Stranger in a Small Town
From time to time, I take inventory of my past. I sort through memories and look back at the vast collection of events stored in my mind; enough hustle, hardship and lessons-learned to fill a train car. Today, as my thoughts time travelled, music on the radio triggered memories so vivid, I was transported twenty years into my past. Back to a time when I didn’t think I’d ever escape my dead-end existence. I was desperate to leave an abusive marriage and go home to the Black Hills, where I could start a new life.
Although I’d made the decision to leave, my heart and mind grappled with when I should go. It was a co-worker who helped me see the best time was now. He stopped me on a Wednesday evening, as I was leaving the building, asking if he could talk to me.
Earlier that night, he’d noticed the finger-sized bruises on my forearms, and the startled expression on my face when I realized he’d seen. I yanked my sleeves down and turned away. When everyone left for the evening, he took me aside for a two-minute conversation, and the knot in my stomach tightened as he spoke. “It won’t get better. Do you have somewhere to go? Do it for your kids.” There was no judgement in his eyes, only empathy and concern.
His willingness to confront me made it clear I couldn’t wait. That Friday, I packed my kids and a few belongings into my car and drove five-hundred miles to South Dakota. I was leaving my old life behind and had no idea how I’d survive the struggles that awaited me in an unfamiliar, small town. My mom lovingly opened her home, giving me a place to run to. For six weeks, we bumped into each other in her small house and did our best to pick up the pieces as I searched for a job and an affordable place to live.
I rented an unfurnished, old house and took a job at an elder care facility where I worked exhausting, thirteen-hour shifts. When a co-worker learned I’d been sleeping on the floor because my bedroom was still void of furniture, she gave me a bed. And when my mom’s neighbor heard about my empty living room and bare, kitchen cabinets, she gave me a second-hand couch and a box of dishes.
I’d asked for nothing, but two women I barely knew were offering to help, and I humbly accepted.
Six months later, I decided to leave my job and move onto something that didn’t require me to work graveyard shifts and pay for overnight childcare. In response to a help wanted ad, I walked into the local chamber of commerce with a job application and laughable resume. With trembling hands and galloping heart, I sat through an interview for a position I was hardly qualified for. I could type and knew how to use a computer, but had no experience working with the public, planning events, or managing an office.
When she interviewed me, the chamber director couldn’t have possibly seen anything but a warm body that needed a job. I was a shy, scared, single mom — desperate for someone to give me a chance to start fresh and prove myself. For some reason, she looked past my unimpressive background as a housewife and freelance newspaper columnist and saw something that looked like potential. And that’s what she based her decision on. A week later, Cindy called and offered me the job.
That was the day it finally felt like there was hope for my future.
For nearly four years, I poured my heart and soul into my work. It was exactly the time I needed to redesign my world from the inside out. From skill-building to a bolster of self-esteem and confidence, it was a huge step forward. It pushed me into the community, eventually led me to a career with a global company and helped me make lifelong friends.
Two of those friends were a board member and his wife, who took me under their wing when I went to work at the chamber. Not only were they fantastic coaches but were soon as close as family. They were avid supporters of my creative endeavors and were like grandparents to my daughter. Through the years, they’ve proved that not all family are blood, and not all cheerleaders carry pompoms.
Reaching to turn the radio off, I smiled at today’s memory inventory, and how twenty years ago, I felt so desperately alone in the world. But that was never really the case. It was never me, myself, and I — but family, mentors, and co-workers whose kindness and generosity got me back on my feet; forcing me to let go of my past and journey toward my future.
Looking back, I’ve come to realize that when I arrived in Custer, I wasn’t surrounded by small town strangers, but by a multitude of friends I hadn’t met yet.
