SPFC: Stranded in the Smokies

I hadn’t been asleep for nearly as long as I’d hoped to be when three sharp knocks on the driver’s side window of my van pulled me awake. Reaching for the small built-in shelf, I found my keys and clutched them between my fingers as I moved toward the closest window on that side of the car. Trying to be as stealthy as humanly possible, I pushed aside one of the yellow cotton curtains I’d finished sewing only a few days before I left home.

The bright stream of light that had been focused on the front seats of my vehicle only a moment earlier swung immediately in my direction, blinding me as I pushed the curtain open wider and made to slide the slated Jalousie window fully open so that I could hear whatever it was that the tall blonde police officer apparently needed to tell me.

“Ma’am?” I blinked in the silence that followed, suddenly conscious of what I must have looked like to the man on the other side of the glass slates. “Can you step out of the Van? I’ll come around to the other side.”

I closed my eyes for a long moment before nodding, very much wishing that it wasn’t early September in eastern Tennessee. If it had been a month, or even a few weeks, later in the year, I likely would have been wearing quite a bit more than the thin camisole and silky shorts I’d shimmied into before climbing into my bed last night. I bit my lower lip as I remembered how irritating the twin French braids I almost always slept in had felt when I’d rolled from side to side, trying to get comfortable enough to fall asleep. That explained why my hair, encouraged by the unfamiliar humidity in the air, had decided to expand into a massive and angry red cloud, tangling around my probably equally red face.

I hauled my scantily clad mess-of-a-self to the door and reached for the lock.

The local residents probably didn’t think that seventy-two degrees and a million percent humidity was all that hot, but to my Californian self, it was sweltering. I know that when most people think of California, they think of Southern California’s beaches or maybe of our major cities. The place where I’d grown up wasn’t like that, at all.

I mean, we did have beaches within driving distance of the farm. They were moody, stormy places, beautiful and wild, with dangerous rip currents and an occasional sleeper wave thrown in to discourage more cautious beachgoers like me from getting anything beyond our calves wet. My bolder siblings weren’t dissuaded, of course, but even as a child, no one would have ever called me bold. I’d stick to swimming with the newts and turtles in the calmer portions of the river near our home, thank you very much.

I pushed the door open and realized this was probably exactly how at least one of my mom’s podcasts started. Reflexively, my hand flexed on my keychain, which was a gift from my mom. It had a pretty purple wristband, along with a matching purple spike the size of my hand, a cute heart-shaped purple alarm that had taken me five full, very loud minutes to figure out the first time I’d accidentally set it off, and, of course, a small purple flip top pepper spray that I had never used.

“Ma’am, if you could put down the pepper spray?” I hadn’t realized that I’d raised my hand a couple of inches off the seat, and my fingers were, in fact, gripping the smooth purple plastic as I stared at him.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” He’d lowered the flashlight enough that I could see his rather handsome face, peering at me curiously for a long moment before his gaze shifted to take in the tiny living space I’d spent months creating before setting off on my cross-country journey.

“I understand why you’re nervous. Being a woman out here, by yourself, isn’t exactly the safest situation, now is it?” His voice was chiding as his gaze returned to me, sweeping from the tangled mess of my hair down my shockingly pale legs to the bright red I always painted on my toes, even though no one ever saw them. “And unfortunately, I will have to ask you to move. The Community Center parking lot is private property and isn’t an approved location for unpermitted camping.”

I bit my lip again, a nervous habit that I’d never been able to overcome, wishing I had one ounce of any of my older sister’s ability to say whatever needed to be said to convince men to let them have their way. But I’d never been particularly gifted at saying what anyone wanted me to say, much less in a stressful situation like that one that I now found myself in.

“Officer,” I paused, scanning his chest for his name, when he, seeing what I was about, quickly offered it.

“James. Jackson James.” His smile was white in the darkness, but it didn’t reassure me.

“Nice to meet you,” I said automatically, not realizing I hadn’t offered my own name in return. “Officer James. I spoke with the Center’s director earlier tonight, and he gave me permission to park her overnight. I’m planning on going to the real estate office in the morning to see if there’s a studio for rent around here. The mountains are gorgeous, and I think I might stay for a while.” His silence and unnerving stare had me revealing more than I’d intended to.

“Who told you that you could stay here?” His brow furrowed as he glanced toward the large building, which must have been a school at one point before being transformed into an amazing space for the people of Green River to gather.

Now, it was my turn to frown.

“His name was…” I racked my brain but came up with nothing. “I can’t remember. He was tall with big shoulders and a beard?” Officer James shook his head. “You just described more than half the men in this town, Sweetheart. And even the director can’t give you permission to park here overnight. There’s a town ordinance about parking a recreational vehicle like this one on private and public spaces that are not a mobile home park or campground licensed by the state. You could go to the mobile home park and see if they have a spot for you, but they won’t be open until eight a.m.”

“Okaaaaaay,” I stretched out the word, trying to give myself a moment to gather my thoughts.

“There is a campground about five miles into the park. If you head that way,” he motioned vaguely towards an area of town I hadn’t yet ventured into and the national park that lay beyond it, “it’s just about impossible to miss.”

“Okay,” I repeated the word, trying to sound more confident this time.

“Before you go, though, I’m gonna need to take a look at your license and registration, as a formality, of course. I’ll let you off with a warning for violating the town’s ordinance this one time.” He flashed that smile again, and I tried to force my lips to curve in an approximation of something resembling that same expression.

“Summer Rose Clemintine Rainbow Weaver?” He kept glancing down at the photo on my driver’s license before looking back up at me again.

“Yes.” I gritted my teeth.

“That’s a very… California sort of name, isn’t it?” I closed my eyes for a long moment, trying to chase away any trace of the annoyance that I inevitably felt anytime the subject of my entire given name was brought up.

“I guess you could call it that. It’s probably one of the more generous descriptions. I go by Summer.”

“Summer Weaver,” if it was possible, I think his grin got a bit wider. I decided I didn’t like Officer James, not one single bit. Not that that was a huge surprise. My family’s business had only become legal in recent years. In the decades before that happened, we’d all been raised to be pretty suspicious of law enforcement.

“Well, it looks like everything here is in order.” He returned my license to me before taking a step back and giving the van an appraising look. “You do have a nice little space in there, don’t you?” This time, my smile was more natural as I nodded. I was proud of my van and what I’d accomplished, both while fixing it up and while living inside of it.

“Now, I’ll let you get on your way, Summer.” He seemed to like saying my name, and I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. At least it wasn’t my full name this time.

The lights of his car were still on me when I walked, my feet bare, around the side of the car, climbing into the driver’s seat. Turning the key, the engine roared to life, and I sighed. It was way too early to be awake, much less setting out to find a new place to park when morning was only a few short hours away.