Small Town

• Jessie Tall
• Short Story
• 2018

I grew up living on the outside of a small town. Five kilometres to be exact, but those are just numbers and facts. The small town shouldn’t be called a town, it should be called a village, but the ladies of this small ‘town’ don’t like how village sounds. Which I think is funny because I quite like the sound of village, how your tongue has to touch the edge of you top two front teeth and then click back down. But the name doesn’t matter. I want to tell you how the town is only awake for two days a year.

The first time the town is awake for the year is on the hottest day of the year. That day the mums bring out the fruit platters, and the dads bring out the barbecues. The kids grab the water pistols or run through the sprinklers in the middle of the park. Whilst the teenager grab blow up tubes and float on the channel. The local ice cream man comes out of his air conditioned store to sell over priced ice cream to those suffering from sunburn, whilst the publican comes out to sell the exhausted parents ice cold beers. I have only been to one of these days. The day had reached to 45 degrees Celsius, and everyone in the small town was in the water.

The second time the town is awake is the coldest day of the year. The senior members of the community bring out the steam engines and old ford tractors. Everyone is wrapped up in winter coats and wooden scars knitted by their nanas. All the mums have their hands wrapped around steaming mugs, and the dads have their hands infant of the line of fires lit in old barrels. The lady who runs the local cafe comes out with her portable coffee machine to refill the mums coffee mugs, with over priced, burnt black coffee. I don’t understand how the mums can drink it, but I suppose they don’t care, as long as it keeps them warm. The local baker comes out to sell his award winning pies ( he only got the award because he is the only baker in town, and the award was locally run). His pies are usually gone by 12:00pm that day. The day that I went reached 18 degrees Celsius. I developed a cold.

Those two days are the only days where the rest of the world knows that the small town is awake. I guess the small town is always awake, just like how an ants nest is always working, even in the winter. The mums are always having meetings, to discuss the next bake sale for the local school. The dads are always in the mens shed making little statues and bird houses. And the grandparents are looking after the local kids. Yet the two days the small town is always awake is magical. Yet I lived outside of the small town.