, which had a John Deere logo on the front). Field exhaled, and the breath turned to fog. To vapor. To airy ice. And dissipated ... going somewhere. To the sky, maybe. To join the bells of the earth.
Adelaide shivered and went with him to the theater door, and when inside ... it was warmer, and they lingered, eying things. Adjusting to the sights, the smells. The sounds. Movie theaters were full of such things. Going to the movies, for them, was an event ... they went, maybe, three times a year. So, this was special. To them, it was special ...
... as it had been special when Field, as a child, growing up in near-poverty, had been taken to the theaters to see the re-issues of old Disney films. How special that had been. The movies. To go to a movie. How rare ...
... and breathing of the theater air, the mouse grinned, taking Adelaide's paw. Squeezing it.
She flushed at this. Smiled. Touched (and not just physically) by the mouse's devotion to her. His energy for her. He wasn't this way ... around anybody else. She'd observed him, and knew that ... around other furs, he wasn't this way. He didn't open up. He didn't bare his soul. He didn't smile like this. Only around her. Only with her. Only for her. She meant the world to him. Field was the first fur to say to her, "I love you, and I NEED you." He's said ... others had said "I love you." None of the others had said "I need you" ...
Field, going up to the ticket counter, bobbing slightly on his feet, said (in that airy, innocent way of his ... that wispy way of his), "Two for Curious George, please." Bobbing. His tail, thin and pink and silky, like a rope, like a fishing line ... it dangled behind him. And his nose twitched and sniffed. He could never stand or sit entirely still. He had to pace. Had to twitch. Had to ...
... take the tickets, which were six dollars each. Took them (and his mate's paw), and scurry-walk. Eagerly exploring the concession stand. "Ooh," he went. Like a child, sometimes.
Adelaide giggled. He was so fun to watch. Like all mice, he was captivating to watch ... all his movements and his cutesy things ...
Field had to let go of her paw to fiddle with his wallet (which had a toothy, grinning picture of Stitch on it ... he'd gotten it from the Disney Store nearly two years prior, and it was starting to fray, but ... unless he could find another Stitch wallet to replace it, he was never going to throw this away).
Adelaide crossed her winged arms. Chattered. Her fangs showing as she did so. She was the only bat here. Probably the only bat currently in this town. Or this entire COUNTY, for that matter. And her pink fur (typical of femme bats) made her stand out all the more.
As for Field, he blended in. There were many mice here. Field mice. Church mice. Many mice and rodents ... as was typical of rural regions. But, despite it, Adelaide didn't feel singled out. Didn't feel out of place. Maybe that was because ... Field radiated such love for her. Such protection for her. Maybe because she'd lived among non-bats for several years now, and ... had ceased to feel like an outsider. She was a mammal, like most of them. She was a fur. She was ...
" ... hungry?" Field asked.
"Um ... well, I guess. A little," she confessed.
"Okay, I'm gonna get," said the mouse, whiskers twitching as he counted change in his paw. "I'm gonna get ... " He looked back up and adjusted his glasses with a free paw (for without his glasses, he could not see ... the world, to him, would be a blur). "Um ... alright, alright. A combo pack. That's a regular popcorn, a regular drink, and candy or nachos ... for, like, 8 dollars."
"Sounds reasonable ... I mean, for theater food," Adelaide commented.
Field nodded in agreement. "Reese's Pieces okay with you? For the candy?"
She gave a toothy grin. Sugar-coated peanut butter. Yeah, that sounded about right. "Sure."
He smiled brightly back at her.
Their eyes met. Deep pink and grey-blue. Met. Seemed to mix ... seemed to transfer thought.
Field got their food, and Adelaide helped him carry it to the theater. Auditorium One. And it started at 4:20. The matinee showing.
They sat down (nearer to the front than the back), waiting for the film to start. Nibbling on their popcorn. Sharing a Doctor Pepper.
