Dixie Takes a Field Trip

"Well, if that ain't the oddest thing?" Dixie thought as she peered into the alley behind the dry cleaners where she had just dropped off her winter coats for summer storage. The air had taken on a misty quality, unlike the humidity of the dry cleaners, with a scent vaguely reminiscent of the lilacs which bloomed outside her bedroom window in another life.

Just moments before, she had wrinkled up her nose at the aroma of steam and dry cleaning fluids, a scent which had always brought a sense of impending nausea. That feeling was gone now, erased in an instant by the tantalizing aroma of her favorite flower mixed with, something else she couldn't quite put a finger on.

"Why have I never noticed this strange little building before?" and "How did a carriage house, at least I think that's what this is called, get nestled in behind all these businesses?", briefly crossed Dixie's mind, just before she determined that she HAD to see inside this place.

Never, not in recent years anyway, one to ignore her urges, Dixie sauntered herself to the door of the abode, and knocked, ignoring the heavy horseshoe shaped knocker which she was sure would chip her nails.

"Damn, no one's home." she thought, as she knocked a second time, a little harder. "One more try, and call it a night", but she was intrigued. This place most definitely did not belong here. It was out of place somehow, but in a nice way.

This time she picked up the horseshoe knocker and dropped it on the metal plate twice, taking care to avoid chipping her french manicured mails.

A few seconds later, the heavy door opened upon a scene Dixie wasn't expecting. "Please come in, make yourself comfortable." said a man who must have been the  proprietor.

Entering the room, Dixie imagined she had been whisked into another time, another era. She was reminded of a tea house she frequented in college. Nothing more than a rented backroom to a bookstore, but with plants everywhere, and beanbag chairs on which to light, while studying, drinking a cup of Earl Gray, or smoking another kind of tea, one with an "HC" at the end.

This place did not have the bean bags, nor were there smells of illicit activity, but the feel was similar. It gave Dixie an instant sense of home and belonging, something she had not felt in many years, if ever.

Dixie settled into a large oak rocker lined with a pristine white chenille pillow. She was reminded of the chenille coverlet that had adorned her Grandmother's bed, lo those many years ago. Dixie loved that bed as a child. A "tick bed" as her Grammy had called it. Deep and inviting to a small girl and her dollies.

Dixie surveyed the room. An quirky assortment of characters, to be sure, but all appeared as comfortable as she felt. This group would be out of place in any other setting, but here, it seemed right somehow.

To her left, a woman she could only think of as "Soccer Mom" was toying with a lilac frond, smiling wistfully. To her right was a  young man with a "nerdy' look about him, looking around intently, as if mesmerized. "Probably looking for an outlet for his laptop", Dixie thought. Directly across from Dixie was a man who, in this light,  could have passed for George Clooney in another ten years, but he had a scar on his face which, as crazy as it sounds, made him even more handsome, in a dangerous sort of way. She would have had to crane her neck to observe the other rockers, and that would have been rude. 

Dixie laughed to herself,"Here I am, sitting across from the sexiest man I have seen in a year, and all I can think of is that chili." 

She didn't think it at all odd that no one was speaking. Everyone seemed engrossed in their own thoughts, which was fine with her, as she had her own thoughts tumbling about in her head. 

She had not felt this relaxed in a long time. No one was judging her here, no one expected anything of her, nor she of them. She felt as if she had found a place of solace, where old ladies don't yell at you for not being someone else, where every nook and cranny doesn't remind you of days gone by, where you're not afraid to turn a corner and run into the one person you hope to avoid, yet longing for that encounter with every breath.

Dixie sighed silently, no longer sure how long she had been sitting here, rocking contentedly. Minutes? Hours? Certainly not days? It didn't matter at that moment, she felt at home ,and that chili was beckoning to her stronger than ever. She was famished.

She arose from her chair and made her way to the copper room, spying a table laden with food. She felt no shame filling a bowl with steaming chili, and slathering a huge piece of cornbread with soft creamy butter. The real thing, not the low fat crap she buys to watch her waistline. Here, her weight issues didn't matter.

She returned to her seemingly appointed rocker to enjoy her repast, when an idea struck her. Suddenly she knew why she had never noticed this place before.

"Do those other people know?" she wondered. "Do they care?"

It didn't matter at that moment. All that mattered was that sense of calm which enveloped her, and the heady aroma of chili which filled her nostrils. She picked up her spoon and dug in.