It was during the last signs of Spring that I first laid eyes on her. School was just getting out for the day and I watched the children getting off the bus I should have been on. Once again I had skipped classes and stayed home. See, my mother was never very concerned with my whereabouts or lack thereof. My name is Parker Louise Petty and at that time in my life I spent most of my days sleeping in and eating the most fattening foods I could get my hands on. I was a chubby tomboy with hopes of being someone else, anyone else.

"Don't bet on it, hon!" someone yelled.

As I looked up I saw the most intriguing, gorgeous woman I'd ever laid eyes on. She was a woman who I would later learn was Miss Ruby. She was making her way out of McFinnigan's, one of the less respectable of our local watering holes. She was very tall, much taller than the women around here. Her hair was red. Not that fake kind of orange red you see women sporting but a deep cherry red with curls that flowed down her narrow back.

"Son of a bitch don't know a lady when he sees one! What kind of rearing did these people get anyway? Down home, a man knows a lady and treats her like one."

She reached down her long curvaceous leg to fix the strap of her high heeled black pump. She was wearing these funny stockings, kinds that had holes all over them. I always thought women tried to avoid holes in stockings.

Our eyes met, she smiled at me and said, "Oh, hey there darlin'," in an accent I'd only heard on television.

I wanted to look away or say something but I couldn't. She was the most spectacular sight I'd ever seen around these parts. She strutted by me and headed into Mrs. Williams' store that sold everything from Winstons to American cheese. I suspect that they also sold dirty magazines but could never quite prove it.

I was sitting in my favorite spot, below a cottonwood next to Mrs. William's store, as I watched the well-dressed, adequately loved kids from my neighborhood parade around my block. Our town was underdeveloped then. General stores, neighborhood bars, and houses that to me, seemed to hold happy, normal families.

I knew my mother would be home from work soon, and although she didn't care much about keeping my education she did care if I was home after her long day to help with supper, if she decided we would have one. She also liked me to clean the house while she napped before starting her nightlife. I could almost cry at the thought of losing touch with this beautiful, red headed stranger, having her disappear from my desperate life. But as much as I hated it I had a home to go to.

As I passed by Johnny Briggs yelled, "Hey Parker Louise, how come you missed school today? What were you doing, sitting around counting your rolls?".

He and the other boys chuckled at me while elbowing each other, but I calmly walked along the edge of the dirt road, turned my head in their direction, and burped as loud a burp as I could muster. Johnny looked disgusted and shocked at the same time.

"You're a pig, Parker!" he yelled.

"Right back at you, asshole!" I replied. God, those boys were harsh, but I always tried to keep up with their sadistic ways.

I wanted to call Johnny a bastard. This was the one thing that really pissed him off because his father died in Vietnam before he was born, and before his parents had the chance to marry. But you'd feel like a real jerk making fun of someone whose dad died trying to protect our freedom. Of course, there was also the fact my dad was nowhere to be found, so I knew it would be hypocritical of me to point that out to someone else.

The dirt road, Maggie's Road it was called, was my favorite road in town. The trees that lined the dirt bent over towards the middle of the road creating this kind of natural tunnel. I'd always imagined that when I got to the end I would find myself in a world far removed from my own that held magic and mysterious beauty. But to my dismay all I ever found at the end was a rusted out tractor in the field of the Top of the Hill farm.

Our house was the last house on the right on Pine Street. The outside was in decent shape. It was a small, old, gray house with bright white trim and a manicured lawn that was cut by Jeffrey Bishop, a neighbor's son and bi-weekly acquaintance of my mother. I'm sure their visits would have been more frequent if grass grew at a more rapid pace. I never actually saw them do anything together, but from Irene's body language and the way she would touch him as they spoke, I assumed they had. Jeffrey was the only 'friend' of my mothers that I envied her for. He was seventeen, black hair, rugged green eyes and he filled out his Levi's better than any boy I'd ever seen. Also, he was one of the few people that was ever truly kind to me.

I climbed the three steps to our front door and glanced at our Welcome sign. Irene, that's my mom, wasn't home yet. Every time I'd enter our house I'd think, God, I wish we had a dog. You know, someone warm and loving, always happy to see you. Irene never cared much for pets. She thought them a waste of money and attention I suppose. Sometimes I'd wonder if she felt that way about me.

I remembered Ribbons. A sweet little black curly haired dog. Ribbons was my best friend. We had her from the time I was four until nine years of age. I needed her. I loved her. Then Irene bought a fancy new rug. She got it 'wholesale' from a man who owned the local carpet store. I'd like to say Irene worked hard saving her money for this treasure but from the talk around town I had learned it was more of a 'barter' situation. Ribbons was an incredible dog. She never destroyed anything until the rug came. I don't know if it was the smell or design but she started shitting on the rug. Two times to be exact. After the second time, Irene told me we had to get rid of her. "No!", I'd scream through a veil of tears. "You can't get rid of her. She's my best friend. I'll die! I will I'll die if you get rid of her."

