Today, for the first time in 24 days, I left the compound. I got into a car. I saw the cover of an US Weekly. I entered a strip mall. Twenty-three days I went without leaving a quarter-mile radius, and to be honest, even though we only drove ten minutes through manure pastures to get to the next town, our rendezvous made me feel like I was cheating on Johnson.
The good news is that I'll get over it in a few hours. The reason for the trip was to buy hard alcohol to celebrate the artists' open studios and one of our last nights here. Which makes this a record-breaking day all around for me; yes, it's also been 24 days without vodka.
But I digress (a lot), I've become so enmeshed in small town life that I recognized over half the people at The Hub last night, including:
1. Two of the three girls who work at the coffee shop, Lovin Cup Cafe. When I approach the register most mornings, one of them will call out "Double Americano" to the other. Within a two week period, I've already filled up my second "buy 10, get one free" coffee card.
2. The lacrosse/frat guys, a.k.a. my friend's next door neighbors. This afro-sporting pair (one looks like Richard Simmons) stands out in the room full of dreadheads and lumbering overalls. They're always decked out in their Saturday-night-out-in-the-village gear (but on $2 beer Tuesdays). Richard wears a long, thin, khaki-striped scarf draped around his neck like a crochet snake, and the other flaunts marijuana leaf bling on his earlobes.
3. The hustler.
Other indications I'm in a small town:
* One day, a fellow writer knocked on my studio door. He had my wallet in his hand. I'd left it on the cafe's counter. Thankfully, he happened to be the next person in line.
* The only thing I carry are keys. I go from the studio to the dining hall to the gas station to other people's studios to my apartment--all steps away from each other. I don't need to plan or pack for later. My right shoulder muscle is grateful after years of purse lugging.
* On walks to the gas station for beer, we play games like, "I wonder which guy will be working tonight, the curly haired one or the teenager?"
* Beer was mentioned quite a few times in this entry. Also, the only non-essential store in Johnson (a description that can be disputed for the purpose of this list) is a smoke shop.
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