Field breathed deep. "This is great," he commented. Sighing. Smiling. Looking around. "This is great," he whispered. With such genuineness. And he looked to her. "I'm really glad we decided to do this."
"We're just ... going to the movies," she said.
"No, it's ... we're seeing things, feeling things. Making memories. Every day. It's ... " He took another deep breath. "I just ... and the cold is waiting for us outside, but it can't have us."
She felt the urge to kiss him then. To kiss him now. To lean her head on his shoulder ... now. But held back. Giggling slightly, whispering to him, "You do, though, realize that ... we're the only twenty-something's in this theater."
Of the furs that had arrived and taken seats behind them (and all around), most of them were children. And their parents.
"You think Curious George is a kiddy film?"
She giggled, leaning back. "That's not bad," she said. "That's not a bad thing. I'm just saying ... were we not prepping for a G-rated film, surrounded by a G-rated audience, I may ... I might ... kiss you. Quite deeply."
"Yeah?" he whispered. Such a shy whisper!
"Yeah," she whispered back.
"Well ... maybe ... "
"Later?" She giggled, and nodded. Giggling more. Nibbling on some popcorn and trying to stop. "Mm ... "
"No, but," he started. "Anyway, Adelaide, it's ... it's going to be a good movie, you know? It'll be real sweet and soft, and it's paw-drawn. You know, I ... just. I just can't stand," he mentioned, "those computer-made animations. They're so cold. They're ... stuff drawn by paw. It's traditional. It's soft. It's ... I mean, the colors of this film, from what I saw in the pictures," he said. "It looks bright. It looks so welcoming." He took a soft breath. "I think it'll be good to see. I think we'll like it."
"I bet we will," she agreed. Being sincere. With the air out there, and with all their troubles, this would be nice. A movie like this.
Field nib-nibbled on kernels of popcorn. Chew-chewed. Sipped on the soda.
"Darling," the bat whispered.
"What?" His eyes widened. Always, when he asked a question, his eyes widened. As if anticipating something. It was rather charming. But she bet he didn't realize he was doing it.
"You're chewing the straw. You're all ... nibbling," she said, "on the straw. I don't wanna have to go get a new one."
He blushed bashfully. "Sorry," he whispered.
She smiled. "No problem," she whispered. He did that every time they went somewhere ... say, they had a chance to go out to eat (which, like this movie trip, was more rare than not) ... the mouse would always gnaw the straws.
Field breathed ... and looked to her. In this dimness. Surrounded by the dimness and the sound of the theater adverts. And the chatter of other furs.
She was aware of his close gaze. And met it.
And he flushed and bit his lip.
"You can take off your hat," she whispered, gently rubbing her muzzle to his. Her nose to his. Before backing a few inches off.
"Oh," he went, not having remembered ... that he was still wearing it. He took off the hat, allowing his ears to stand upright. Dish-like, mousey ears. Swivel-swivel!
And the movie started ...
... and when it was over, the mouse, bouncing, bobbing as he went ... reached the car. It was not quite six-o'clock, and the sun was still up. But it was bolder. And it was going down over Lebanon town.
"Oh, I liked it. I really did," said Field. "It was cute ... and soft, and ... " He rambled. Tried to review the film, but the mouse found it so hard to criticize things (furs or films). So, his reviews of things were always positive. He always tried to find the positives.
Adelaide admired that quality. So many she had met ... had been cynical. Had been bitter. About politics. About love. About everything. Field was wide-eyed. And always found some kind of poetry in life. Some kind of romance ... and, even when he was down, his faith was strong. As was his hope. He was so positive ... tried to be so positive. And she positively loved him for it.
"Where to?" Field asked, as the car had started. He didn't feel they should go home. Not yet. Not quite yet.
"Wal-Mart," Adelaide said.
"Yeah?" The mouse smiled, turning on his left turn signal. To leave the lot.
