Small Town and Star Crossed

Ashley: 

They say if you’ve been to one small town, you’ve been to ‘em all, and they say it cause it’s true. Ashton, Alabama, was just like every other small southern town in the middle of nowhere. Population 382, we all go to church on Sunday, we all shop at Dean's market on Fifth, and we all go to the football games on Friday. We’re in the south, so football, George strait and Chevys are the way of life. I’m sure I sound like a Luke Bryan song, but hey, we listen for a reason we can relate. I’m sure you’re expecting me to say that I wanna break free of this confining life where everybody knows everybody, but I don’t hate it here. 

We help our friends, and everyone’s like family here. When hard times hit, we lean on one another like hurricanes, or when the factory closed. I guess that’s where we should start cause that’s what caused a lot of the strife in my story. See the factory made landline, and yeah, well, people don’t use those anymore, so instead of switching to making something else, as the company did with other factories, they just closed the one in Ashton down. A lot of people were out of work. Including my dad, he was a foreman on the production line. A lot of rookies really liked him. He fought to make sure everybody got their severance pay, and when the factory closed, he went out for the football coach position. So did the security manager. Tom Attlage. Unlike my father, Richard, who went to church and drove a Chevy and smiled, Tom Attlage had other pastimes, and the general feeling around town was that he preferred his own company. 

Which is southern for he’s a rat bastard no one can stand to be around. 

My father got the job. Obviously. Which led to Tom Attlage having some resentments towards my father, which he must have been spewing at home cause when my brother showed off the new D.S he got for his birthday in front of Gavin Attlage, well, that little boy pounced on my brother like a bobcat on a Thanksgiving turkey. He broke my brother's nose and his new game and got expelled for it. Much like his father, Gavin wasn’t very much tolerated after that. Even less so after having to transfer to Northridge and then, by the grace of god he was blessed with an arm like Tom Brady. 

So, after ruining my brother's face and his game, he then also got in the way of my brother and my father winning the State championship last year. You’d think he’d have half a mind to keep it to himself, but no, the genius decided to mount the trophy to the hood of his truck and drive by our house every day for a week until my brother knocked it off with a perfect spiral, and they both got a talking to from the sheriff about disorderly conduct. 

Now. When it came to me, I was always something of a rule follower. I liked making people smile, and I didn’t like being a bother. I ate my vegetables, said my ps and qs, and respected my elders. So in the case of Gavin Attlage, I stayed well and clear. I crossed the street to avoid, as did the rest of my family, save my mother, because Jesus says to forgive. 

The most trouble I had ever gotten into was when I dated my brother's best friend, Lee Tate, for three months. It ended quickly and badly, and we don’t talk about it. 

Now I'm planning on keepingaway from boys, I go to church, I help my mama with Sunday school, and I cheer. I am the perfect southern daughter if you catch my drift. 

That’s why, after obtaining my license and saving up my birthday money for a car, I applied to work at Mr. Mobley’s bakery and gas station. Mr. Mobley died like fifteen years ago, but his widow took it over and started selling her baked goods out of the building, and since then, whenever you fill up your tank in Ashton, you go in and get yourself something sweet. 

“Thank you, darling, I just cannot be on my feet all day anymore, my arthritis is just,” she cut off with a tut of her tongue and a wave of her hands as she went over showing me how the cash register works. 

“Now, as I’m sure you’re aware, we don’t have much else besides my sweets, the drinks, and the ice box. My nephew will take care of the matinece so he’s around and he handles anything to do with the pumps, so all you need to do is worry about keeping things stocked and smiling as people come in,” she turned to me. 

“Sounds perfect,” I smiled brightly. I was worried about plunging toilets, but if her nephew handled matience that meant my one worry with this job was no worry at all. Though, come to think of it, I don’t remember Mrs. Mabley having a nephew. 

“Who’s your-?” I was just about to ask the question when the back door banged open, and in he walked. 

Headphones in a tattered t shirt on, sunglasses covering his face, and a backpack slung over one shoulder. brown hair sticking up in every direction, chewing on god knows what with his pants sagging like a street rat. I felt my jaw go slack. This had to be a joke. 

“Oh come on,” he scoffed, tipping his glasses down to inspect me, making me wrinkle my nose. “Auntie!” He growled, turning to the woman who already had her hands on her hips and a look that could silence the youngest brat. 

He turned to look at me, his voice losing all bite. “I mean, Ma’am. I thought you weren’t considering any girls for the cashier position,” he looked at me like I was poo on a stick. 

“Ashley is in my bible study, and she needed a job. Besides, a friendly face is all I was looking for, and who can say no to a smile like hers?” Mrs. Mobley winked at me as she headed into the back. I could hear him trailing after her, complaining. 

I followed after them. “I don’t wanna be any trouble if you need me to look elsewhere, I can.” I wasn’t kidding, I knew for a fact Dean was hiring as well, but I was in bible study with Mrs. M, and she’d offered first. 

“Don’t you be silly, dear,” she waved her hand, pouring some sugar into a bowl. 

“Auntie, she’s not wrong. This is trouble I don’t need some roided out pretty boy picking a fight every time she says I hurt her feelings,” he pointed at me, a vein in his forehead popping out. 

“Excuse me!” I huffed. 

“Now don’t be exaggerating, young man!” Mrs. M stopped and held up a finger at him. 

“Sorry,” he grunted, his hand gripping his backpack with white knuckles as he swallowed his manners. 

“Now, I don’t see why we can’t all get along. You didn’t break her nose, and Ashley is a nice girl who has no problems with anybody. I believe you two are old enough to swallow your pride for a dollar's sake, am I correct?” She looked between us, grabbing a wooden spoon. 

“I’m fine,” I crossed my arms, looking over at him. 

I knew he’d say no, but to my surprise, he grit his teeth and took it like a man. “Fine,” he ground out. 

“Perfect!”