Chapter Two

I think everyone knows the stigmas that surround small towns.

Nothing ever happens, there’s nothing to do, and everyone knows everyone. For the most part, that’s all true. The last exciting thing to happen in Redwood was two drunks having a misunderstanding and throwing a few sloppily aimed punches.

Of course, the next day they hugged it out like civilized men.

The scuffle wasn’t even at a bar. They were drunk off beer from a grad party. How lame is that?

There wasn’t anything to do, other than going to the library to pick out one of the ancient books that had probably been there since the town was built. Redwood had no movie theaters, arcades, malls, or strips. It did have one well-maintained park in the center of it, though.

As for everyone knowing everyone, the only exception to that was me. My mother would swear on a Holy Bible that schools were bad. They were impressionable, influenced today's youth in negative ways, and my peers would bully me. Why? Well, she didn’t have an answer for that.

Being homeschooled ended up both a blessing and a curse. Miss Mary, my nanny, was an amazing teacher, and she made sure I excelled in everything I did.

The downside was being stared at as if I were a terrestrial life form. No amount of life skills could take the sting of judgmental strangers away.

I swore I was going to leave this place behind the day I turned eighteen. Yet, there I was at twenty-three, working at Malty’s, serving up burger platters with a painfully forced smile on my face.

That day was no different. I stood behind the counter, discreetly watching the couple in the corner and the small group of four by the window. A permanent melancholy settled over me. I envied them. I longed for friendship, someone I could talk to and laugh with over trivial things. It was easy to take orders and pretend I wasn’t awkward and unsure of myself.

Sometimes I caught whispers, hearing myself being called weird or mental. My entire body would burn with anger, hurt, and embarrassment.

I always kept my mouth shut.

It was easier to slaughter them in my head while accepting my tip. That saying about sticks and stones? It was utter bullshit. Words hurt.

Some people didn’t have the ability to shake them off and ignore them; I was one of them. Confrontation had never been my thing. My strength had always been in my silence. Besides, I couldn’t blame them, because they weren’t raised like me.

I did, however, partially blame my mother for the way I was. There were plenty of homeschooled kids that turned out just as normal as everyone else. She kept me isolated and locked away in her tidy little prison. The older I got, the lonelier I became. When the only person you have to talk to is yourself, it’s not easy replacing that with a real person.

A bell chimed as the small group laughed their way out the door, breaking up the suicidal pity party in my head. Sighing, I grabbed my cleaning spray and rag, resigned to the fact nothing would ever change. Accepting that this was my life - at least for the next two days, anyway.

Pocketing their generous tip, I began clearing the table, envisioning a different scenario. One where I was part of the group that had just been sitting there. They included me in everything they did, laughing with me instead of at me.

I could stay in my mind forever, exchanging make believe with reality - which is how I missed the door chiming again.

“Katie Cormick?”

Janice and I both stopped what we were doing and looked at the man who had just walked in.

“She’s Katie.” Janice nodded her graying head in my direction.

“These are for you.” He lifted the bouquet of white roses in his hands with a big grin on his face. Furrowing my brows, I stared at him without making a move to accept the delivery.

“Are you sure?” I questioned, ignoring Janice’s glare.

“I was told they’re for a Katie Cormick that works at Malty’s. Unless you know someone else who fits that description, then I’m positive these are for you.” He walked towards me, all but forcing the round vase into my hands.

“Have a good day.” He waved to Janice on his way out the door. I stood, more than a little grateful, trying to find a card, but there wasn’t one.

“Well, does it say anything this time?” Janice asked.

“No,” I sighed.

“Looks like you have a secret admirer after all,” she grinned at me, gently pulling the flowers from my hands.

“I doubt that.” Scoffing, I turned back to the table.  The flowers had been coming every week for the last three months. I kept telling myself it was probably someone playing a joke or feeling sorry for me.

Was it a coincidence that when I had woken up in the hospital three years ago, those same flowers were all over the room?

“Katie, I wish you would have some self-confidence. You’re such a pretty girl,” Janice huffed, shuffling back to the front, setting the flowers on the bar.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I didn’t dignify that with a response. If I could look in the mirror and tell myself I was beautiful and loveable, I wouldn’t feel as low as I did.

My wrists wouldn’t have reminders on them of what I tried to do. I wouldn’t feel so elated over a stranger giving me roses. They were the only thing that made me smile for real these days.