"Oh please, Parker. You're not going to die. She's just a dog for God's sake. She doesn't even have a soul!"

I thought it ironic, Irene claiming the dog soulless, but she didn't bring it up again that day so I assumed Ribbons and I were safe from separation. Two days later a couple showed up at our door. The woman had her hair in a bun with large moles hanging from her face. I didn't know them and didn't know why they were at my house until they bent down to pet Ribbons.

"Oh she's just adorable" the woman said. "Perfect size for our little girl."

I thought, what is she talking about her little girl? I was the little girl who owned this dog. She's mine. She loves me, not your daughter.

As I quickly realized what was happening, I took desperate measures. "She's vicious you know. Bit me more than once, and the boy down the street almost lost his ear to this sweet dog. Look I have the scar to prove it".

I revealed an old scar on my arm from a fall I took when I was younger. The woman stood up with noticeable fear while looking at Irene with disgust for having them travel across town for a rabid dog.

"Don't be ridiculous, Parker!" Irene scolded. "This dog has never bit a soul I can assure you. Parker is just having a hard time accepting Ribbons has to live somewhere else."

Now the woman's look of disgust was directed towards me. With that, the husband put his fat fingers on my shoulder and said, "It's just a part of life kid. Sometimes things just don't work out and you have to live with it." Now he was the one in danger of getting bit.

As I wept and held onto Ribbons, they ripped her from my arms, and with that she was gone. Gone forever from my life. Irene thanked them and told them how lucky they were. She then closed the door, and as I lay shaking on the floor, she looked at me and said, "Weren't they just the sweetest couple?"

I sat in our living room and turned on the TV. Dialing for Dollars was on every weekday at four o'clock. They always showed some cheesy movie. This week they were showing the Beach Blanket Bingo series with Annette Funicello and Frankie Avalon. I always thought Frankie was so cute and Annette never quite pretty enough for him. As I became older I realized she was beautiful. True beauty, not the American stereotype, (super thin, blond, blue eyed, small nose,) that I was always brainwashed to believe beauty was. I guess that belief contributed to my constant self-loathing.

Our living room was brown and gold with these ornate decorations. It was the kind of room you could enter feeling wonderful and ten minutes later feel as though you were coming down with some bizarre stomach virus. I hate those colors until this day. I headed into the kitchen to find something resembling dinner. Ah, macaroni and cheese, old faithful; a quarter cup of butter, a quarter cup of milk, and that heavenly orange powder that brought the dish together. If Irene wasn't in the mood for my specialty she'd eat a healthy dinner that consisted of diet soda and cheese curls.

Unlike our living room I actually liked our kitchen. It was blue with yellow and white tiles that had very delicate green leaves stenciled on them. We had a comfortable dining table sporting those kitchen chairs you can sink into; they didn't force you to sit upright. And there wasn't that decorative clutter. I always felt peaceful in our kitchen. I'm sure that fact only encouraged my overeating.

As I peeled open the cardboard box of Kraft I heard the car come up the drive. Irene came in with sore feet and a "Why is this my life?" attitude. As she made her way to the couch she said, "Parker honey, turn off the phone ringer and wake me in an hour."

"My day? Oh, my day was lovely mom. I skipped school again and got my daily harassment from the neighborhood assholes." Of course Irene didn't bother to question what I was mumbling under my breath. After adjusting the phone I sat down to a heaping plate of mac and cheese, the entire contents of the family sized box. I wondered what the red headed stranger was doing at that moment.

After downing the last scrumptious orange arc, I gazed over at Irene in all her glorious slumber. What were her thoughts during sleep? Did they include the soft, little, loving girl she cradled in her arms? Maybe it was the picture of the perfect Jack and Coke, memories of her family, or the vision of a man that would eventually take her from the Pine Street house.

Irene grew up in a strict German family. From what I gather, it was a cold household filled with shadows and silence. Irene had two brothers, one older, one younger. I never knew my mother's parents or her younger brother; they had all died before I was born. Apparently my grandfather was quite the drinker, always out carousing and losing what little money they had. Meanwhile my grandmother secretly drank at home while complaining of her husband's drinking. Irene's mother's name was Yolanda. Yolanda was a mildly attractive woman who resented her daughter's youth and beauty. She'd seem almost jealous of any attention my Grandfather, Frederick Weiss, bestowed, however seldom, on his little girl. I think this adversarial relationship with her mother really affected Irene. Although she didn't speak of her childhood often I inferred from her repetitive comment, "Parker you don't know how good you have it!" that the days of her youth were nothing short of joyless.

