Hey hun,
Well, I know us old people have a reputation for getting up early just in case Death gets excited and drags us to hell prematurely, but Mainers are really something else. The sun wasn’t even licking the horizon when Trevor’s truck trundled up to my apartment and I had to scramble to lace up my Reeboks. He gracefully offered me the shotgun seat (recently swept clean) and a swig from his coffee thermos. Luckily, I brought my own.
This market was more or less in the middle of freaking nowhere, so it was a long drive accompanied by some old tapes that Trevor had rigged up to his car radio. Not my usual taste, but not bad! We ended up on a little dirt road until we turned left into an open field where many other people were gathering and unpacking their trucks.
“Ok, let’s see if we can track down Julian. He was going to try to get here early and get us a good spot,” Trevor said.
I rolled down the window and leaned out as Trevor slowly wound around the backside of the market. I pointed us towards a stuffed possum staring at me with googly glass eyes from the top of a Subaru. We found Julian scrounging through boxes of carefully packed taxidermy inventory. At first I was a little disappointed to not see Eve.
But Julian said, “Oh, no she’s here, she’s just trying to find coverage to make a call or something.”
We hustled to set up their table. It was actually amazing to see how a whole market had appeared out of nowhere, ready for the waves of browsers. Soon Trevor and Julian were both happily chatting with shoppers. I wandered off to find Eve, and to check out the other vendors.
I found Eve walking around the edge of the market, one finger stuck in her ear and clearly struggling to hold a conversation with the other. I waved her down and when she saw me she scrambled to get off the phone and stuffed it in her bag.
Now, I’m not a detective, but I am a mother, a grandmother, and an overall nosy broad and so I know when something’s rotten in Denmark. I tucked that tidbit in the back of my mind and invited her to walk with me around the market.
Of course, she knew a lot of the other vendors and we had a couple of lovely chats and I splashed out way too much on an absolutely gorgeous knit shawl.
We checked in on the boys to find Trevor surrounded by a flock of my fellow little old ladies who insisted on getting a full tour of his birdhouses, and did an awful lot of arm pressing when they handed over their cash.
The ladies giggled and chattered amongst themselves as he blushed and fumbled around to make change. Between you and me, he doesn’t really need to bother with the birdhouses – he could sell used plungers if he wanted to. Meanwhile, Julian was deep in conversation with some guys who can only be described as taxidermy connoisseurs.
Eve and I went to get some French fries at the food truck and sat down to people-watch at a picnic table.
“It must be fun,” I said, “going to these markets and meeting all kinds of people.”
She nodded, picking at her food. “Sure, it can be nice. I mean, all this is more of Julian’s thing. He loves driving out all over and swapping and trading. He doesn’t even care if he sells all his critters, he just loves talking shop.”
This was an interesting plot twist. She had never said anything like this before. Then again, maybe she didn’t feel comfortable expressing those feelings to a near stranger.
“Sure,” I said, “I mean this is my first time being here but the novelty must wear off after a while.”
Eve nodded, but she was eyeing her bag, and I thought of the phone call that I’d interrupted earlier.
“What about you, Eve?” I asked, “What do you like to do?”
She frowned and thought about it, “I see my friends sometimes. I like to go to the outlets to walk around and shop. Jules and I watch TV together. You know, the regular stuff.”
We fell into a fry-induced silence before Eve’s phone pinged. She nearly jumped out of her seat, but she didn’t look at it.
“Eve,” I said, “You can take that if you need to.”
She quickly looked at a message on her phone, which made her smile like a teenage girl. When I tell you my heart sank, I mean that it was lodged deep in my tuchus.
“Eve? Have you met someone?” I asked. I know, I know. Who am I to ask this? But sometimes with age and experience you gain a certain kind of insight. It’s like a superpower that you pay for with back pain and irregular bowel movements. Eve melted and looked around to make sure nobody was in earshot.
“Yes!” She whispered, holding a hand to her forehead, “But it’s not like that! I haven’t even met him in person. It’s like penpals, like what you and Trevor have.”
I skipped past that remark and just asked, “Who’s the guy?”
She blushed a deep red and tried to straighten out her hair. “Well you’ll never believe it when I tell you.”
“Try me,” I said.
“Nicolas Cage,” she said.
And, you know, after some initial Googling in the town’s public library, I’m starting to think that the guy talking to Eve is not, in fact, Nicolas Cage. However, I’ll have to fill you in later, after I meet up with her again.
Love,
Grams