The bat nodded. She had gotten her check yesterday. As had Field. She got a check every two weeks. He got one every week. But she made more than he did ... regardless, that had been part of the reason for their sojourn today. They both had all weekend off, and both had new checks, so they'd gone to the movies, and ... maybe they could do one more thing.
So, they were off to the Wal-Mart. Field having a bit of trouble getting into the lot. This was an old Wal-Mart. Old-style design. Doors that didn't slide open. No, these doors ... you had to pull open. This building was old, and it showed ... on the outside. As well as the inside. Most Wal-Marts, you went inside, and it was the same. A Wal-Mart in Indiana was the same as a Wal-Mart in Alabama. And, to many degrees, so was this one, but this was an older store ... than most of the others around Central Indiana.
And it was fairly crowded, too.
"Oh, my gosh," Field exclaimed. "We need, like, candy or something, right? Or food ... for the race," he added. Tomorrow, the Daytona 500 was on. The mouse loved auto racing. And had converted Adelaide into an avid fan of it, as well ... tomorrow, they would watch the race.
"We have popcorn at home. And ... maybe get chips? Cheese?"
"Cheese!" echoed the mouse.
Adelaide giggled. "Thought you'd like that suggestion ... "
"I do," he added, nodding. Smiling.
So, they went for that. And then meandered to the video area. Adelaide squinted, searching.
"What are you looking for?" Field asked, browsing with her.
"Ah ... here." She picked it up. "Thirty-eight dollars. Cheaper than anywhere else, and I've ... put it off," she said, trailing, turning the package over in her paws. Reading the back of it. Battlestar Galactica. Season Two, Volume One. The bat was a lover of sci-fi shows. She liked the shows that had a bit more ... modern drama flavor to them. A bit more edge. Field preferred the Star Trek shows. But each would watch the other ... with each other. "Think I might get it," she said, smiling. She hadn't made a video purchase in a few months. Not since Christmas.
"Okay," said Field, smiling. "We can start on it tonight, maybe?"
"Sounds nice. Maybe ... but maybe," she reminded, "we can do other things? After all, we just watched a movie. I don't wanna," she said, locking with his eyes. "Stare at anymore screens."
"Oh ... " The mouse's eyes darted, and his ears turned a deeper shade of pink. And his dimples showed on his furry, honey-tan cheeks. For he had dimples when he smiled. "Okay."
She giggled, giving him a toothy grin, and looking around, letting out a breath, said, "Well, I think that's it ... we can go to the check-out now."
So, they did. After browsing their way back to the front of the store (with Field stopping to look at the toy cars and the four-dollar basketballs ... Adelaide reminding him they had three basketballs in the porch at home, and he didn't need anymore).
So, they paid for their items, and scurried back to the car. Got in, and ... as they left, and as it warmed inside the car, they drove back to the heart of the town. And the courthouse standing proudly above all that surrounded it. And, reaching it, they turned left ... and headed in an easterly direction. Back to home.
The shadows, at this point, were so bold. And the air, it was cold. And they were the only vehicle on the road. And the fields, they stretched forever. And, in each one, redemption could be found ... if you looked hard enough.
Adelaide turned the radio on.
A song played. And another ... and the words, they sang of things. They sang of summers. Of love. Of recuperating from wars. Of the moon. Of hope. Faith. They sang of things that every-fur needed.
And it was after 6 PM, and the sun was setting. The colors of the sky melted from blues to mauves, to emeralds. To purples. A rare February kaleidoscope. And, as cold as it was, maybe those colors would freeze there.
And maybe, Field thought, their memories ... would freeze there, too. And, at the end of it all, their love would melt the whole ordeal. And they would all get swept away.
They were nearing home. Both eager to get inside that front door. To be in the air warmed by the corn stove. To be among familiar scents and things. To be alone. To be ... just to be.
It had been such a nice, full day. Such a rich, varied day.
And, oh, what a fine time they'd had ... in the Friendly City!