I walked upstairs and down the hall to my bedroom which faced the back of the house. Above my headboard was a window that overlooked our small back yard lined with lilac bushes, both white and purple. The smell that the breeze brought through the window on a spring day was heavenly. My room was something a little less than heavenly. Drab really. Everything was mismatched and seemed out of place. So in retrospect I suppose it suited me perfectly. My walls were a pale green and my rug was a faded lavender. I had few juvenile accessories; a stuffed animal here and there and a poster of a puppy lying in a shoe. My room was fairly large. I had the perfect space for a vanity or a desk if Irene ever got around to buying me something. My bed was a twin with a chipped yellow and white wicker headboard. The remaining contents of the room were a dark brown dresser and a small stool with the words 'There's No "I" in Team' painted on it. I don't know where the hell it came from or what purpose it was supposed to serve me, but it was mine and that's what I liked about it.

You know that point in your life when everything changes? It could be a horrible accident, a purely beautiful moment, a tragic experience or something gradual that happens that causes some kind of metamorphosis within yourself. Whatever it may be, you know when you wake up on that game changing morning, that you are not the person you were when you fell asleep the night before. And you would never be again. For me it was a morning in the summer of 1979.

Ruby entered the gloomy store. Not enough color in this town, she thought. As the old woman appeared from behind the curtain Miss Ruby glanced at the lines in her face and quickly refocused her eyes on the candy case.

"May I help you?" Mrs. Williams said.

"Oh yes, ma'am. I would just die for one of them cherry suckers; nothing like a good lolly to bring you back to life, if you know what I mean." Ruby said smiling.

"No, I can't say that I do," Mrs. Williams huffed.

It was apparent to Ruby that the people in this Pennsylvania farm town didn't have the southern charm and upbringing she was used to.

"Well, anyway I was wondering if you'd be so kind as to point me in the direction of a cheap motel or something. Not cheap in the sense of decorum that is, just price."

Mrs. Williams handed her the lollypop in exchange for the nickel and told Ruby about a widow up the road that rented out rooms from time to time. Ruby flashed her a smile, ripped the wrapper off the candy, and stuck it in her mouth with a vigorous suck.

As Ruby winked she said, "Well thank you kindly, ah ... Mrs. Williams is it?"

"That's what the sign says. Is there anything else?"

"No," Ruby said, "can't imagine there is".

As Ruby climbed the hill, she noticed a slight aching in her feet that was working its way up her legs. The pavement pressed against her soles as she became anxious to reach her destination.

Walking like this made her recall the day she was rushing to get to elementary school when she came upon a man sitting in his truck by the side of the road. He had slick black hair and she noticed dirt under his fingernails. His arm draped over the driver seat window.

"Where you off to, little lady?" he said.

Ruby was never taught to be fearful of strangers, actually just the opposite, but for some reason a pit formed in her stomach and she could feel her knees start to shake. She didn't answer and picked up her pace. She heard the door to the truck creek and refused to look back. She could feel his eyes on her and sensed him getting closer. She broke into a run as she felt his large dirty hand grasped her shoulder. Ruby twisted free, as her books fell to the ground she screamed and desperately made her way towards the path to the school. As she realized she had outrun him, her breath came quick but not as quick as the tears that streamed from her eyes. She laid her hand on the doorknob that led to the gym. As she climbed the stairs to the principal's office, the hallways blurred. Her next memory was of sitting in Principal Brown's office with her teacher Mrs. Coyne. They tried to calm her down with talk of overreaction and misunderstanding. They sent her to class without a call to her parents or inquiry about the dirty man who she was sure would have killed her or worse, if she hadn't broken free. She never saw the man again and wondered throughout her life if the event was ever even real.

"I'm too old to be walking the streets," she told the concrete. Then she noticed pretty little houses that made up the neighborhood. As she approached the top of the hill Ruby saw the widow's home. 'Rooms for Rent' the sign said. She opened the wrought iron gate and rang the bell. An old, thin woman with long gray hair that sat atop her head in a bun answered the door.

She gave Ruby a once over before saying, "May I help you?"

Ruby knew her appearance was less than proper and decided that carefully chosen words would be in order. "Hello ma'am. I was told you might have some vacancies? I certainly hope that's the case anyway. I just need a place to stay temporarily."

Mrs. Baker laid her thin finger against her chin as she glanced over her shoulder and gazed toward the winding staircase that led to the rooms. "May I ask Where you are coming from and where you're headed?"