Tessie D

Angel and I went out for dinner last night at the Chinese restaurant in town. He laughed at me when I told him it’d be the best Chinese food that he’d ever eat.

“In Brownwood? I am not too sure about that?” He laughed.

Maybe he was right, but it was certainly the best–and only–Chinese food that I’d ever had. Pamela took me there for lunch a few months back when I first moved to town. Chinese food–even if it wasn’t very authentic–was still new to me and I loved it.

The restaurant was almost empty since it was a weekday evening so we had a quiet booth in the back. Angel talked about his childhood growing up in Fort Worth. His father was a preacher, and there was the expectation that Angel would become one, too. Really, he only wanted to be a rancher.

“I’ve only ever wanted to own a ranch, get married to a nice girl, have a couple kids, and live in an old farmhouse that’s too small and too loud,” Angel said and smiled across from the table at me.

I looked down at my plate. I hadn’t thought too much about getting married and all that–not after all that happened before. I’d been ruined.

Maybe it was possible? Maybe I could imagine a house of my own. I’d never really given it too much thought before. It always seemed so unattainable.

Still, after Angel brought it up, I couldn’t stop thinking about it last night. Laying in bed, all I could imagine was the kind of house I’d want. Not the size or style of it. I don’t care about any of that. But, I could have a house filled with books and flowers and music. Momma and Daddy never had the money for any of that. I could have that, though, at my house.

I could build bookshelves and stack them from the floor to the ceiling in every room. I wouldn’t have to borrow books from the library and take them back. I could buy my own books and read them over and over anytime that I wanted.

I could fill every square inch of the yard around the house with beds of flowers that I could cut and leave in vases around the house. Daisies, zinnias, black-eyed Susans. I could have a bluebonnet patch in the field in front of the house and a sunflower bed in the back with flowers taller than me. I could wear overalls and dirty boots and a big straw hat to shield the sun from my eyes.

I could have a record player in the living room and play Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers every morning if I wanted to.

I’d never plant vegetables or have a garden. I wouldn’t have to give up the space to something so practical. I could buy vegetables in town if I wanted them. I’d grow roses, not tomatoes and green beans. Maybe I’d have a pumpkin patch in the fall, but only to decorate the house. Never to make a pie.