A Place for Secrets: A Southern Gothic

            If there is one thing that I am sure of is he was perfect. The moon surrounded the barn with a haze and the dirt beneath my feet crunched with the dryness of autumn.  It was Halloween. I was wearing my mom’s scrubs, teal, the color of the hospital where she had worked for almost thirty years. I had come to his farm for a date. My favorite kind of date. We would listen to country music, he would work on his truck or a tractor, I would listen to his day, and I would tell him my adventures from teaching.  We had quickly slipped into a warm comfortable rhythm that rose in the east and set in the west, like all good things.             Tonight, I was sitting in the cab of his truck with my legs hanging out of the door. Fletcher walked over to me and stood between my knees.              “You’re quiet tonight.” It was an anomaly to be sure. I loved to discuss things down to minute details. Most of all I loved to fix things; people’s problems. I was an expert in seeing the best way to compromise while still getting most of the things the other person wanted. A paradox some might say, but to me it was just a puzzle that needed to be solved.             “Am I?” I knew I was, but I didn’t really know what was on my mind. I was excellent at solving the riddle for others, but often my own mind seemed like a mystery to me.             “You know you are.” I laughed, and he rubbed my legs and leaned into me. His hands were rough from years of hard work. They gave me strange solace. The truck was so high up I had to lean down to look into his eyes.             “I had a hard day with a student. You know how children get when its Halloween.” It was an easy lie. My eyes didn’t betray me, and his honest brown eyes accepted it without question. I wondered what happened to them each time I lied. Did they grow darker, sadder, or were they so honest they never would change?             “How was your day? Any “Friday the Thirteenth” style Halloween mishaps?” I tried to change the subject. Fletcher and his family were farmers. One of the biggest farming families in Middleborough. Everyone always joked that it was in the middle of nowhere. It was true, but nowhere was good land for farming.             “Burt almost got his hand stuck in the machines, thankfully Joe caught him before it could go anywhere.” I ran my fingers through his hair. It was as soft as a baby’s. How is it that men have so many naturally beautiful attributes that women would die for? It hardly seems fair, but I ran my hands through it anyway.             “That was lucky!” I feigned enthusiasm. I knew I wasn’t putting in the effort and my mother’s sage advice whispered in my ear, “A relationship takes one hundred percent effort on both parts, G.” She was right, and I was failing tonight. Fletcher and I had been together almost two years, although the first year was a secret. As most small towns go, any whiff of suspicion and you’ll be walking down the aisle the next week. It was illicit fun. I would sneak out of my own house into his truck and we would park on his land. I could tell stories about nights in that truck that would make a nun blush.             “Did the kids like your costume?”             “I’m more concerned with what you think of it.” I teased.             “I could show you better than I could tell you.” His mouth quirked into a crooked smile and his eyes sparkled with mischief. I liked him this way.             I blushed, a southern belle through and through. I swatted him playfully with my stethoscope. “Fletcher Andrew Graves! What would your Mamma say?” Our playful fight continued with volleys of tickles, stolen kisses, and me swearing I would never again come here after being treated like a common trollop. It was a sugar lie that dripped between us like honey. It tasted just as sweet when his kissed it from my lips.             “You’re lying.” He kissed me again.             “Are you sure?” I leaned into him. He grabbed me by the waist.             “Because I know you, Graye.” His eyes were earnest and his gaze troublingly steady. That was who he was, steady, the lighthouse in the storm. He was the way home.             “Shouldn’t we get going soon? It is almost nine.” He laughed.             “I didn’t know dating a teacher meant I was signing up for granny hours.” I popped him playfully.             “You know I have that charity run in the morning.” I would be doing a lot more coordinating than running, but I wasn’t splitting hairs here.             “I am not sure who I want to take home tonight, nurse or teacher.”             “You might not be taking a soul home tonight if you keep acting out like this.” I gave him the look. You know, the teacher side eye.             “Yes Miss Stanhope.” He bashfully said.             “You just be glad I don’t have a ruler with me.” I wagged my finger at him punishingly. He wedged his hands beneath me and threw me over his shoulder. I squealed and demanded to be put down, with no relief. Finally, after spinning around the barn, Fletcher put me down.             “Meet you there?” I looked up into his eyes. They were filled with possibilities, more possibilities than I could count or fathom or trust.             “More like beat you there.” I took off to my car parked outside and drove off toward his cabin. I would pay the price of my head start, but it was a price of pleasure, and I craved the oblivion it promised.