Living in a small town can be scary.
Everyone is frighteningly aware of everything about your family, (or the family you married into) and what every member is doing - perfect strangers will come up to me in the supermarket and ask how the baby is, or if my cold is better, or tell me how Bear really helped them during the time their uncle had a heart attack. It's surreal.
After I fumble out an answer, they then usually identify themselves - 'I'm your husband's father's neighbor', or 'your sister-in-law and I have yoga together' . Unfortunately, that usually cements their names in my mind as 'Mr. FIL neighbor', or 'Mrs. Yoga Buddy' . I'm not alone, though.
When I moved here I was amused to find myself referred to as 'That Girl From Away' (the term From Away being used to describe anyone not born in the south-western end of Nova S), then I was 'Jess - you know, the girl Bear married? She's not from around here.'
My reputation was built solely on my birthplace. (Chicago, Illinois - was I part of the mob or a city slicker, come to tear out the heart of their small-town boy? You never know with these foreigners...)
That has changed, creakily, a bit since then - I don't know a lot of people, but I do know enough so I can nod at people in the dry cleaners, and am beginning to be judged on myself, not only by my last name.
I discovered yesterday that people have begun to recognize me in another way, though.
People have begun giving me books. Paperbacks, hardcovers, manuscripts. All genres. Apparently, I've been noticed at the library, and the secret is out. I am now...The Reader.
I was walking to my car tonight after work. A woman I barely recognized honked her horn and pulled in to the post office parking lot. "Hi! Melissa at the drugstore said you read. I have some books for you!" She beamed and handed over a paper bag. "Don't worry about returning them. Bye!" She drove away before I thought to ask her who Melissa was.
I'm still a bit dazed from it all. Of all the things that I could make a name for myself in this community by doing, reading was not one that I thought of. I mean, reading?
I figure it will look great on my tombstone, though.
She's not from around here...but she reads.
7 comments:
Hey, that's not so bad a tombstone.
That is really hilarious though- I heard you're a reader? WTF?
Wonder what they'd say if they found out you blog...
that's hilarious but also kind of scary-- does no one else read? they would *die* if they saw my house.
At least they don't say, in horrified, my-god-she-has-leprosy-like-tones, as my Canadian in-laws do, "You're a reader??"
They couldn't believe the amount of books I had when they came to visit.
Sure, "She was a reader" will look great on your tombstone, but I'm starting to wonder if anyone in your town/cemetery would bother to read it.
(This is my first comment here. I have no idea how I found your blog anymore, but I do enjoy it. Thanks!)
Amy P.
That is absolutely hilarious.
Thanks for the laugh.
Jess that is too great. It's nice to have an identity though huh? At least you're not "The woman who turned her child blue." heehehehe
god... i would die in your town. i hate being identified. i like walking through the city and not knowing a soul.
i like your new identity though. and it sounds like you'll always have new books to scan... that can't be a bad thing!
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