The Country Store

There were about a half dozen crusty old farts sitting around a cold pot belly stove. A couple of sticks of wood lay around the stove, probably left over from the year before. This was a country store where the eggs in the cooler were right next to the shot gun shells and worms were one shelf under the milk. The kind of store I was used to as a kid. Everything and anything. Packed so tight you should diet before entering just so you can get through the isles.

Orange hats hung from lines draped across the ceiling, each held with old aged brown wooden cloth pins. .99 cents written in pencil on each one, held with a safety pin.

Behind the counter was a rather large woman, not the pleasantly plump kind, but the Oh my god kind. It took a whole minute to see the bunch of her. When my eyes dropped below the counter, I stopped looking. She was sitting on a stool and missing an important feature, two legs. I mean she had one, but the other wasn’t there. The brown stump protruded out from under her dress. Omar, that’s what I think they called the man. You know, the tent maker. Her stump was like an old loaf of brown bread with the wrapper pulled tight. You want to look, but try not too. I guess if she was trying to hide it she wouldn’t let it hang out.

The place was still quiet. All faces, carved with time were still glued on me. “Just lookin for some coffee” I said loudly, trying to act casual and in my best Maine accent. Seeing it I moved in close. One pot, dirty with coffee stains, but hot and black. Yeah. Scored. “Supp” I said to the farts. They nodded and went back to their conversion.

Taking my coffee to the counter I paid the one legged woman and then leaned in close, and under my breath I asked. “You been around here long?”. “Shaw-enuff” She said. (translation- Sure enough) “ You remember the fella back a few years, outta statah, lost in the woods” I asked. Her face light up with a smile, but then became saddened.
“Fa-showa – fa-showa” She said (another translation- For sure, for sure, it’s a Canadian thing)”yup, yup, yup, yup” She nodded her head back and forth. “I was out there, too, lookin’ for him. For days I walked around. Up the mountain and down the other side. From the tote road to the state road, from the fire break to the old mill, walked- I did. Me an all the folks around heah did.”

“So you knew him?”

“No, I just couldn’t stand the thought of the poor fella wandering out there, tryin to find his way out.” You could tell that she was a true kind sole, one leg and all. She really felt for the guy.

“You remember the family?”

“Fa-showa – fa-showa” (see translation)

“Odd, huh” I urged her to talk more.

She leaned in on the edge of her stool. “Thems more than odd. They were down right pretnear weird. I looked because they acted like we would never find him. They didn’t have a lik of hope. Even after a day. They just carried on and on. Had their panties in a wad and just didn’t stop. I went out because I knew we could find him……..” She paused for along time, reliving the moment. “Turned out I was wrong…..after they went home, I still looked. That’s when this happened” She waived her stub around in the air. Too much…..I didn’t want to look. But you know I did.

The ride back was quiet. No talk radio. Just my thoughts and the road. At least she confirmed my hunch. That man didn’t just get lost. There was more to it.

And of course there is the strange story she told me next. Her missing leg……….